Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Oh my god, what did you do?” 

“Uhhh, got caught up with something,” Jeongguk takes a deep breath, chest puffing in and out, practically heaving with exhaustion as he hunches over, gripping onto the spandex wound tightly around his legs, “I also stopped by a shop on the way home to get a sandwich and spilled mayo on myself. Which explains the ugly white stain, I guess. But I promise you, it’s not as bad as it looks.” 

“Jesus Christ, Gguk,” Taehyung sighs dramatically, eyebrows furrowing as he rests a disappointed hand on his hip. 

“I feel like there’s a part of me that kinda wants to say you should be used to this,” Jeongguk starts, nose scrunching up in pain as he crosses his arms. 

Taehyung glares daggers at him, eyes piercing into the very depths of the younger’s soul, absolutely refusing to have it today. 

“But on second thought,” the superhero gets the hint, mumbling, “I don’t wanna make you even more pissed off, so I’ll just shut up now.” 

The older of the two grits his teeth, meandering towards his best friend aggressively before flicking him on the forehead—an assault Jeongguk winces considerably at. Taehyung almost feels bad, considering how much the latter had already suffered today, but he barely has the mental capacity to regret his harsh admonition. “Good choice, idiot.” 

Whoever says that being Spiderman’s best friend is an unmatched, priceless perk clearly hasn’t met the man himself. 

Jeon Jeongguk is something of an anomaly—always has been, ever since he’d become friends with the boy all those years ago. They’d met during art class back in elementary school, Jeongguk sobbing incessantly because the boy next to him had called his drawing “ugly and poopy looking.” He had been shy and timid, never one to speak in their classroom of rowdy six year olds, so Taehyung thought it his civic duty to step up and defend him from his idiotic bullies—telling them to “get a life, and pick on someone your own size.” 

And thus began the story of Jeongguk and Taehyung, best friends for life. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the madness he was subject to the moment he signed up to be the younger’s partner in crime. 

About a month after meeting, long went cute, shy Jeongguk who’d never spoken past a decibel level of thirty, and in came chaotic Gguk—a mess of a human being who barely had it together (though Taehyung knows he’s one to talk). As they progressed through middle school together, refusing to be more than twenty feet away from one another (Taehyung’s trip to London for a mere week had them both in shambles), the older had gotten the privilege of learning about the crazier side of his customarily soft and adorable best friend, giggling together as they stuffed heaps of pizza down their mouths and sang along to the High School Musical soundtrack. 

Glancing at his best friend now, he knows he hasn’t really changed. 

“You need to be more careful, Gguk,” Taehyung nearly screams, biting on his lip in a feeble attempt to hold back his boiling ire. “This is the third time this week you and your suit have suffered damage because of your recklessness!” 

“I know, I know,” Jeongguk mutters in response, glancing down at his frantic best friend endearingly. His voice is low, knowing—the boy being more than used to Taehyung’s weekly scoldings, “But shit happens when you’re a superhero, Tae. I have to do whatever it takes to save everyone, even if it means my suit gets ripped four times a week.” 

The whole Spiderman situation is one that took Taehyung by surprise—though he’d figured out the truth quite quickly. Jeongguk had desperately attempted to keep his alter ego away from Taehyung—dealing with the transformation on his own, taking missions solo, and keeping any sort of villainous drama as far away from the older as possible—but his efforts were something on the more fruitless side. The moment Jeongguk had come home somewhat beat up, and started actively avoiding his best friend—Taehyung had quite already realized what was going on—addressing it with a stern expression, and palpable disappointment. 

And he was not happy about Jeongguk facing everything alone. 

So after a few heated arguments and exasperated yet equally ignored pleas from the younger, it was officially decided—Taehyung would help Jeongguk in whatever way he could, when it comes to the latter’s eventful Spiderman endeavors. 

Which leads them to the situation they’re currently in—Jeongguk’s suit completely ripped up on its all around, a large mayo stain on the expanse of his thigh, and his nose a bright purple—the bruise refusing to conceal itself from the rest of the world. 

“And I get that,” Taehyung concedes, grazing at the cut that sticks out on the head of Jeongguk’s shoulder, the flesh swelling up there. Jeongguk inadvertently winces, and any potential of quieting down disappears the moment the former displays the pain he feels, “But you need to watch over yourself more carefully,” his words firm up as he inches closer to the wound, shaking his head sadly, “I refuse to fix up your suit again, Gguk. How many times do I need to see my best friend like this? You have no regard for your own health!”

His best friend’s lips jut out into a pout at the declaration of finalty, but Taehyung takes it in stride, as he goes to retrieve a medicine kit from the bathroom, alongside a spare set of clothes for Jeongguk to change into. It’d be a long night of heat packs and pain killers for the superhero, he just knows it. 

But as much as he hates to see him in pain, despises the image like nothing else—he knows it’s something the younger boy has become accustomed to. This is one of his less severe set of injuries, if someone were to ask him about it. 

“M’sorry, Taehyungie,” Jeongguk mumbles when the older returns and sets everything up, laying all the necessary items down on the coffee table of their shared apartment. They decided to move off campus for this school year, finding it best with Jeongguk’s little predicament. The RA’s of the dorms were becoming a bit too curious. “I know you worry a lot.” 

And the rage that has been accruing internally seems to burst out at once, Taehyung pinching his eyebrows together as he speaks quickly, earnestly, “Of course I do, Jeongguk.” He can’t control his evident acrimony anymore, loitering towards the younger as he tugs at the elastic at the top of his neck, wordlessly asking him to strip. Jeongguk gets the hint, pulling at the spandex material, “I get that you want to save the world, but you have family, you have friends, you have me!” He scolds, too caught up in his animosity to even practice his usual ogling at Jeongguk’s taut abs and tattoos as he strips himself off the stretchy suit—revealing all the bruises that litter his normally pristine and swoon worthy body. The injuries make him no less attractive to Taehyung, of course—but the sight does make him feel a sense of protective fury for whoever had dared to lay a hand on the most important person in his life. 

Jeongguk stays eerily silent.

“I wish you would care more about being safe for us, too,” and Taehyung is getting slightly overdramatic at this point, he is well aware of the fact—but the sight of his best friend being totally beat up is not an easy one to deal with. It’s one part of the double life ordeal that he could never get used to, he thinks. “Always so reckless and stupid…” he trails off, because deep down inside, he knows. 

He knows that he’s being selfish when it comes to Jeongguk—is aware that saving the world will always be a priority because his best friend is nothing short of the most selfless, kind, and loving man he knows. He’d throw his life away easily if it meant that everyone else would be okay—if everyone else is saved and out of harm’s way, completely unscathed. 

But what Jeongguk doesn’t know is that Taehyung would do the same for him—would quite literally die right there on the spot if he found out anything had happened to his best friend of so many years. 

He doesn’t know that Taehyung is hopelessly, endlessly, absolutely in love with him—and has been for years. 

Truthfully speaking, he’s not sure when he began to have such all consuming thoughts about the boy—such intense feelings and vivid imagery in his mind of holding hands with Jeongguk, of the younger swinging him around the city in his arms, of kissing him. All he knows, quite frankly, is that one day he woke up and something had shifted—a flick of a switch, a discovery of a treasure box, an opening of his eyes. 

Regardless of what it was that caused an epiphany for him—he’s in love. Far too in love, he supposes, to be able to sit back and watch Jeongguk hurt himself. 

“I just want you to be careful, alright Ggukie?” he sighs, nodding towards their couch.

Their procedure is second nature at this point, Jeongguk going to sit down on the cushion easily, the top of his suit messily dangling off the side of his body. Taehyung grabs the antiseptic snugly tucked away into the first aid kit, sidling up next to him as he squeezes some out of the bottle. He reaches towards the superhero’s shoulder, resisting the urge to tuck the stray pieces of black hair falling forward and framing his face behind his ear. “I know that is your job but,” he mumbles, shame eating up at him in the slightest for how harsh he is being, “just promise me you’ll take better care of yourself?”

The younger winces when he feels the alcohol pressed to his cut, nails digging into the softness of the couch in an attempt to soothe the severe agony eating at him. “Fuck,” he grits out lowly, hardly keeping it together. The apperception is something close to unbearable for the older to witness, Taehyung’s expression softening considerably as he intertwines his other hand with Jeongguk’s, rubbing tender circles at the skin there. The touch between them is electrifying—as if physical sparks were being exchanged between their torsos. “I promise, Tae,” he eventually manages to let out, breath erratic from the pain of the medicine, “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung murmurs, voice dropping octaves lower as he moves down to the bruises on Jeongguk’s chest, examining the affected areas carefully. He’s slow in his movements, meticulous as he gently brushes his fingertips against the younger’s abdomen—holding his breath, for fear that he’ll somehow give away his long hidden secret. No matter how many times he looks after his best friend, cleaning up after his lacerations, he’ll never get used to the feeling of Jeongguk’s muscles contracting underneath his hands—a large and intricate spider logo decorating the expanse of his rib cage. “This is gonna hurt,” he warns, though he knows Jeongguk is fully expecting it. It’s a weak attempt to force his scandalous thoughts away, he supposes. “Sorry.” 

The word of caution is enough to have Jeongguk’s teeth chattering, readying himself for the inevitable strain heading in his direction. Taehyung works leisurely, conscientiously taking great care as he applies the medicine to his torso, the younger holding back a scream of agony at the sting. Taehyung’s other hand stays firm in Jeongguk’s palm, squeezing his hand soundly as to keep him somewhat distracted. “I’m sorry, Gguk,” he repeats as he retracts from the wound, finished with the application of the cream, “Hang in there.”

“I’m okay,” Jeongguk attempts to reassure, even if the frustrated glint in his eye gives him away quite quickly, pretty pink lips curling into a glower, withstanding the pain, “I’m good.”

And that’s the way he always is, Taehyung supposes, concealing the pain. A superhero of all sorts, a symbol of peace, even past the superficial layer of his latex Spiderman suit. 

Taehyung is so incredibly in love. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“I’m going to work on a new prototype of the suit first thing tomorrow,” he remarks, grabbing a bandage from the kit, and unraveling it onto his hands. He whispers the words casually, as if they’d just been conversing about the weather—as if they had no weight, really. Because in reality—they don’t. He’d worked on Jeongguk’s original suit—studying up diligently on all the Physics and Chemistry and whatever else that was necessary to go into the thing—in sheer desperation to help his beyond stressed best friend out at the time. Making a new and improved one would be nothing—especially if it meant that Jeongguk would be more protected, and less prone to all these heart wrenching lesions. “I’ll drop by the lab.”

“Tae,” Jeongguk mewls, visibly upset—as Taehyung predicted he would be. Though the latter is aware that the superhero has pretty much come to terms with the fact that Taehyung is very much a part of his Spiderman life now—is essentially his partner in crime, his sidekick—he still doesn’t quite enjoy it, nor approve of it—ever the protective of the older, “you don’t need to. I can work on it by myself. I’m the one majoring in Physics here.”

“And I’m majoring in fashion,” Taehyung retorts pointedly, snorting. “I’d know more about suits than most people would, I’d like to think.” 

“I know, I know,” Jeongguk admits reluctantly, waving the older off, “but—”

“It’s just a suit, Gguk,” the latter interrupts, splaying his palms against the younger’s chest as he presses down the bandages. His skin is soft to the touch, supple—and if he hadn’t seen visually how badly Jeongguk was hurt, he wouldn’t quite know it from the feeling of his flesh alone—the skin feeling velvety, polished. He runs his red manicured fingers over the material of the wrap, ensuring it stays put on his stomach. “I promise you that none of your mortal enemies will come after me. They won’t even know I made it.”

There’s a moment of silence that transpires between them following that, and the older thinks, for a moment, that he’s won out in their little tussle. 

Unil Jeongguk stops him in his motions, large palms gripping firmly onto Taehyung’s wrist, wrapping around it tightly. 

The sudden obstruction makes Taehyung look up, eyes widening in confusion. 

“Tae,” he murmurs—and the proximity between them burns, the older acutely aware of just how close they are to one another. Jeongguk’s breath is hot on his face, his voice deep, rapsy as he speaks, “Love you a lot. Thank you.” 

And the words strike him painfully, reverberating in his mind, repeating over and over and over again as his heart rate speeds up and his cheeks flush into a bright, crimson red embarrassingly, even in spite of the fact that he’s heard Jeongguk say them to him several times. Because no matter how much he wants to hear that phrase fall from Jeongguk’s lips, how much he wants to hear him declare his love akin to the way he just did—he is acutely cognizant of the fact that Jeongguk doesn’t mean it that way, no, not in the way Taehyung so desperately covets. 

He knows that he’ll forever be nothing more than a best friend. 

So Taehyung laughs it off easily, breaking the unadulterated tension between them as he yanks his arm back clumsily—almost as if he were stung by a bee, or slapped in the face. “It’s fine, don’t mention it,” he waves the younger off, giggling somewhat uncomfortably in a weak attempt to seem nonchalant—masking any internal strife he feels deep down inside, “you absolute idiot.”

As awkward as the reaction might’ve been to Taehyung himself, though—Jeongguk doesn’t think anything of it, grinning as he winks. “Your idiot, though.” 

If only that were true. 

“My idiot,” Taehyung humors him regardless, though a sidelong glance at his tight lipped smile and clenched teeth would reveal his evident discomfort. He wraps the last strip of gauze around Jeongguk’s nose, booping him lightly when he finishes. “There,” he mumbles, satisfied with his work. He’s become an expert at this now, no longer needing to refer to the Wikihow page on how to clean up ugly bruises (in six steps), “all done.”

Jeongguk tips an imaginary hat at the completion of his best friend’s handiwork, standing up to jokingly salute him. “Thank you good sir,” he mimics something of a sergeant going to war as he speaks, and Taehyung can’t help the giggles that pour out of him in waves, “Your sacrifice will forever be remembered.”

“Dumbass,” the older responds—but there’s no actual malice behind the words as he shakes his head. He gazes up at his best friend, endeared. “Just go get changed.”

“Remember, your dumbass," Jeongguk remarks cheekily, and Taehyung pretends his cheeks doesn't burn at the notion of the younger boy being tethered to him—bound by a romantic relationship, "But will do,” the superhero concedes easily, moving to leave a small kiss on Taehyung’s forehead. The latter’s eyes involuntarily close at the display of affection—the feeling of Jeongguk’s lips against his skin imprinted deep into his memory—never to be forgotten, no matter how hard he ventures for it to be otherwise. “Catch you in a second.”

Taehyung hardly processes the quick exit, his mind still reeling from the peck—completely cemented in a Jeongguk-induced stupor. 

“Bye,” he mutters, long after the boy has already retreated to his room—far out of sight. 

He’s absolutely hopeless. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Despite being a superhero, Jeongguk thinks that the majority of his days are spent in the lab. 

Though perhaps not typical of a normal student (he is, admittedly, on the more nerdy and dorky side of the social hierarchy), it’s not so bad, he supposes. His entire reason for continuing into university was to learn more about Science anyways—so he guesses he’s merely accomplishing what he set out to do. 

Besides, he has Taehyung. And Taehyung makes everything better. 

The older boy is his lifeline, he thinks—his safe space, his rock when everything goes wrong—when he feels like the ground beneath him is crumbling and the sky is falling down—debris strewing onto Jeongguk and gnawing at him ruthlessly. 

And he’s eternally grateful for him—for his presence, his love, his warmth. Jeongguk doesn’t think he’d be here, truthfully, without him. 

When he was bullied back in elementary school, it had been Taehyung who’d taken charge of him—shielding him protectively from the dumb kids that sought to torment him. When his uncle had died, it was Taehyung who stayed over every single day with him—whispering words of affirmation in an attempt to provide any sort of solace, any sort of comfort away from the storm brewing in the depths of his mind, nearly consuming him. And when he’d been bitten by the radioactive spider, morphing into his newfound identity of Spiderman—a responsibility he was hardly prepared for, it’d been Taehyung who was relentless in his effort to support him in any way possible—refusing to let Jeongguk handle everything solo. 

Jeongguk feels, at times, that Taehyung is the true superhero between the two of them—the foundation bolstering the whole orchestration up. 

With the thought of his best friend in mind, he fastens his safety goggles and tugs on his lab coat easily—tightening the strap around the circumference of his head. His fingers graze over the smooth, black surface of the table in front of him—eyeing the line of beakers and flasks filled to the brim with various chemicals warily. 

His goal for the day is to work on strengthening the robustness of his webs, and perhaps the material of his suit, if he gets the time for it. Unfortunately, keeping his identity a secret means that all of his Spidey related work remains akin to a stealth operation—the superhero working substantially beyond conventional university hours to keep his travails covered. 

Going to university, at the very least, has made it profoundly more un-complicated. Back when he was in high school, his webs were made in a frantic fit—in the middle of class, actually—amalgamating chemicals in the drawers when his teacher wasn’t looking. His intellect was his salvation back then, granting him the ability to multitask quite fluidly—dodging his classmate’s intrusive eyes and judgemental glowers. 

Peering at his phone, momentarily—he realizes the time, a small gasp falling from his lips when he notices just how much of it he’d already wasted. Fueled by the pressure of beating the clock, he promptly gets started, engineering his web fluid as normal.

He doodles at the top of his paper, colossal bubble letters saying ‘WEB FLUID’, accompanied by a tiny ‘version 3.0.1.’ The process is quite simple, in his eyes, measuring out varying amounts of salicylic acid, toluene, methanol, h-heptane, carbon tetrachloride, potassium carbonate, sodium tetraborate, BHA and of course, the piece de resistance—silica gel, because he would never leave his webs unpurified (Taehyung would have a blast lecturing him about it). 

Having done this so many times now, he mindlessly grabs the toluene and methanol, stirring them together before bringing the mixture to a boil. He drums his fingers anxiously against the table as he waits for the bunsen burner to do its thing—whistling a quiet tune that Taehyung had been blasting the other day in their room, dancing around like a maniac. The recollection of the incident makes him smile, paints the silliest grin on his face. 

And it’s sort of nice, being in the lab. No pun intended, he feels in his element, here—feels completely one with himself, his introverted tendencies being satiated by the lack of human presence in the room. Being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman meant recognition and acclaim, of course, the boy being perfectly cognizant of the fame he harbors across the country.

But none of that adoration, that love is for Jeon Jeongguk. No, absolutely not. Spiderman is one person, but Jeon Jeongguk is a whole other one—is nothing more than an awkward dork who eats 6 cups of spicy ramen everyday, and binge watches Iron Man on the regular. 

People would probably be disappointed if they found out they were technically the same. 

With a dejected sigh, he refocuses his attention back to the bunsen burner, in a cowardly undertaking to avoid his deepest, darkfest feelings—as he normally does. The mixture is boiling considerably now, bubbles rising up to the top in a repeated, heated motion—which he takes as his cue to get moving. 

He’s about to grab the tongs when the sound of the door opening resounds through the lab, making him jolt in surprise as he moves to bind together all his notes—keeping them out of view. He nearly drops everything, folder almost splattering to the floor in an unfixable mess—but his quick reflexes keep the strewn out papers steady, catching them right before they hit the ground. 

The intruder clears his throat. 

“You good there?” Jeongguk hears, still hiding behind the desk, gripping tightly onto any sort of evidence that he is Spiderman. He recognizes the voice easily. Seokjin. 

“Just dandy,” he barely responds, standing up hesitantly—dusting himself awkwardly. He evades his pointed stare, opting to glower down at the table, instead. “You startled me.” 

“Uh huh,” Seokjin draws out, raising an eyebrow. Jeongguk hopes the strangely perceptive older boy will chalk down the odd incident to his usual clumsy antics. He feels the paper folding underneath the grip of nervous fingers, and man, he really has to remind himself that he has super strength, at times. 

A moment of silence transpires between them. 

“Are you making a present for Taehyung, or something?”

At the quite random remark, Jeongguk’s eyes widen—tilting his head in complete bafflement. “What?”

“I mean, I don’t know, I’m just thinking out loud here but,” Seokjin mumbles, picking at the dirt underneath his fingernails, “you freaked out when I opened the door. Kinda makes perfect sense to me.” 

There’s a sigh of relief that Jeongguk has to hold back, overjoyed at the fact that Seokjin hadn’t had his secret persona all figured out. But the reprieve is quickly eclipsed by sheer perplexity, still not fully grasping the older’s bizarre conclusion. “Fine, I understand the present thing but,” he mutters in response, dusting off his lab coat, “but why Taehyung, in specific?”  

“Well,” Seokjin starts, shrugging his shoulders, “he’s the only one who ever visits you here. You’re attached at the hip. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were plotting to give him the entire world, or something.” 

And it’s true, now that Jeongguk thinks about it—though he’s never quite viewed it that way before. Taehyung is the only one who does come to visit, making it a point to drop off food, clean up any evidence that Spidey was here, or leave a cute note on the rare occasion that the younger boy will fall asleep at the table—snoozing away in plain sight. 

It’s never dawned on Jeongguk that it means much of anything, however. Taehyung, most likely, visits solely because he’s the only person who knows of Jeongguk’s alter ego. 

“Nah, you’ve got the wrong idea,” the superhero stammers, though his response isn’t firm by any means, “Taehyungie is just nice. Maybe if you were nice too, you’d come visit more often,” he says the words offhandedly, knowing he’d very much prefer if the older boy didn’t come. As much as he loves him, he needs to keep identity a secret for right now—it takes priority over anything else. 

God knows what could happen to his friends if the truth was let out. The fear of anyone finding out that Taehyung is his best friend, and knows his identity, stays resilient, firm at the forefront of his mind. 

“Excuse me,” Seokjin scoffs, crossing his arms. He tips his nose to the sky—trying to appear as pompous as possible, “I just don’t feel like being a third wheel everytime I come here, is all. I would much rather spend my time elsewhere.”

A third wheel? Really? 

“Tae and I aren’t even that bad,” Jeongguk mumbles underneath his breath, fully offended at the remark. Him and Taehyung are best friends, just like any other set of best friends out there. “You’re just jealous.”

“Sure, let’s think of it that way,” the older boy retorts, snorting mockingly. Jeongguk narrows his eyes at him. “But I didn’t mention anything about you and Taehyung being the ones to make me feel like a third wheel, and yet you brought him up. Do with that what you will.” 

Jeongguk wrinkles his nose—entirely confused. Seokjin is making a big deal of nothing. It’s obvious he’d think of Taehyung, of course—they’d been talking about him only moments earlier. 

“That makes absolutely no sense,” he opts to say instead—entirely at a loss for words, wondering what direction this conversation decided to take. “What—”

Fortunately, Seokjin elects to ignore him—interrupting his words sans a second thought. “—Anyways,” he cuts in, adamant on sticking with his word, “I came here to tell you that—”

But before he can get a word out (Jeongguk thinks karma might be working in his favor, considering the sequence of events that had played out a few mere moments ago), the lab door rattles open again—slamming closed behind the interloper as they stride inside. The younger can no longer resist the urge to hissy fit, preparing himself to blow a gasket when the person speaks. 

“Hey,” an adorable voice murmurs—one that Jeongguk has familiarized himself with ever since he was a kid. The soothing timbre calms him down immediately, the superhero releasing his attack stance as quickly as he’d gotten into it, “Whatcha up to?” 

“Hi Tae,” and Jeongguk can hardly subdue, can hardly contain the grin that overcomes his face, always jovial when the older boy makes a visit. 

“And we lost him,” Seokjin mutters underneath his breath. Jeongguk resolves to overlook his attitude, however—too focused on his best friend. 

“Hey Ggukie,” Taehyung greets again—lips curling into a wide smile. He sets his bag and keys down on the lab table, moving towards the younger boy—presumably to bring him in for a hug. Before he makes the trip though, he hesitates—pausing, as if realizing he’s forgotten something. 

Abashedly, he turns towards Seokjin—cheeks pink, bordering on magenta, or scarlet. He looks like a strawberry, Jeongguk thinks. A really cute one. “And hi, Jin.”

The latter gawks at him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Feeling extremely loved right now.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung mumbles softly—mouth jutting out into a pout, one that makes him look extra ambrosial, in Jeongguk’s eyes. He wants to pinch him. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“I’m starting to regret it,” Seokjin mutters, not even trying to be discreet in regards to his obvious disdain. Jeongguk doesn’t exactly blame him for it, though. “Fuckin’ lovebirds.” 

“Do you need any help with work, Ggukie?” The superhero’s best friend culls to redirect the conversation, gazing knowingly at the disheveled papers scattered across the table. 

“My life saver, my everything, yes please,” Jeongguk responds on autopilot, before realizing his mistake. Their oldest friend couldn’t be present. He glances towards Seokjin, lips curling into an ‘o’ as he offers a helpless expression—as if to say, “But I can’t do anything with him here, Tae.”

The latter merely winks. 

“What would you even help him with?” Seokjin chimes in, glancing between the two of them pell-mell, eyes stopping on the fashion major, “His shitty pick up lines? Lord knows his flirting needs the assistance.” 

“—Hey,” Jeongguk starts, but is promptly hindered, “I can flirt—”

“—No, with Science,” Taehyung quips, tilting his head. He grimaces, as if not wanting to hear the younger speak any further. “Duh. We’re in a lab.”

“You’re that good at Science?” Seokjin sputters, throwing his hands up wildly, “I thought you were a fashion major!”

The superhero finds the shock on his friend’s face far too humorous, muffling a chuckle as he observes him. A smug countenance adorns his face as he rejoinders, crossing his arms, “Of course he’s good at Science, Jin,” he says, easily—all too proud of his best friend. Taehyung is the coolest, most intelligent person he knows. “Some days, he’s even better than me. ”

The consternation on Seokjin’s face multiplies at the revelation, his jaw dropping and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. He barely gets ahold of his words, voice low as he stutters, “Wha—”

“—We gotta work on his lab stuff, Jin, if you wouldn’t mind,” Taehyung intervenes, sighing at the obvious underestimation of his intelligence, “Gguk has a lab due at 11:59 today.”

The room falls silent. 

“Oh, okay then,” Seokjin maunders, though he’s visibly still stuck in a haze as he walks towards the exit—perhaps still suffering from complete astonishment. “See you tomorrow,” he scarcely manages to say, exiting the threshold of the door. 

Jeongguk breathes an exhale of absolute respite the moment he’s gone. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, relaxing back into his seat as he slumps over, “that was a close one.”

“You’re telling me,” Taehyung’s gaze hardens, clearing off the workspace, organizing Jeongguk’s notes. The latter musters an embarrassed, yet thankful grin. “You have to lock the door, Gguk. Be more careful!”

“I know, I know,” he waves his best friend off—having been scolded multiple times before this. “To be fair, I didn’t think anyone would come in besides you.”

The older giggles at that, sealing a flask as he speaks. “That’s true,” he concedes, “did you ever figure out why he came?”

“No clue,” Jeongguk replies—merely staring at his best friend while he sets everything up—ever the proactive when it comes to aiding the younger, “I think you scared him away with your talents before he could tell me what was up.” 

“Oops,” Taehyung respires, eyes scanning over the web fluid recipe as he rolls up his sleeves, “well, that’s alright. C’mon, let’s finish making you some more of this before dinner rolls around. Don’t want you starving again.”

And the older works through the motions naturally as he gets to commencing his task, with poise and grace. The younger admires him intensely, knows he’s fortunate to have such a sweet, kind person by his side—someone to always look after him, and ensure that he’s okay. 

He prays he’ll never take it for granted. 

“Thank you, Tae,” he feels the need to verbalize, giving his friend the best beam he can manage—overwhelmed with sheer appreciativeness. “For everything. You’re the best friend a superhero could ever have.” 

Jeongguk isn’t sure why Taehyung’s face falls at his remark. The sight makes the younger’s heart beat erratically, mind clouded with turbulence. 

Why does he look so sad?

“Don’t mention it,” he mumbles—obviously precluding Jeongguk’s gaze. His eyes are glossy, and the latter has no idea what he did, what he said to make him so emotional. The vision of it, however, pains him. “It’s what friends are for, right?”

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

“You guys are ridiculous,” Jimin doesn’t hesitate to say, zealously sipping on his bubble tea. Taehyung combats the urge to snicker at his struggles, observing how he can barely get the boba through the straw. Payback, he thinks, for forcing me to talk about this. “I can’t believe you haven’t told him yet. You’re practically a crime fighting married couple. Yoongi and I pale in comparison, and we’ve been dating for three years.”

A crime fighting married couple. If only he knew. 

“There’s nothing to tell, Chim,” Taehyung sighs, forestalling the older’s concerned gaze. “Everything is fine as it is now.”

“You and I both know that’s not true, Tae,” the affronted boy rebuts, aggressively slamming his boba onto the counter. The sudden movement makes the younger jolt. “How long are you going to keep torturing yourself by just being his friend? You’re in love with him.”

And it’s a good question, Taehyung supposes. Just how long was he going to keep this up?

Forever. 

It’s the first word that pops into his mind—the most candid, most honest of truths. He’ll keep it up forever, for eternity and for always—if that’s what it means to keep Jeongguk by his side. It’s a small price to pay. 

“Until he gets tired of me and replaces me with someone better,” Taehyung remarks dryly, with absolutely no hesitation—offering the less morbid of responses to his unsuspecting friend. He has come to terms with the reality of his romantic life. The minute Jeongguk comes home with an unrelenting grin on his face and a soft 'I’m in love, Tae’—finds someone more worthy of his love, more deserving of it, Taehyung will do his part and leave. It’ll be fine, he’s convinced himself, at this point. It’ll be completely okay. “I already have it planned out.” 

“To hell with your plan,” Jimin shakes his head in disappointment, leaning back in his chair. He crosses his arms judgmentally, lips pursed in blatant disapproval. Taehyung can hardly blame him, he supposes. “There’s no one better than you, Tae. You’re his lifeline. I’m sure he loves you back."

His lifeline. Maybe, he ruminates bitterly, it’s because I’m the only one who knows the truth.

“He definitely doesn’t,” Taehyung stays firm in his convictions—declining to hear the older boy out. And it’s not because he thinks the latter is an idiot—no. It’s because he physically cannot. It’s because if he dares to hear him out, if he dares to give his idea a chance, he’ll give himself the most lethal, most toxic and inexorable of weapons—hope. And if his hope is shattered, it’ll kill him, he’s sure of it. “I’m 1000% positive,” the younger boy leans back into his chair, expression softening as his mouth quirks up into a half-hearted smile, “Your intentions are great and I know you want to help me but,” he starts, mumbling, “I don’t want to mess up our friendship, so please just drop it, Chim.”

The older boy exhales defeatedly at that, distressed lips curling into a pout. He relents, picking up his bubble tea—a nonverbal affirmation of the fact that he’s pretty much relinquished the notion of a conversation, opting to look out the window, instead. 

It takes Jimin a moment to recoup—likely embittered from the rejection—but he’s back to his usual, animated self soon enough, opting to change the topic of conversation. 

“Fine,” he mutters, though there’s no malice in his words. It’s something Taehyung has always loved about the boy—how he respects the former’s boundaries, and prioritizes his comfort above anything else. “How’s your project going, then?” 

Right. His project. 

Fashion majors were required to take on several projects a semester, customarily—spaced out in even pieces. For this particular one, however, his teacher thought it best to assign her students a full length, longer one—conveniently due at the end of the school cycle. 

And, of course, much to the surprise of no one—the change in deadline ended up being a perfect enabler for Taehyung’s insane procrastination tendencies. 

Nevertheless, the younger imparts Jimin an indebted grin, thankful for the topic change. Thinking about how hopeless his situation with Jeongguk is for too long makes him antsy—he’s this out the difficult way. “It’s stressful,” he reveals, drumming his fingers against the cafe table, “I need to work on something for Gguk before I can touch it,” his mind veers back to the promise of the suit, and how he’d informed Jeongguk that he’d work on it before doing anything else. His safety first—always, “but that’s taking much longer than I thought and it’s stressing me out because I really need to get it done but I just,” he rambles on, the stress augmenting as he continues to speak about the subject matter, “I don’t know.”

He’s nearly out of breath by the time he’s finished—but Jimin doesn’t look all too surprised at the diatribe. Instead, his lips curl up into a sad smile, a small hand reaching out to interlock with Taehyung’s own. He rubs soft circles at the skin there while he talks, murmuring, “I would tell you to maybe prioritize yourself for once, but you wouldn't listen to me, would you?” 

Taehyung sighs—and the lack of audible response is enough to convey his reply. 

Oh, how I wish I could. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

“No need to engage in instant kill, today,” Jeongguk vaguely discerns from over the line, “Go to Jongno-gu, the attacker should be in the first building to the left."  

“Damn, I was looking forward to instant kill,” the younger jokes through his earpiece, shooting his webs at the Namsan tower, swinging over the building with ease. The job is easy, methodical more than anything else, at this point. A store robbery, Taehyung had briefed him before he left, an easy task for you. “What a tragedy.”

“You’re insufferable. I can’t believe you’re the same person who freaked out dramatically when I even installed that feature, in the first place,” Taehyung mumbles, but Jeongguk can tell he’s a ways short of completely cracking up—grin widening and eyes disappearing as he giggles, uncontrollably. Jeongguk can envision it, already. He loves when he smiles. “It’s a robbery, Ggukie. How much were you expecting?” 

“More action than this, that’s for sure,” he responds, voice low, calculated as he surveys the area with familiar expertise. The city, though marred by the chaos of evil, looks undoubtedly stunning under the light of the sun, and the way it reflects off of every skyscraper. He supposes there’s not much to the whole scene in front of them, just an older man running out of his shop, pointing at it with great disdain and distress as he bellows “Thief, thief!”

“Well, you’re not getting any today,” the older boy retaliates snarkily, and the bite in his words makes Jeongguk stop to giggle, endeared. His best friend is no scarier than a baby tiger, that’s for sure, “Now go save the city. Seoul is counting on you.” 

The reassurance, though small—an offhand comment that many wouldn’t exactly acknowledge—makes Jeongguk beam with absolute pride, absolute joy—makes him smile embarrassingly and resolutely as he slips his mask on, throwing his bag off to the side. 

“I would hardly call this one act of service as the equivalent of saving the city, but,” he starts, shooting out his webs as he prepares himself, ready to swing to the scene, “at your service, my liege.” 

There’s a pause—a moment of abrupt silence that greets Jeongguk over the line before a small breath, an airy “Idiot,” reverberates through the phone, the wisp of Taehyung’s voice fresh in the air, as if he were right next to him. “Such a damn idiot.”

A pause, and then, “Stay safe, Ggukie.”

The token of indulgence has the younger reeling, cheeks dusted red with sheer fondness because he’s so lucky, so so fortunate—he has the best friend in the world. 

“Always,” Jeongguk mumbles back, the wind knocked out of his lungs before he ends the call—refusing to hear Taehyung’s response—for fear that he’ll somehow be persuaded to not go, to run back to the latter and envelope him in his arms, shielding him from all the bad things in the world, just as he deserves to be. 

Rebuking himself for his far too sappy and unwanted thoughts, he shoots his web over to the next building, tugging his mask on protectively as the older’s words repeat at the forefront of his mind over and over again—on loop, akin to the rhythm of a consistent drum. 

Always. He hopes he never breaks that promise. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

On his good days, Taehyung sees Jeongguk multiple times, as opposed to the usual greeting in the morning, and the eventual return late into the evening—when he finally returns from wasting away in the lab, or patrolling around the city, hindering petty thieves and the crooks who tend to linger around banks and shops. 

Today, much to Taehyung’s absolute delight, is one of those said days—as Jeongguk stays situated next to him, the former’s head snuggled into the crook of his best friend’s shoulder. Visits to the dining hall they got to spend together were often depleted like this, wrapped up in the feeling of one another, touching in every way possible, from their heads down to their legs—Taehyung giggling softly to himself as he observes Jimin, across the table, and the superhero engage in their customary, silly antics.  

“Bet you can’t do five in a row,” Jeongguk mumbles, eyes hardening into a competitive scowl as he stares at Jimin, “Nobody can do three in a row. Not a human, anyways. Nearly impossible.” 

Jimin grins, lips curling up into a smirk as he mutters a small, nearly ephemeral “Watch me.” He twists the ammunition of choice in his hand—five bright, purple grapes—before throwing the first one up casually, his mouth immediately opening to retrieve the fruit. He repeats the process four more times, a smug simper settling across his features as he finishes up the last one, teeth chewing obnoxiously on the ill-fated grape. “Ha,” he crosses his arms, leaning back into his chair, “Take that, dimwit.” 

Jeongguk gapes, eyes crossing in ire before his hands reach into the tension-potent air, slamming down indignantly. The sudden movement makes Taehyung flinch from beside him—a trivial little motion that has the younger calming immediately, palms retracting from the wood to grab onto his best friend, grazing his skin, affectionately. “Sorry, Taehyungie,” he mumbles apologetically, gazing down at the older boy—before redirecting his eyes towards the athletic beast in front of him, “Small fry over here has gotta be cheating. There’s no way.” 

“Who are you calling small fry, meathead?” Jimin retorts pettily, scoffing, “And would you two stop being so disgustingly cute?” He mutters, gesturing towards their current position. Taehyung tenses. “Yoongi isn’t here right now and I feel lonely.” 

And normally, Taehyung would have thought nothing of the snide comment—would not have batted an eyelash, really, all too accustomed to Jimin’s usual teasing remarks in regards to him and his best friend. 

But this time, his heart stops. 

Because at the comment, Jeongguk’s nose contorts with perplexity, scrunching inwards as he speaks, “Why does everyone say that?” He questions—a tinge of barely-there annoyance lacing his voice, his fingers thrumming against the table uneasily, “Jin said the same thing a couple days ago.” 

Taehyung ignores the throb that threatens to pierce his heart, his heading pounding in anxiety. 

“Probably because you guys are literally attached at the hip,” Jimin retaliates smoothly, his tone judgemental, as if Jeongguk should somehow know better, “I’m surprised you aren’t married with ten kids, yet. Who would you even date, if not your bestest friend on the planet?”

“Chim,” Taehyung tries to warn—nearly sitting up in a frantic daze, holding up a palm, as if physically stopping him. He already knows this won’t end well, already knows that he’s going to be subject to the doom of heartache if Jimin continues any further—provokes Jeongguk any more, “don’t—”

“You’re right,” Jeongguk giggles in response, “Taehyungie is the bestest out there. Whoever ends up with him is going to be really lucky.”

“Oh my god,” the fashion major breathes an obvious sigh of relief, wilting on the table as he calms himself down. Thank god, he thinks, anxiety abated, even if he’s the most oblivious person in the world. “Shush, Gguk.”

“No, no, it’s true,” the younger murmurs, voice deep, raspy as he smiles down at his best friend. His head looks down to gaze at the older, long black hair falling forward and framing his eyes, lips quirked up into a bright grin in a way that has Taehyung breathless, has him nearly shivering because Jeongguk is stunning, ethereal beyond words, “You only deserve the best.” 

There's stillness in the air—a moment of complete silence at the table as they lock eyes with one another—orbs unrelenting, Taehyung’s heart beating rapidly in anticipation, afraid, afraid that if this moment passes, everything will go to hell again and he can’t live in his fantasy where Jeongguk likes him back, where the smile he beams is reserved for him and ‘the best’ that he speaks about is himself.

“Hello,” Jimin interrupts, waving his arms frantically—snapping Taehyung out of his unnecessarily lovelorn and dramatic Jeongguk-induced haze, “I’m right here, you know.” 

“Oh,” Jeongguk voices out, tone afflicted, as if caught off guard, “But anyways, as I was saying, Taehyung deserves much better than me. I’m no match for such an angel.” 

“Bullshit,” the shorter boy from across the table rebuts, jarringly, “Who else would you even be a match for?” 

“Hm,” Jeongguk hums, and the buildup is enough to make Taehyung crazy—enough to make his palms sweaty, eyes glued shut in complete agitation, “probably like, Kim Namjoon or something,” the younger finally settles on saying, satisfied with his answer as he ceases his enervated finger tapping. “He’s cute.”

And the mention of the popular, older male isn’t one that surprises Taehyung. Much to his absolute chagrin, he is quite aware that Jeongguk has harbored an intense admiration, near-crush for the guy since his freshman year of university. The older had already gone through the motions, had experienced the heartbreak of the revelation, had relished in the guttural and painful feeling of his heart cracking in two, nearly broken beyond repair because of what would be the most miniscule of remarks to an average, perhaps not marred by lovesick person—yet the dull ache of the matter remains, jabbing furiously at him as Jeongguk talks. 

Taehyung lifts his head off the superhero’s shoulder, discouraged. 

“What?” Jimin questions immediately, and Taehyung has to resist the urge to send him a less than pleasant death stare—a disgruntled one, as if to say ‘haven’t you done enough for today?’ “Namjoon?” 

“I just think he seems very husband material, is all. I’ve been thinking about talking to him,” Jeongguk mumbles, the apples of his cheeks morphing into a bright scarlet—a red that crushes Taehyung’s hopes, renders him doleful, averting his gaze from the infatuated male. 

Akin to fragile glass, his heart shatters. 

Jimin gazes at him with pity. 

“But I don’t think I’ll end up going through with it,” Jeongguk eventually huffs, realizing he’s been greeted with complete silence, “Romance never works out for me, anyways,” he moves to retract his words, and the disappointment sprinkled within them has Taehyung wanting to reach out and hold him—even if the younger would rather have someone else’s arms around him, perhaps, “Too much of a hassle, you know. Remember that time I dated—”

The loud blare of an alarm reverberating through the air has the three of them jolting, limbs flailing up in surprise—an interruption Taehyung is grateful for, given the circumstances. 

The sound, however, is one that is all too familiar to him. 

“Shit,” Jeongguk mutters under his breath, sending a sidelong glance towards Taehyung. A spidey alert, of course. He scrambles berserkly, gathering his belongings faster than either of them could blink. “I gotta go.” 

“Is everything okay?” Jimin moves to question, eyes glossed over in concern. “What happened—”

But his words are cut off before he can finish them, Jeongguk slinging his backpack over his back, “Nothing, nothing,” he reassures, breathing heavy from the cursory movements, “Tae,” he whispers, in the midst of the chaos—a knowing gaze adorning his features, “please let my professor know I had an emergency. I’ll see you guys later.” 

And as if he were never there in the first place, the superhero disappears—jogging out the dining hall doors, and into the outside. 

Jimin pierces through the awkward silence. 

“That kid is far too oblivious for his own good,” he mutters, popping a piece of a pocky stick into his mouth, “I’m sorry, Tae,” he mumbles, sending the younger boy an apologetic smile, “he’ll come around one day. I just know it.”

And the words of affirmation, though he knows Jimin means them positively has Taehyung chafing, teeth grinding in vexation as he holds back his diatribe, his rant that you are the oblivious one here and that Jeongguk will never like me, can’t you see? 

But with all the self-control vested in him, he stays put. 

“No, Chim,” he breathes out, despondently, “I know, I know you mean well but—there’s been enough heartache for today. Just don't,” he stammers, voice coming across much more broken than he'd intended on, "don't get my hopes up." 

“But Tae—”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Taehyung mewls, though there’s a sense of guilt abiding at the back of his mind—a plea to stop as he voice raises one notch too many, “He said Namjoon was cute, not me. He doesn’t think we’d be good together.”

“Tae—”

“—Please,” he respires, his voice firm, airy—as if helpless, his tone adamantine. There’s tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, lips on the verge of quivering and though it’s slightly overdramatic, he finds that he cannot help it. It's been months, years at this point—but he can't get over Jeongguk, can't get over the anger, the frustration that claws at him. “just, stop. Okay? I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

And though he certainly wishes to speak more, Taehyung can tell as much, Jimin concedes reluctantly, pulling into himself. 

“Okay,” he finally relents, dejected, “whatever you want, bub. Whatever you want. I'm here for you.” 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Though perhaps theatrical, or melodramatic in nature, Taehyung finds himself strolling through the streets of Seoul desperately—sauntering around the city to rid himself of the twinge of the discomfort that resides at the back of his heart, following his conversation with Jimin. 

He doesn’t know why his best friend’s lack of reciprocation bothers him so much, even after all these years. 

Jeongguk had been with people before today—it wasn’t a new thing for him to find someone cute, to look into a potential love interest. There was Hongjoo from their 1st year of high school, a timid, cold girl—one who hadn’t spoken more than two words to Taehyung throughout the duration of their relationship. They’d broken up when Jeongguk got bit by the spider—citing his newfound ‘emotional distress’ as cause for concern—a distraction, as he said, that meant he couldn’t spend time with her. 

And while that had been his only committed relationship to date, too jarred by his impromptu superhero job to give himself, including his identity, to anyone completely—it hadn’t meant that he stopped involving himself with others romantically. When he found out more in regards to his sexuality, sometime towards the end of high school, he flirted around zealously—experiencing new things with guys, going to parties with them, then promptly ditching them when work called (not that he could help it—Taehyung thinks he'd do the same). 

That time period, Taehyung remembers, was the most painful of them all—mainly because it seemed as if his best friend had eyes for everyone but him. 

So now? Kim Namjoon? This should be nothing. Nothing more than a speed bump, as opposed to a major obstruction in the path to Jeongguk’s heart. Taehyung is pretty sure that the dude is taken by a junior named Hoseok, anyways—having seen them holding hands in the hallways more than a few times. And besides, the older boy reasons, Jeongguk had already somewhat retired the idea of speaking to the intelligent male, regardless of his attraction. He didn’t seem serious about going through with it—not in the way Taehyung knows he would be, had he really intended on dating Namjoon. 

And yet, despite coming out of the whole thing relatively unscathed, his mind, in the most utterly useless fashion, betrays him completely—leaving him in the dust as he curls into himself, fighting off the frigid, windy air. 

On the bright side, at the very least, Taehyung finds that the view of the city surrounding him is nothing short of beyond stunning—a plethora of buildings lining the sidewalks prettily. It’s a vision straight of a movie scene, he thinks, with puffy white clouds dimming the rays of the sun from above him, and vegetation sparkling in a gorgeous sage green. He can hear people walking around him on their way to and fro, and even if there isn’t a particular person or thing he’s looking at, it doesn’t feel quite like he’s alone—so perhaps, he supposes, that aspect of the walk helps. 

He tries to convince himself that there are more pressing matters to tend to—such as his semester project, which still remains untouched, and Spidey’s new suit that needs to be designed—but his efforts are fruitless, his brain still adhered to the one idea. 

Jeongguk. 

Jeongguk, Jeongguk, Jeongguk. 

The word rings in his mind over and over again in a steady rhythm—as if a band, of sorts, were playing the same song on loop, tirelessly, endlessly. It’s akin to a tunnel that never ceases, an escape room minus the escape—latching onto Taehyung like a leech, sucking the life out of him. 

It doesn’t help, of course, that with his alter ego being Spiderman, his best friend is everywhere—plastered onto the sides of the walls, dazzling from gargantuan billboards, stuck on the fronts of balloons and—wait a minute, what?

Swinging right towards Taehyung. 

Before he can blink—can question whether or not he’s hallucinating, contriving images of the love of his life in sheer desperation, in a feeble attempt to be less lonely, perhaps—the boy is landing on his feet in front of Taehyung, the outline of a smirk visible through his mask. 

“Hey there,” he hums—his voice falling octaves deeper in his superhero attire, gravelly with exhaustion, presumably from watching over the city, “a little birdy told me you were feeling stressed about a certain project, Mr. Kim?”

Unfortunately, however nicely intended the surprise visit was, however, the appearance of his friend from the sky is one that startles him embarrassingly—limbs falling forward in a moment of weakness as he screams out a “Jesus Christ!” 

His head jolts down in reflex painfully as he braces himself for a fatal meeting with the concrete beneath him, eyes scrunched shut painfully. He thinks he’s probably about to die as he continues to fall further and further, almost as if he were moving in slow motion—until he feels a set of large palms wrapping around his waist, holding him steady. 

The feeling of being in Jeongguk’s arms is one that renders Taehyung breathless. 

Despite his mask covering most of what the latter’s eyes can catch of the boy, the feeling of his muscular, taute arms wound tightly around his hips has him shivering—his heart rate augmenting steadily, moving a mile a minute, to the point where he fears it’ll jump out of his chest and straight to his demise. His eyelashes flutter open in reflex, gazing up at the superhero nervously whose face is only inches, mere centimeters away and Taehyung thinks he can’t breathe because Jeongguk is right there, is no more than a hair away with his biceps flexing underneath the older’s back, grip tightening around the small of his waist. 

Taehyung thinks he cannot speak. 

Jeongguk’s gaze softens instantly once he realizes that Taehyung isn’t actually going to get injured by their collision, a soft giggle passing the lips of the young hero as he intensifies his hold on the latter. 

The touch burns. 

“Woah there, tiger,” Jeongguk breaks the silence, murmuring lowly—and the older wonders, for a moment, where his nerdy, dorky and awkward best friend went off to—evidently replaced by this confident imposter. “Slow your roll. I’m supposed to be saving the citizens of Seoul, not hurting them.”

At the cheesy comment, the older snaps out of his trace—rolling his eyes as he pushes himself up and out of the superhero’s hold. “Idiot,” he mutters, once finally stabilized—wiping the imaginary dust off his shoulders to seem relaxed, nonchalant, “What are you doing here, Jeongguk—”

Before he can realize his stupidity, however, his best friend is scrambling to stop him—pressing a tender finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he whispers, borderline aggressively. Taehyung can’t blame him, though. If anyone were to hear his name, his safety could very well be compromised. A sense of guilt tugs at him. “Don’t…” Jeongguk draws out, glancing around the vicinity uneasily, as if searching for an out. 

Seemingly having an idea, he straightens his posture, placing his hand dramatically on his hips. 

“Fear not, fellow citizen!” He bellows—a yell that has Taehyung shrinking into himself, his temples hurting from the sheer sonority of his voice. The older, though still recovering from the auditory impact, finds the tenacity to muster up a hard, judgemental glare. Why am I in love with him again?

“I will take you to safety!” Jeongguk continues with his comic affirmation, and his roaring declarations have gathered up plenty of stares—some in awe at the fact that Spiderman is right here, others being simply perplexed. Taehyung doesn’t blame the confused ones. He’d be right there with them. “Don’t be worried!”

“What are you—” the older tries to get in, his eyebrows raised in amusement at the image of Jeongguk looking so terribly idiotic. 

The superhero doesn’t give him a chance for any inquiries, though, instead cutting him off once again. “Don’t ask any questions,” he mutters, voice authoritative now—and the change in timbre has Taehyung reeling, has him sweating because he sounds far too attractive for the latter’s own good, for his very sanity. “Just grab on,” he commands, gesturing towards his torso expectantly.

The implication of his demand, however, has Taehyung utterly baffled. 

“What?” He opts to ask instead, eyes blown wide in disbelief, “What do you mean ‘grab on’?”

“I mean,” Jeongguk sighs, nodding down towards his body again. “Jump onto me, and wrap your legs around my waist. You’re gonna have to hold on tightly.”

The clarification makes things worse, however, and it isn’t very long before Taehyung’s mind is acting up in rumination—conjuring all the worst possible scenarios in his head. What if I smell bad? He thinks, ridiculously, hysteria overcoming him. Or I can’t fight off the stupid urge to like, kiss him? 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Taehyung tries to object—albeit a bit desperately, waving his hands up uncontrollably, “I can just walk home, Mr. Spidey—”

“Tae—” Jeongguk starts, before he too realizes his error, cursing under his breath. “Mr. Kim,” he begins again, the depth of his voice making Taehyung shiver in a completely involuntary response, “let me bring you back to safety, please.” 

“Safety from what—”

“Oh for god’s sake, c’mere,” Jeongguk murmurs assertively, strained, muscular biceps reaching out to wrap back around Taehyung’s waist, bringing the older boy towards his chest until they’re only millimeters apart—breathing in each other’s air, gazing into each other’s eyes. 

As if possessed by his fantasies, Taehyung jumps on with no reluctance, wrapping his legs around Jeongguk’s waist. 

“And please,” the latter mutters, holding Taehyung’s stare for an elongated moment—his tone softening, “don’t look down,” he whispers between them, finally averting his eyes and looking up overhead, eyes settling on the building right in front of them. 

He reaches a hand out to the sky, and shoots out his webs. 

The jump off the ground is immediate—a sudden jolt before the two of them are, quite literally, flying around the city, Jeongguk working swiftly as he shoots his webs repeatedly. The air around them is terribly frigid from the increased altitude, wind blowing vigorously on the older’s face, swooping his blonde locks around messily—but Taehyung cannot say he’s complaining. No, not really. 

Because as he swings around with Jeongguk—shifting from building to building, the feeling of warmth and protection encompassing him whole with the security of the younger’s hand on his waist—he imagines as if he were lost in a dream world. It’s a picturesque, sort of chimera of a life where he is Jeongguk’s and Jeongguk is his and they’re together, running off into the sunset where there’s nothing to think about and no emotions to combat. Only them two, the sway of the trees around them, the bustle of the life below, the heat of the dazzling sun. 

And it’s utterly beautiful. 

It’s gorgeous, and it’s over far too quickly for Taehyung to be satiated—the two of them bypassing rooftop to rooftop before landing on a secluded one on the farther outskirts of the city. The touch down on the pavement is an astonighly graceful one, Jeongguk slowly lowering the older to the pavement—meticulously, as if Taehyung were a fragile doll, one that couldn’t be harmed in any way, or there’d be hell to pay. It's a landing of practiced ease, the webbing falling to the floor of the building they landed on—the hero pulling Taehyung closer, enveloping both arms tightly around his waist, resting his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder. 

The older thwarts the crimson that threatens to litter his cheek, overwhelmed by the care his best friend shows him, that he never fails to show—every single day. 

If only it weren’t platonic. 

“There,” Jeongguk is circumspect in the way he lets Taehyung go, skillfully making sure he’s stable and anchored to the ground before removing his arms from around him. The latter pretends, in his head, that the loss of his touch doesn’t feel physically painful—doesn’t ache miserably, the earlier heartache reappearing. It’s funny, Taehyung thinks, He’s the one who causes it, yet is simultaneously the only one who can make it go away. “We should be safe now.”

“Great!” Taehyung responds sarcastically—embittered from his hurt, and overwhelmed from the sudden movement, he supposes. “Wanna explain what the sudden swing session was about?”

“Oh, that,” the superhero awkwardly mumbles, and any indignation the older harbors immediately dissipated—washed away into thin air. It’s not his fault, Taehyung. Calm down. “Sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, “Just needed an out, in case anyone heard you say my name. It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

For you. 

Of course it was. 

And that’s the very thing Taehyung loves so much about Jeongguk. He’s the most selfless being in the world, most kind-hearted entity to walk this planet. It’d always be for someone else. 

He promptly swoons. 

“No, no, sorry I, uh,” he responds, abashedly, “I almost messed things up for you, I am the one that should be saying sorry.” His lips jut out into a pout—curling upwards. Jeongguk smiles. “I guess I was just a little startled,” he tacks on, “I’ve never gone with you before, you know?” 

“I know,” Jeongguk affirms, moving forward, sliding his mask off. He makes it look like a fashion shoot, or something ridiculously fancy akin to that, with the way his longer black hair falls out of the fabric, cascading down sublimely. Taehyung nearly has a heart attack on the spot. “I didn’t want to take you, but it seemed like the better option than running away and leaving you alone.”

He meanders over to the edge of the rooftop, seating himself down. 

Taehyung follows suit. 

The declaration Jeongguk made, however, has his mind littered with confusion. “Why didn’t you want to take me?” the older boy asks, settling next to Jeongguk. His tone is bewildered, tilting his head as he faces the younger. “I mean like, did you intentionally not bring me all these years?”

Jeongguk huffs, looking back at Taehyung slowly, before grabbing onto his hand—interlocking their fingers together. The breeze blows his hair around lightly as he gazes, locks of black drifting with the wind. “Yeah, I purposely didn’t take you, for your safety,” he admits, sighing. “I didn’t want you to be seen with me, I guess?” The confession, though likely reasonable, stings slightly—Taehyung having to resist the urge to curl into himself, protectively. “I was scared that somehow someone would make the connection that I knew you personally, or you were important to me somehow, if I wasn’t taking you away from immediate danger.” 

There’s a moment of silence that transpires between them, before Jeongguk cuts through it again.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters once more, squeezing Taehyung’s palm. He averts his eyes, his stare settling on the horizon in front of him. “I know it probably feels like I’m ashamed of you or something, but I promise I’m not, Tae. I’d love to bring you everywhere with me, I really would.” 

And there’s a part of Taehyung that wants to laugh, wants to giggle to the world because what do he and Jeongguk sound like if not lovers—if not two souls who are romantically linked, bound by the pretense of a relationship? 

Snap out of your fantasies, he reprimands himself, he’s just being a good best friend. 

“Don’t worry about it,” the older boy eventually speaks out, mouth contorting into a wide grin, bringing his and the superhero’s interlocked hands closer to his torso, “I mean it,” he whispers, his other hand reaching out to Jeongguk’s face, turning it towards him, “I know you’re not ashamed of me, Ggukie. You’re only doing what’s best for me. I get that.”

The younger’s eyes meet his again, blowing wide in sheer excitement. “You do?” 

“Mhm,” Taehyung affirms, removing his palm, easily, “but just so you know, I can protect myself a little more than you think, you know? I’ll smack any bad guy that tries to come near me.”

Jeongguk’s lips quirk up at the remark, morphing into a lopsided smile. “I know you can, feisty tiger,” he chuckles, slouching back comfortably, “I just like watching over you, too. Feel powerless when I can't. Because I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.” 

Taehyung thinks Jeongguk always finds a way to leave him speechless like this—to leave him hanging and lovesick because how can he say these things? How can he be so gentleman-like and affectionate, yet not expect Taehyung to fall head over heels in love?

It’s certainly not fair, from the older’s perspective. 

Noticing the laconism that has made itself known between the two of them, Jeongguk continues. “But, now that you have gone swinging with me,” he starts, swinging his legs against the edge of the rooftop, “did you like it? Did it make you feel less stressed?”

Liking it? That’d be an understatement, Taehyung thinks. 

“I loved it,” he answers, truthfully, “It was like a dream, or something. I can see why you love it so much.” 

Jeongguk looks entirely too satisfied with that response, beaming with pride as he nods, happily. “I’m so glad to hear that!” He exclaims—and his giddiness is infectious, the younger boy teeming with joy. 

“As for the stress thing,” Taehyung continues, his eyes crinkling in sheer happiness, “I would definitely say it helped, Mr. Spidey. Who’s the little birdie who told you I was feeling down?” 

“Oh, just Jimin,” Jeongguk reveals the culprit, his free hand reaching up to comb through his hair, casually, “He told me you left lunch early, said you weren’t feeling good. I found you as soon as I could.” 

“That’s sweet of him and you but,” the older acknowledges his best friends’ efforts, undoubtedly grateful, “I’m okay. You don’t need an extra burden to worry about while you’re doing superhero duties, Ggukie.” 

“You’re not a burden, Tae,” his response is immediate, assertive. His eyebrows furrow at the remark, as if disappointed that Taehyung would even imply such a ludicrous thing. “You’re my best friend. I want to be there for you.” 

Best friend. There are those dreaded words again, Taehyung thinks. 

He tries his hardest to ignore them. 

“And I’m thankful for it, but,” Taehyung looks down at their still intertwined hands, his words utterly failing him, “it’s okay. You do more than enough already.”

Jeongguk respires uneasily at that, but nods anyways—as if finally conceding to the older’s wishes. Taehyung knows he isn’t really going to stop, though—having familiarized himself with his best friend’s intense stubbornness. 

“You know,” the younger whispers into the cold, his words coming out slowly—as if carefully calculated. He nods towards the sky in front of them, eyes crinkling into a smile, “a lot of the times, when I’m alone and stressed on a Spiderman mission, I stop and look at the sunset on the nearest rooftop.”

Taehyung looks up at that, his eyes following Jeongguk’s line of sight, stopping when they reach the horizon. It’s a breathtaking view from up here—a swirl of magenta and lavender meeting at the tops of buildings, akin to cotton candy, dotted with sprinkles made out of stars. There’s nothing but serenity—the low hum of city hustle and bustle in the background barely noticeable, the woes of the day disappearing before his eyes.

Taehyung understands why Jeongguk would love taking a break here, for a while. 

“I know I don’t get to be here as much I would like to because I’m Spidey,” he continues, mumbling, “so maybe when you’re sad, or stressed—you can look at the sunset, too. Maybe that’ll help.”

And the sentiment is so little—nothing more than a cute suggestion, objectively—but the thought behind it makes Taehyung’s heart run, makes it flip and jump for joy because Jeongguk is so lovely, so easy to love and easy to admire that it nearly pains him, nearly annihilates him that he can’t show his love to the younger boy in the way he so rightfully deserves. 

Withstanding the everlasting compulsion to throw himself onto the superhero, Taehyung elects to use his words, instead. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice potent with love—attempting to convey all these emotions he feels, all the gratitude he holds. He moves closer to the boy, letting his head fall onto Jeongguk’s shoulder, snuggling it into the crook of his neck. “Thank you so much, Ggukie. For being here.”

The younger smiles down at him, pressing another squeeze into Taehyung’s palm before murmuring, “For you? Always.” 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

“Do you have everything?” Taehyung asks for what seems like the thousandth time in a row, his tone nervous—as if he were going to go into cardiac arrest at any moment now, “Can I help with anything?” 

Jeongguk thinks it’s adorable. He also thinks the older could be overreacting slightly, too. He’s been called for missions more serious than some half-assed villain named Venom, of all things. Green goblin, for example. Now that was a tough one. 

“Yes, mom,” he culls to say instead, knowing that had he been in the older’s position, he’d be freaking out in the same exact manner. “I promise, I have everything.” 

Taehyung sighs, leaning back into the doorway of their shared apartment, “I’m just worried, Ggukie. I know you said this Venom guy seems stupid, but,” he expresses vehemently, biting onto his nails in apprehension, “I’m getting a weird vibe from him. I think he might be more dangerous than you think.” 

The younger pauses in his movements, waiting to slide his mask on. He turns towards his best friend, cocking his head. “The way I see it, Taehyungie,” he mumbles, expression softening—trying to be as comforting as possible. It can’t be easy, being worried about your other half—your bestest friend in the whole world—all the time, he understands, “even if I am underestimating him, it’s not like I can refuse to go. I’ll have to fight him off, anyways, so I might as well be more calm as I do it. You remember what happened the last time I tried to fight a villain when I was crazy stressed, don’t you?”

Three years ago. One of his first missions, actually—a guy named Sandman. Jeongguk had tripped over his fight in unadulterated distress so many times that the man actually made fun of him, asking if he was a real superhero, or just an imposter wearing a suit. 

It took his self-esteem quite a while to recover from that one. 

“And I know that,” Taehyung agrees, propping himself up and off the door again, moving towards Jeongguk in slow, steady steps, “but you can be more prepared to face him. You’re always so reckless, Ggukie. You need to care for yourself, too.” 

Jeongguk smiles at the concern the older always seems to show, finding it nice to have someone fawn over him so much. While everyone else’s safety is a top priority for him, it’s comforting to know that someone is looking out for him, too—even if he hates the fact that Taehyung has involved himself so much in his secret life, worried that he’ll be endangered due to it. 

He means it when he says Taehyung is his rock, his anchor—his home. 

“C'mere, Tae,” he walks towards the boy, holding out his arms open. He nearly coos when the older runs into them, snuggling his head into the expanse of Jeongguk’s chest. His hands fall to Taehyung’s small waist, holding onto it, as tight as he can.“M’gonna be fine,” he murmurs above the shell of Taehyung’s ear, hoping he hears the sincerity of his voice, “I promise.”

“I just get worried,” Taehyung’s voice is muffled as he speaks, voice low—yet audibly overwhelmed with emotion. Jeongguk’s heart constricts painfully at the sadness in it. “I want you to be safe.”

“And I will,” he reassures again, leaning down to leave a kiss on Taehyung’s forehead. The habit of doing so is one that’s been around for some time now—beginning from when they were in middle school, and Taehyung had his heart broken by some dumb, irrelevant guy who he hardly remembers the name of (yet still pisses the superhero off to this day). It’s the best way to calm him down, Jeongguk has noticed. “Okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a moment, but eventually Taehyung replies, shakily. “Okay,” he mutters. 

“Great,” Jeongguk pulls back, though he really doesn’t want to, leaving another kiss on his forehead for good luck, “now I’m gonna go kick his ass, and you’re gonna wait for me here so we can come back and binge shows together, alright? And please order pizza. I'm starving.”

And though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, Taehyung musters up some semblance of a grin—his cheeks dusted pink in embarrassment. “You better, Jeon Jeongguk. Or you won’t hear the end of it from me.”

The younger nods in agreement, turning around to face the window. He opens the glass pane, leaping onto the divider before turning around. “Bye, Tae,” he maunders, winking cheekily. Taehyung rolls his eyes at the gesture. “See you soon.”

Before he does something stupid, akin to staying behind with his best friend, and letting the police handle Venom (which he is certain they will not be able to)—his three fingers splay out in front of him, and he shoots his webs. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Taehyung has been pacing around his room for three hours now. 

There’s a small, irrelevant voice, at the back of his mind, telling him that he doesn’t need to worry so much—that his mind is lost, clouded with needless solicitude and that Jeongguk is safe and sound, merely recovering from the injuries he undoubtedly sustained while fighting a serious villain. 

And had the boy been one to follow his only sense of rationality, perhaps he would’ve calmed down. 

But his intuition overpowers him. 

The entire day, Taehyung could not rid himself of the ugly and dominating feeling that Venom is absolutely no good—that he is a force to be reckoned with, a man much more powerful, more resolute than Jeongguk could possibly fathom. 

His thoughts were only verified, of course, when it had gotten to the one hour milestone since the younger boy’s departure—with absolutely no sign of his return, nor the notion that he’d even completed the mission. Taehyung had wanted to freak out then, overcome with outrageously negative thoughts—but he kept himself cool, attempting to appease himself with the reminder of the fact that Jeongguk has been gone for much longer than this before—upwards of five hours during one mission, actually. 

By the two hour mark, however, he couldn’t keep his agitation internalized any more, opting to bombard the superhero with a farcical amount of phone calls—all of which went completely unanswered. 

And so his aforementioned frenetic pacing began. 

With his teeth chattering, and nails now bitten down to unattractive stubs, Taehyung cannot physically hinder himself from ambulating embarrassingly around the room, mind overwrought with horrible images and idiotic ideas—such as going to find the superhero himself. He knows very well that Jeongguk would never forgive him if he did such a thing—yet the possibility of it lingers in his brain, as if it were a delectable temptation—one he can hardly resist. 

He could just need to rest, he attempts to elucidate the situation in his head, and his phone could’ve died. Yeah, that’s probably it. 

No matter how hard he tries, however, he eventually ends back at square one—pessimism plaguing his better intellectual capabilities, rendering him a panicked mess. His entire body began to quiver, really, at a certain point, and whether it be from the cold air flooding in from the window, or the sheer restlessness leaving his insides tumbling—Taehyung could not quite discern which. All he knows is Jeongguk isn’t home, and that’s not okay. 

He’s losing his mind. 

It’s not like Jeongguk to be radio silent—to not, at the very least, let Taehyung know that he’s okay. The superhero had always made a point to leave the older out on more serious missions, to ensure his safety in case Jeongguk had ended up compromised in some sort of way—but he’d always send him something, anything—just to let him know that he was alive.  

There’s none of that, this time around. And it’s killing Taehyung. 

Eventually, he resigns himself from his panic-ridden walk around their apartment, scanning his room to see if there’s something, anything he could go to get a hold of Jeongguk’s condition. The news reports are of no use, at the current—only mentioning that a fight was happening outside of the Namsan tower, and that they could not get close to the scene—but the loud drone of the reporter makes for good white noise while he figures out a solution. 

The phone lying stagnant on his bed acts a desirable temptation—the only course of action recurring to his scattered brain, beyond the suicide mission of sprinting out the door like a maniac and searching for the boy himself. He knows his efforts will likely be futile, trying to call Jeongguk again, but the itch to fight off his present state of idleness reigns supreme, Taehyung making his decision on the matter in seconds. 

His steps are tentative as he pads over to the device, eyes glued tightly shut, for fear that if he opened them, his worst nightmares would somehow come true. He feels for the phone, palms frazing over the satin sheets, respiring shakily once he grabs a hold of it. 

He opens his eyes, peering down at the phone. 

….calling: my idiotic hero <3 

The next few seconds are perhaps the longest of Taehyung’s life—seconds miraculously turning into hours as he waits, waits impatiently for the line to connect, waits to hear the sweet raspiness of Jeongguk’s voice, of his sweet, loving tone and soft words.

And when his wish is granted—his heart stops. 

Before dropping in disappointment. 

“You’ve reached the phone of Jeon Jeongguk!” And it’s probably the tenth time he’s heard the prerecorded message resound through the speaker, but the replay of it hurts just as much as the first run. His giggle is real, authentic—just as if he were right here, right beside Taehyung, where he should be. “I can’t get to the phone right now, but I’ll get back to you eventually! If it’s an emergency, I’d try calling Taehyung. He usually knows where I am. Leave a message after the beep, bye!”

The signal is loud when it comes—elongated, as if trying to mock Taehyung, reminding him that Jeongguk hadn’t picked up, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t confirmed his safety, like he was supposed to.  

The older sighs, trying to recollect himself. 

“Hey, Ggukie,” he croaks—his tone somber, on the verge of breaking down, “I know I’ve, uh,” and he can’t help it when his voice cracks, tears spilling out from the sides of his eyes, “called you a couple times and I-I’m not sure,” he stammers, “if I’m just being paranoid but—”

His eyelids fall shut, tightening in a shaky attempt to conceal his current mental state. 

“—I’m just really, really worried about you,” he manages out, hand reaching up to tug at the strings of Jeongguk’s hoodie that he’d thrown on before, seeking some sort of comfort, reassurance, “If you can call me back soon, please do, okay? Love you.”

The automated warning of the lady when he finishes has him aggravated enough to fling his phone to the other side of the bed, letting his head fall into his hands as he holds onto his temples, rubbing at them once more. He wonders if he’s being a tad bit dramatic about the whole calamity—if anyone else would react in such an oddly histrionic matter—but he supposed anyone would, if it were someone they loved. Besides, he reminds himself, there isn’t any time to dwell on such a trivial matter. There’s far more important things to worry about right now. 

Such as the woman who speaks on the television. 

“...I am here with more news on the altercation between Seoul’s finest superhero, Spiderman, and Venom,” Taehyung hears the reporter say, his ears perking up at the announcement, eyes darting towards the screen. 

He inches closer. 

“After rounding up those involved, the police can now safely declare that no one has died, or has been critically injured during the fight between the two,” She reveals—an assuaging piece of information, thankfully, that has Taehyung breathing out a sigh of relief. If no one’s been injured, there’s less of a chance that Venom is extremely powerful, and that Ggukie can’t beat him, he thinks—even if the thought may be bordering a selfish one. 

“Additionally, onlookers say that it is likely the fight has ended between the two, given the fact that there is no more commotion outside the tower,” the lady continues, and Taehyung nearly lets out a squeal—his bottom lip caught between his teeth, gnawing, anticipating. Please tell me he’s okay, he prays vehemently, please. “Any sign of fighting died down around twenty or thirty minutes ago, and police have just finished their search through the rubble. As for the web-slinging hero himself...” 

Taehyung holds his breath. 

“... there still hasn’t been any sighting of him since the ending of the supposed fight, unfortunately. Police have gone through the rubble, in attempts to locate the man, but to no avail. Neither Spiderman, nor Venom were found at the scene. Stay tuned for further updates.” 

The tears fall down his cheeks.

There’s a part of him that thinks the world is simply being cruel—that it’s playing a mean trick on him and drowning him in karma for all the bad things he’s done in his life—for all the mistakes he’s made and sins he’s committed because how? How can it be that absolutely no one has seen him, had heard from him? How can it be that no one knows if he’s okay? 

There’s no one he can talk to about his, no one he can call, nowhere he can run to besides his safe place and yet, the very safe place he speaks to isn’t with him, isn’t there for him and how could he possibly live without him? 

Taehyung’s mind goes into frenzy once more, heart clenching miserably, cheeks soaked with tears. 

He needs his home back. Desperately. 

And then he hears it—a loud banging on the front door. 

He jumps in panic at the vociferous noise, head snapping towards the entrance. He’s practically delirious as he runs towards the direction of the sound, orbs trained on the wood in front of him. There’s a moment of hesitation, he finds—his breathing heavy, heart pounding fiercely as he gazes at the door—debating utilizing the only fraction of courage left within him. 

Tremoring, he takes a deep breath, and turns the knob. 

And he swears that the moment he opens the door, his heart slows down to a standstill. 

“H-hey, Tae,” Jeongguk’s voice is barely there—a soft, broken whisper as he hunches over, gripping onto the side of the wall for support. There’s crimson—crimson everywhere, blood running down his lips, coating his teeth a bright red and a gash on his ribcage, pouring out endlessly, akin to an eternal rainfall. 

Taehyung can’t keep in the strangled sob that leaves his lips—his hand pressing to his mouth in sheer shock and he can’t move, can’t think, can’t process anything besides the fact that Jeongguk is hurt and oh my god. 

“I,” the superhero groans, eyes shutting painfully as he grimaces, his limp wrist pressing onto his wound in a weak attempt of salvation, “need some—”

And Taehyung—Taehyung who is the one that always has a solution, that always knows how to fix things—has absolutely no idea of what to do, has no course of action in mind beside running towards the boy—throwing his arms around his neck as he shifts the younger’s weight onto his own torso, bringing him inside. 

There’s scarlet on him now, on his shirt and dripping on onto the floor but he can’t mind, not when his best friend, when the love of his goddamn life is breaking apart right next to him, can barely walk into their room, can barely move. Jeongguk is heavy, weighing thickly against Taehyung’s more lithe arms but he persists regardless, ambling towards the bed. 

“Need,” Jeongguk tries to speak again, but his words are choppy—barely audible, more of a wisp than anything else, “to…”

He goes limp in Taehyung’s arms. 

“Shit,” the latter curses under his breath, lowly, “shit, shit, shit, Gguk, please get up.” 

But his calls are to no avail, the boy still dormant in his hold, head falling to the side. The sound of his heart still beating, however, keeps Taehyung hopeful—keeps him from completely crumbling under the stress, under the pressure. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, pushing towards the bed, even if he feels his knees are about to give in at any moment, “C’mon, Ggukie, c’mon.” 

There’s a moment of relief in between the chaos, the madness when he finally situates the superhero on the bed, laying him down flat against the silk. 

With his panic still clouding his better judgement, he tries to come up with a strategy. 

He can’t get to a hospital without revealing Jeongguk’s identity, much to his dismay—so he’s working quickly with his limited healthcare knowledge, running to their bathroom to retrieve the gauze. The sheer volume of wounds, and the poignant aroma of blood potent in the room has him nearly wanting to hurl, but he works through dressing the smaller cuts on his cheek and forehead relatively quickly, reiterating that this is for Jeongguk, for Jeongguk to recover, for him to feel better. 

Taehyung wishes it were him injured right now, instead. 

. 

He makes the decision to cut through the Spiderman suit, knowing there isn’t much he can do to salvage the remaining fabric, exposing Jeongguk’s rib gash—which makes him sick to his stomach. The laceration is unbearably large—bruising all sorts of concerning colors and Taehyung nearly chokes on his own tears that won’t cease, won’t stop rolling down his cheeks—but he dabs the lesion with alcohol anyways, hoping that, in a semi-twisted way, the unconscious state of his best friend will make the cleanup process less painful for him to cope with. 

The flesh under his fingertips is rough, is bumpy with contusions and Taehyung hates it, hates everything about this—hates that he can’t take the pain away, can’t transfer it to himself, somehow. 

He feels helpless. 

It’s only when he finally finishes covering up the damage—merely pressing a cloth to the open gash to try and stop the bleeding, that he lets himself go. 

“You idiot,” he murmurs, erratically, letting his palm reach out to caress Jeongguk’s cheek, tenderly. “I told you to take care of yourself, so,” his stumbles over his words, eyes screwed shut, heart compressing, achingly, “so why didn’t you? Huh?”

His hand moves up further, fingers falling into Jeongguk’s hair, detangling the mess it’d jumbled into. 

“Huh?” He repeats, sniffling embarrassingly, slumping over the younger’s torso. “Why do you have to be so reckless, Ggukie?”

With nothing left to do but weep—he cries, cries for the rest of the night—Jeongguk nestled safely into his embrace. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

The first time Jeongguk wakes up, the only thing he can register is pain. 

Pain, pain all over his body, his head throbbing, limbs aching, chest practically crying out from sheer and simple pain. 

He’s acutely aware of someone’s hands clasped into his own, squeezing at the flesh there nervously—but the awareness of it is overpowered by the level of torment he feels, discomfort gnawing away at him. 

His eyelids feel heavy as they fall shut, yet his mind remains stuck on a singular thought. I hope Taehyung is alright. 

He promptly passes out again, succumbing to the darkness. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Jeongguk fully arises from his unconscious state three days later. 

It probably should’ve taken more time than that, had the younger boy been a normal person—but Taehyung guesses that his superhuman strength and recovery speed had its part in making him wake up much quicker than the average guy. 

And maybe—just maybe, Taehyung supposes that his constant nursing of the boy must’ve also added to his swift recuperation, as well. 

For three days, he hadn’t left Jeongguk’s side—not for a moment. 

It was hard explaining to his unsuspecting friends and professors why exactly he and Jeongguk decided to leave town for a couple days—citing an emergency trip back to Busan as his alibi. He was worried that Jimin or Seokjin would decide to turn up to their apartment, one of these days, verifying the truth of his crappy excuse—but they’d thankfully left the two of them alone, the former only calling every once in a while to make sure ‘everything was okay’ and that ‘the two lovebirds were enjoying themselves’. 

He hopes that his lack of customary scolding for Jimin’s teasing remark didn’t give his current mental state away. 

Most of the better part of Taehyung’s days was spent redressing Jeongguk’s wounds—a change that occurred every couple hours, with the level of bleeding the younger boy sustained. Any time besides that, unfortunately, was used to cry his heart out as his unhealthy rumination began, thoughts going absolutely berserk—to darker places that he never hopes they return to again. At one point, Taehyung was sure that the younger woke up in midst of aforementioned sobbing sessions—but the boy said nothing, presumably fainting once more. 

When Jeongguk had fully gained consciousness, Taehyung doesn’t think he’s ever felt such a strong, robust sense of unadulterated relief before. 

The boy had woken up gently—eyelids lifting to reveal gorgeously big and brown orbs.

“Tae,” he’d murmured, voice raspy, and terribly dry. His lips curled up into a lazy grin as his head turned towards the older, tilting it slightly, “Are you,” he asks, in true Jeongguk fashion—in his ever selfless nature, “you okay?”

And Taehyung couldn’t help but crumble into himself for what seemed like the millionth time that day, blubbering as he cried, bringing Jeongguk’s hand to his chest, “You idiot,” he nearly screams, the words muffled, “how c-could you ask me that, dumbass?”

Jeongguk had nearly attempted to sit up seeing the older boy’s state, wincing at the pain coursing through his body. Taehyung threatened to swat him, but the younger had only giggled, slowly but surely opening his arms up. “N-no, don’t cry,” he mumbled, voice still utterly parched, “c’mere, please.” 

Taehyung fell into his embrace, easily, sobbing into his chest wildly—wet skin glistening against the light of their apartment. The superhero reached up to caress his back comfortingly, muscular biceps still protective around his torso as he pressed a small kiss onto the crown of his head, letting the older coat his bare chest with a plethora of emotional tears. 

“I’m not going anywhere, never gonna leave you,” he croaked, his fingertips dainty against the expanse of Taehyung’s back, “not now, not ever.”

Taehyung thinks he fell more in love, at that very moment. 

Jeongguk then proceeded to then recount the story of what had happened between him and the villain—how he’d gone into combat blindly—entirely unprepared for the menace that was Venom. 

“There was one point,” the superhero whispered down to Taehyung, the latter still snuggled up in his hold, arms wound tightly around his neck, “where I had him cornered, but I just, I couldn’t activate instant kill, Tae. I didn’t have it in me to do it.”

“Gguk…” Taehyung responded, voice trailing off. He couldn’t blame him. Killing someone, even a villain, is no easy matter. He probably wouldn’t have the guts to do it either—can’t imagine the mental strained placed on the younger at that very moment. “You’re so brave, you know?” He muttered, reaching up to brush the hair out of the superhero’s face. “M’really proud of you.” 

“But he used that moment of weakness as leverage against me,” he admitted, his expression downcast—as if entirely regretful, “had me cornered.”

He took a moment to pause—holding his breath. 

“I nearly died, Tae,” he confessed, his voice shaky—lips quivering. The sight of him nearly broke Taehyung—nearly had him tearing up right along with Jeongguk. He willed the cries away, though—knowing he had to be strong for the two of them, right now. “He let me go, after that. Said he’d fight me again when I-I was worthy. Ready. I f-failed. I fucking failed.”

And Taehyung couldn’t breathe, his lungs giving in and losing function. He felt dizzy, numb, his head spinning round in endless circles. He doesn’t think he’s been the same—not since hearing that. 

Wordlessly, he brought the younger closer to him—the two of them crying in tandem with one another, unleashing everything pent up within them. 

Now, about a week after the incident—Jeongguk, thankfully, is doing a lot better. 

Though perhaps too much better, in older’s concerned opinion. 

The boy was back up on his feet within a day of waking up, and doing light exercises within two. On the third day, he considered switching back to his normal, extraneous workout routine—but was met with a hard no from Taehyung—and an order to go back and rest. 

And don’t get Taehyung wrong, of course—he’s more than pleased to see Jeongguk heal much faster than anticipated. He understands that the latter’s body has insane regenerative properties—unlike anything of a regular human being—but he can’t help but worry, can’t help but be hesitant about the whole thing. He knows of Jeongguk’s recklessness—is aware that his lack of self-care is what got him into the mess in the first place. 

So when Jeongguk asks him whether or not he can return to his patrolling duties on the seventh day of his curative process, Taehyung snaps. 

“You want to do what, now?” His tone is incredulous—rising far too many octaves for it to be exactly justified. He can’t help it, though—unable to comprehend that after such an intense accident, Jeongguk is able to jump back on his feet—with barely any regard for his own health. 

Jeongguk leans forward on the counter. He winces at the feeling of cold granite against his wound, eyes shutting in reflex. Taehyung shakes his head. “Seoul needs their hero, Tae,” he responds, voice soft—delicate, “I’ve been gone for a week. There’s probably tons of things that happened, by now.”

He has to be kidding.

“Ggukie,” Taehyung sighs, putting the spoon he’d been using to cook flat on the table. “Are you crazy? You can barely walk, and you wanna go back to being Spiderman?” 

“I just wanna watch out for minor incidents!” Jeongguk responds frantically, lips jutting out into a pout. “Dumb things, things that don’t require instant kill!”

He turns back to the ramen boiling in the pot beneath him, averting his eyes from the younger’s convincingly soft gaze, “The nice thing about things that don’t require instant kill,” he retaliates, stirring the noodles, “is that the police can handle them, Gguk. You don’t need to be there.”

“If I don’t work on the small tasks, how am I supposed to get back into the groove of things?” Jeongguk remarks pointedly, splaying his hands against the countertop to support himself. 

“And I would agree with that logic,” the older acknowledges, attempting to keep his eyes trained on the food—for fear that he’ll lash out at the superhero’s stupidity, if he doesn’t, “had it been at least two weeks after your injury. But for now, no.”

Jeongguk huffs at the blatant rejection, curling into himself dejectedly. 

“What’s so wrong about wanting to help?” he mumbles under his breath, the words nearly inaudible. So much so, that if Taehyung hadn’t been paying careful attention, he would have never heard them—would’ve missed the sentiment, entirely. 

Like a shortened fuse, Taehyung absolutely squanders all sense of self restraint. 

“What’s wrong is,” he starts, pressing a lid against the boiling pot—maneuvering himself back around to face the younger, “the fact that you’re always so reckless, Jeongguk! How could you even think about going back right now, when you’re still so hurt?”

“I need to help, Taehyung,” and though the older had used the same weapon against him mere seconds ago, the use of his full name stabs at him painfully, especially with the way Jeongguk speaks it—somberly, “I can’t sit here, and do nothing all day. The people need me.”

“And I’ve already said this a million times, but I need you too!” His voice is rising now steadily, now—inhaling and exhaling desperately, trying to subdue his evident sprung up animosity for both of their sakes, “I need you to be okay, Gguk. That’s what I need from you. Does that not count for anything?”

Jeongguk respires wistfully at that, his head drooping downwards, eyes trained on his feet. 

“I am okay, though!” He grits out between his teeth_and the change in tone has Taehyung startled, has him cognizant that this wasn’t just going to be a small argument between them, no. This was going to be something much bigger—much more intense than that. “I’m fine. My limbs are working just fine, I have accelerated tissue growth for a reason. All I need to do now is go back—”

“—And I can’t be okay with that, you can’t expect me to be okay with that!” Taehyung cuts in, fists clenching by his side, unable to keep it in anymore. His resolve weakens by the moment, by the second, “I’m not going to act like everything is fine, that just because you have enhanced healing you can ignore the giant fucking cut on your stomach, Jeongguk. I’m not going to be an idiot and let you get hurt again.”

The younger rolls his eyes at the comment, tongue poking into his cheek with indignancy. He straightens his posture, grimacing when his wound slightly burns. “I’m not being an idiot, I’m just doing my job. I’m Spiderman, for god’s sake. I’m gonna get hurt all the fucking time!” 

“You’re Spiderman, yeah,” Taehyung concedes, breathing uneven—heart wavering, unsteady. His eyes dart across the room to meet Jeongguk’s, holding his gaze—brown meeting brown in a furious fight for correctness, “but you’re not invincible, Jeongguk. You’re not invincible, and I really wish you would stop acting like you are.” 

Jeongguk’s jaw drops at the comment, averting his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. He’s quivering.

“And I wish you would stop acting like my mom, Taehyung, because I’m not a little kid, nor your responsibility!” He nearly spits out, a fiery blaze alight at the bottom of his stomach, orbs burning with displeasure, with acrimony. “I don’t need your help every single second. I can handle myself just fine!” 

And Taehyung thinks that at that very moment, very millisecond in time—he hears his heart physically crack into two. It breaks, breaks into so many pieces that he loses track of them—pieces scattered across the floor with no glue to adhere them back together in sight. 

“I wish you’d worry about yourself more, worry that you’re associated with me and that if I’m not okay, I can’t fucking protect you!” Jeongguk’s voice is rising now, every word astronomically louder than the next, his expression wild—and Taehyung flinches. “Why don’t you worry about that for once?”

The pain comes in waves, in hard-hitting, aching waves that crash at the shore and drown Taehyung with them, his eyes undoubtedly brimming with unshed tears because him and Jeongguk don’t fight, not like this and fighting with him hurts. Hurts more than anything else ever could. 

“Why is it always—”

“—I watched you cry,” Taehyung cuts in, voice shaky—unstable, the air completely knocked out of him because he hates this, hates everything about this, wants this to end. “I watched you crying your fucking eyes out, saying you almost died, Jeongguk,” the fresh memories are vivid in his mind—have been at the forefront of it, since the day it happened. Everything aches. “I watched you lose your mind over that and you want me to just let you go? Want me to not be worried?”

He takes a deep breath, steadfastness collapsing beneath him—his fortitude falling down. “I can’t,” he sniffles, the tears on his cheeks now, “I can’t do that, Jeongguk. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.” 

Jeongguk’s expression softens at the appearance of Taehyung—his eyebrows relaxing, eyes widening with horror, with awareness—as if he’d only just realized how much the incident took a toll on the older, too. 

“Tae,” he mumbles, inching towards the older gently—in slow, indefinite steps. 

“I’m sorry that it seems like I’m trying to,” Taehyung repeats, blocking the tenderness of Jeongguk’s timbre out of his head—trying to hold his ground, “police you, or something stupid like that but I’m not sorry,” he croaks, voice tearing apart at the seams, “for being worried about you. I’m not.”

Jeongguk sighs—and his steps are quicker now, with more purpose as he inches closer, calloused fingers latching onto Taehyung’s forearm. “I just,” he struggles, trying to find the right words—his touches gentle, caresses delicate again the latter’s skin, “Shit, I don’t know. I know that must’ve been really hard for you to see,” he murmurs, expression contorting into a pitiful one, his comforting touches never ceasing, “I can’t even begin to imagine how that would feel. I’d lose it if anything happened to you.” 

Taehyung is silent, his stare forestalling the younger’s own

“Which is why I need to go back, so I can protect you, and everyone else. This is my job, Tae,” he holds, adamant in the way he speaks, “and I can’t change that. So I, I need you to either be there and do this with me,” he musters up the courage to say, though hesitant, “or…”

He never finishes his sentence, but Taehyung gets the gist of it. He can’t just keep Jeongguk here—keep him guarded from the world and tucked away in his arms, where nothing could hurt him. The boy is a superhero for everyone—and the older thinks that at points, he has trouble remembering that he’s not just Taehyung’s hero—or Taehyung’s at all, really. 

He’s not mine. The thought of it echoes in his mind. 

He’s not Taehyung’s to hold, not Taehyung’s to hug, not his to fight for and cherish and to worry—to love. He's simply the best friend—the sidekick that helps out when it's needed, and goes away when it's not. 

And if Jeongguk needs him to not worry, then he won't try to anymore—not when Taehyung is up all night wondering where Jeongguk is when the latter doesn't want that. Not when it's aggravating both of them. 

He has to let him go, has to distance himself—can’t keep going like this, for both of their sakes.

They stare at each other for some minutes, tension thick enough to choke anyone. Their gazes bore right into one another, the silence heavy and unspoken. The room is hot and filled with suffocating tension; Taehyung doesn't think he can breathe anymore.

“Yeah, you're uh, you're right,” the older agrees, wiping at his eyes, painfully, “yeah,” he repeats, nose bright crimson—Jeongguk’s gaze on him loving, yet concerned, “I get it. I’ll, I’ll work on it.”

He exhales loudly, feeling heavy and exhausted. Jeongguk searches his eyes intently. "Tae—"

"—No," Taehyung holds up a hand in protest—refusing to let his eyes meet the younger's, anymore. He can't look at him—can't meet his gaze when he's now just realized his place. He's not Jeongguk's lover, not his mom, not his family. He's Taehyung—nothing more, nothing less. "It's fine, it's, uh," he stumbles over each and every one of his words, "I just, I got it. I will not police you anymore." 

"I—" Jeongguk mutters, "Fuck, I—" 

"S'okay," Taehyung waves him off, his head still looking down—line of vision unrelenting from the floor, "S'all good. No worries." 

“I’m sorry,” the younger murmurs,”I hate the fact that I made you cry so much,” a reluctant finger lifts to wipe at Taehyung’s cheeks—the skin underneath it cold, wet from tears. The older nearly flinches at the touch.

“Don’t be,” Taehyung responds, his voice low—a whisper of a word. He looks up, a palm reaching out to grasp Jeongguk’s hand, which lay flat on his cheek, “go out there and kick some butt, Spidey. I’m rooting for you.”

And Jeongguk looks like he wants to say more, his head tilting, mouth slightly ajar—but he decides against it, retracting his arm from Taehyung’s hold. 

A kiss to the forehead, as always—his lips, for once, cold, sickly against his skin—before he’s suited up, shooting his webs, and out the window. 

Taehyung watches silently. 

Jeongguk doesn’t look back. 

Whoever says that being Spiderman’s best friend is an unmatched, priceless perk clearly hasn’t been in love with the guy, he supposes. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Jeongguk returns back to their apartment 3 hours later, to Taehyung snuggled up in his bed, sleeping away silently. His eyebrows are furrowed, Jeongguk notices, as if he’d fallen asleep within the realms of his stress—tear tracks evident on his cheeks. Even then, he looks breathtaking. 

There hadn’t been any incidents for Jeongguk to tend to on his patrol. 

Guilt tugs at his heartstrings painfully. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Not seeing Jeongguk, much to Taehyung’s simultaneous delight and surprise, is a lot easier than he’d anticipated. 

It’s almost like the universe wants him to take some time away—wants him to pull back a little because his mind is no longer fit to be preoccupied by the same person, by the same thought, the same giggle and smile that normally stays etched permanently into his brain—that never leaves his visions. 

Jeongguk. Just him—him at every hour, at every juncture. 

He needs the change. 

When he isn’t actively seeking out the younger’s presence, isn’t relishing in every moment they spend together, as opposed to his current state of dread, it’s slightly astounding how little he sees him. Between classes in the morning, and Spiderman missions at night, Jeongguk never seems to be around. The most interaction they have, outside the occasional report of his patrolling results, is a goodnight wish. But even that much is a rarity for them, given how late Jeongguk gets back, most days. 

Though, if he’s being truthful, it isn’t like he’s doing much to necessarily assist the situation, either. 

Jeongguk, unlike him, had no issue jumping back into their normalized routine—had no qualms with their daily cuddles, with their walks around the neighborhood, their special occasion dinners at the apartment. And Taehyung supposes that it isn’t quite startling for him to feel such a way—considering that he doesn’t have to deal with the same internal strife that the older does, doesn’t harbor the same intensity of feelings, of love, that Taehyung has pent up inside. He always knew his role. 

The latter, however, can’t say the same. 

Which is why, he admits, every single one of Jeongguk’s advances to spend some of his little free time together, were inevitably rejected from Taehyung’s end. 

Queries to study together were met with ‘I’m actually going to be with Jimin, sorry’—the rest of the night being spent at the older’s house, stuffing his mouth with chocolate chip cookies. Parties, though he wasn’t one to usually bask in them, were frequented more often to be used as an excuse for his absence—a new date on Taehyung’s arm every time, as if trying to replace the younger, in his mind. Lunches were spent in the fashion room, and cuddles were now transferred to his pillows at night, as opposed to Jeongguk’s chest. 

At one point, Jimin even called him out on his strange behavior—questioning eyebrows raising in bewilderment, the two of them getting ready for a party. He’d pulled Taehyung down onto the bed while the younger boy was putting on eyeliner, nudging him carefully. 

“What’s up with you?” He questioned, swatting at Taehyung’s elbow, “Why aren’t you glued to Jeongguk at all times? Giving him lovesick eyes?”

“I, um,” Taehyung had struggled to respond, fending off Jimin’s judgemental gaze, and worried expression, “nothing, really. Just wanted to try and see if I could,” he chokes on the words, aware of the fact that he’s blatantly lying—not only to Jimin, but himself, “try something new, or I-I don’t know.”

The older looked far too appalled when he’d said as much, his jaw dropping—stance ready for immediate retaliation, “Tae—”

“—Just,” he held up a hand—a feeble one, and with a singular plea from Jeongguk to stop, to come back home to him, he’s sure it’d break down—he’s sure his walls would crumble, “let me do this. Please.” 

Jimin opened his mouth to say something—but he wavers, his lips pulling together tightly. “Tae, I mean,” he fumbles over his words, looking down at the pair of shoes they’d kept away in excitement for the night ahead, “Okay. Alright.”

Thankfully, he’d said no more after that. 

And Taehyung feels bad about the whole situation—about his active avoidance of his best friend, of course of he does—the guilt especially hitting him this one instance, when the younger had asked him to tutor him in Science, presumably in a desperate attempt to conjure up an excuse to be together—but Taehyung still couldn’t find it in him to say yes, couldn’t humor him, even if he deserved it. 

It still feels all too overwhelming. 

That's not to say, of course, that his Spiderman duties, were suddenly neglected. 

He still informed Jeongguk of every quest he was meant to go on, still wished him good luck when he left their house. The only striking difference now, perhaps, is the fact that he no longer nags, no longer tells Jeongguk to be safe, no longer involves his personal feelings. Now, the only thing he asks is for him to do what makes sense to him; for him to work hard, and to fight off the bad guy.

Taehyung wishes he were strong enough to assist him with that more, wishes his heart didn't ache painfully everytime he got a mere glimpse of the boy—wishes that the reminder of 'you are not important enough in his life to be worrying about him that way' didn't flash at him every damn time he'd even try to speak to Jeongguk. 

But it does. 

And so everything is better this way. He’s sure of it. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Jeongguk thinks that he might be on the brink of insanity. 

And that’s no new, nor daunting matter to him, really. If he’s being quite frank, he finds himself on the verge of losing it most, if not all days—given his position as a superhero.

But it isn’t something he ever has to endure alone—no, never. 

Not when Taehyung is always by his side. 

The older is always there is some shape or form—never falters for a hesitant second, really—whether it be through a reassuring text message, or a speech of encouraging affirmation before he goes. Normally, he leaves notes around the house if he’s in class, tackles the younger with cuddles when Jeongguk returns to their apartment, and never fails to hug him before he goes to save the city—constantly supporting the superhero, comforting him when needed, keeping him going. 

These days, however—none of that happens. Not anymore. 

Reassuring text messages have converted into brief updates—a simple ‘Hey Guk, robbery in Ilsan. I’ll cover you for class’. Speeches of encouraging affirmation and hugs before he goes slowly turned into ‘Good luck, see you later’, and nothing more. Even his name, his ridiculously loving and endearing nickname, reverted back to ‘Gguk’, as opposed to his usual and infinitely better ‘Ggukie’. Taehyung feels so terribly far away—like a paid worker more than anything else, now—only having been hired to help Spiderman. Not Jeongguk. 

The latter has no idea why he’s so distant—has no idea what went wrong, between the two of them. 

And Jeongguk wouldn’t mind it, really, if Taehyung simply didn’t have the energy to do those things anymore—if he was struggling with his fashion project, or something akin to that, and could hardly keep it together, could hardly muster up the time to leave notes around the house like he used to. 

But Jeongguk is wary of the fact that that isn’t the case, much to his chagrin. He’s only steering clear of Jeongguk, and no one else. 

His friends had confirmed as much when he’d questioned them, an offhand ‘Is Taehyungie being weird with you?’ They’d all vehemently said no. Jimin had even looked inexplicably guilty, his lips downturned into a frown. 

Now, Jeongguk doesn’t know what to do. 

And the lack of his best friend being near—being just out of reach—is killing him inside. 

Every single one of his missions were turning into busts—mistakes prevalent with every move he made. Just the other day, he’d found himself thinking about Taehyung—Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung—amidst a grocery store robbery, when he let the perpetrator sneak right past him, fleeing into the parking lot. Had it not been for the police arriving just on time to the scene, the burglar would have probably gotten away—would’ve escaped Jeongguk’s hands—all because he couldn’t stop wondering where his best friend went, where he could possibly find him. 

He’s barely holding on. 

His insides churn uncomfortably at all hours—a pitfall at the bottom of his stomach, black and dark and heavy—akin to a weight he couldn’t get rid of. His mind works in a thousand different directions, his vision constantly blurry—tears threatening to spill over his eyes if he thinks just a tad bit too hard about the older, about where he is—why he isn’t speaking to him. 

It’s funny, he thinks, how much he underestimated Taehyung’s place in his life—how much he failed to realize that the latter is the most important person in it. 

“You seem out of it, Ggukster,” the voice of a woman snaps the superhero out of his thoughts—his head snapping up towards the direction of the sound. In the corner of the kitchen stands his aunt, waving her arms frantically—as if trying to grab his attention. “Have seemed out of it, ever since you got here. Which,” she tilts her head, the hint of a grin appearing on her face, “if it’s not too intrusive, can I ask why you are here? Not that I mind, of course. It’s just…” she trails off, averting her eyes from Jeongguk—letting them fall to the cookies baking in the oven, instead, “you never really come here, bub.” 

And she isn’t wrong, unfortunately. Between being Spiderman, and trying to pass all his classes, he doesn’t get a lot of time to go back home and spend time with his Aunt—not as much as he’d like to, anyways. 

The only time, really, he ends up here, he supposes, is for emergency situations. 

Such as this Taehyung one. 

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk apologizes, his head dropping back down in shame, “I know I should visit home more often, but—”

“—That’s not what I asked you, Gguk,” she waves him off, moving to open the oven door, “Never mind that. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The superhero sighs. He really is the luckiest person in the world—is so fortunate to be surrounded by the best and most understanding people ever. 

“It’s about Taehyung,” he starts, drumming his fingers anxiously against the countertop. “We’re not really, uh,” he stammers, trying to find the right words for their situation, “doing so well.” 

His aunt nearly fumbles over her feet at the declaration—her jaw dropping in shock, and her cookies flying into the air. Jeongguk sprints towards her to catch the tray, thanking the superpower gods up there for his fast reflexes, the two of them breathing a collective sigh of relief when he places them down at the table. 

The woman looks terribly frazzled, readjusting her glasses. “I’m sorry,” she rubs at her eyes, “can you repeat that again?”

Jeongguk’s lips pull into a tightened smile at that—cocking his head to the side. “Taehyung and I aren’t doing so well.” Then, because he’s terribly bitter—he sarcastically tacks on at the end, “Shocking, I know.” 

“Don’t sass me, mister,” his aunt jokes, giggling to herself quietly. She wipes herself off with a towel, before throwing it off to the side—settling down in a chair. “but seriously, that is shocking. What happened?”

The younger huffs at that, letting his forehead fall forward to hit the cold countertop. “See that’s the thing,” he responds, voice muffled, “I have no clue.”

“Well,” his aunt mumbles, walking over to him. She lifts his head back up, “that isn’t giving me a lot to work with. How’s he acting, then?”

Jeongguk ponders over the question. 

How is he acting? 

Like wants nothing to do with me, he thinks, numbly. It aches. That’s how.

He says as much. 

“Nothing to do with you?” His aunt furrows her eyebrows, letting her head rest on her palm, “That doesn’t sound like the Taehyung I know. That boy absolutely adores you.”

And though Jeongguk knows as much—is quite aware that Taehyung does love him intensely, loves him like only the bestest of friends would—the words bring an automatic smile to his face, his cheeks tinged crimson, nose scrunching in amusement. 

Until he remembers the current state of their relationship. 

“Maybe not anymore,” he mutters underneath his breath, “maybe he’s sick of me, now.”

Jeongguk’s aunt looks incredulous at his response, visibly unconvinced. The superhero wishes she wouldn’t look so hopeful. “No, no,” she mumbles, zealously denying it, “that can’t be, Gguk. How is he acting with you?”

“He’s just distant,” Jeongguk responds vaguely—which earns him a well-deserved glare from his aunt. He fidgets in his seat, pressing his thighs together uncomfortably in nervousness, “I mean like, he’ll do everything he…” he attempts to word his thoughts precisely, wary of her lack of knowledge in regards to his alter ego, “needs to do, like around the apartment and stuff.” 

“Like cleaning? Chores?” She looks baffled. 

“Sure,” he takes the cover up and rolls with it—going off on a tangent, “so yeah he’ll still do his chores, or whatever—but he doesn’t do them with love, anymore.”

His aunt stays silent, as if wordlessly telling him to keep going. 

“He used to leave notes around the house, while doing chores,” Jeongguk make sure to emphasize, in a slightly pitiful effort to not arouse any suspicion from the woman, “and like, before I went to also do chores, he’d always give me hugs and encourage me and things…” he trails off, dejectedly, “things like that.” 

“Well, if you’re this distraught by him not hugging you before you go off to do house work, Jeongguk,” she tips her head down, glasses sliding on the bridge of her nose, “maybe it’s for the better that he’s a little farther away, so to speak.”

Jeongguk wants to slap himself. He’s not cut out for this whole life thing—not without Taehyung. 

“No, no,” he’s quick to object, defensively, “it’s perfect. Everything he does is perfect and I’m just sad,” he deters the conversation, “because the time he’d spend doing that stuff is now spent avoiding me to hang out with Jimin, and going to parties with these random guys—”

“—oh, is he trying to date around?” She cuts in—and the implication of her words makes Jeongguk unbearably nauseous, stomach bubbling excruciatingly, “Good for him!”

“—No!” Jeongguk demurs, his voice much louder than necessary—dissent much more affirmative than intended. “No, that isn’t good!”

“Oh?” His aunt raises an amused eyebrow, a knowing grin adorning her face. The sight of it gives Jeongguk the chills. “And why is it a bad thing? Enlighten me.”

She has a point. Would that be a bad thing?

Of course it would, Jeongguk concludes easily—within two seconds, perhaps. Why does he need to date around? He doesn’t need to, astringent thoughts flood his mind, devouring it whole, he has Jimin, Seokjin, and me, of all people. No need for dating. 

“Because,” he argues, his countenance entirely too smug for his own good, “him dating around would take up valuable friend time, of course! Can you imagine how sad Jimin would be? They’re best friends!”

“Aren’t you his best friend?” She queries deliberately. “Or are you something more?”

Something more. The words make him shiver—his heart rate speeding up dramatically, cheeks heating up rapidly, in a way he hasn’t felt them do before. 

What is this woman going on about?

“Of course I’m his best friend,” Jeongguk groans, finding the whole interaction between them so far to be somewhat useless, “that’s out of the question. We’re talking about Jimin. Can’t you see how bad this dating thing is for Jimin?” 

His aunt rolls her eyes at his response, shaking her head disappointedly—as if giving up. “Oh, Gguk,” she laments, “what am I going to do with such an oblivious boy?”

The superhero is utterly befuddled. 

“Alright, never mind that,” she heaves, readjusting herself on the chair, “let’s think about this. He could be having trouble with school, or something. I know college was really tough on me, personally.”

“I thought that was the reason why, for a while,” Jeongguk runs his fingers through his hair, tense, “but then I realized it was just me he was ignoring. I feel like he’d be off with everyone, if that were it.”

“Okay,” his aunt hums—her smile dimming, mien becoming progressively less sanguine, “well I’m not sure if I can figure out the reason as to why he’s mad with only this information,” she declares, sympathetically. “But, I can ask you…” she trails off, momentarily. 

“...how does this situation make you feel, Gguk?”   

And the question is a simple one—one that shouldn’t feel so loaded, so brimming with intensity—but it renders Jeongguk absolutely speechless. 

How does this situation make me feel? 

Taehyung being distant, Jeongguk thinks, is akin to the sky falling down—to the grass being colored a bright blue and the waters glistening in green. It’s like black becoming white and up becoming down and inside becoming outside, backwards, and over again. There’s deserts in Antarctica and blizzards at the down at the Equator because Taehyung being distant is like living in a world where nothing makes sense—is like living without his legs and limbs and damn heart. 

He needs him—needs him the same way he needs water, needs air, needs any other necessity in the world. Hell, even then he thinks Taehyung might rank ahead of those—might need him more than he needs water, needs air, needs any other necessity in the world because his days without him have been spent living in a constant chokehold, in a headache that will never end, in prolonged sadness—if his frenzied state isn’t anything to go by. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so distraught in such a long time,” he speaks candidly, voice soft—slightly abashed, “if I’m being completely honest.” 

There’s a moment of silence that passes through the room before his aunt is reaching out a gentle palm, placing it tenderly overtop of Jeongguk’s own. 

“Then I know you’ll get him back,” she smiles—a loving beam, the kind that can only be given by a motherly figure, “because you know you can’t let him slip away.”

Jeongguk ponders over the words. 

“You’re right,” he nods, affirmatively, “I won’t,” he promises, “won’t let that happen.”

His aunt leans back in her chair with satisfaction, detaching herself from her nephew. “Good,” she compliments, reaching out to boop Jeongguk’s nose. “Proud of you.”

The superhero recoils in reflex, but sports her a grin regardless. 

“Now,” she continues, buzzing—clearly feeling the idea of being Jeongguk’s semi-therapist, “are we sure you guys didn’t get into a fight? An argument of any sort?”

The superhero sighs for what seems like the millionth time today, shaking his head. “No, not that I can—”

It's then that, as if he were slapped in the face, it hits him. 

For the first time since it happened, Jeongguk thinks back, for a moment, to their odd, uncomfortable disagreement from the other day—doing his best to forgo the incident in his mind, for a while—not wanting to remember that dreadful image. The image of Taehyung—beautiful, breathtaking Taehyung, with his lips curled into a frown, blonde hair tousled wildly and tears running rampant down his cheeks is burned permanently into the superhero’s memory—is a vision residing at the forefront at his mind even in spite of the fact that he’s been trying desperately to ignore it, guilt clawing at him.

He did that. He made Taehyung cry like that.

And he...he was the one who practically told Taehyung to leave him alone, to quit with his nagging.

Then he left him stranded there, in their apartment. 

Oh my god. 

How could I have not thought about him? What is wrong with me? How did I just realize? 

His heart races in panic, beating erratically against his ribs, his breath caught in his throat—a knot tightening in his throat, his hands clammy beneath his palms.

“Gguk?” His aunt asks, voice sharp—a hint of anxiety coloring the pitch. “Are you okay?”

His mouth is still open, frozen mid word—panic rising within him in a tidal wave, causing his chest to tighten painfully. He closes it abruptly, sucking in a sharp breath.

Oh god oh god oh god.

He needs to go—needs to go now, needs to go make everything okay.

“We did have, uh,” he admits, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck, “a weird disagreement about something and I thought everything was okay after that but I’m now realizing,” he’s corybantic now, pushing himself up and off his chair, “that maybe it isn’t and I should probably go talk to him because I’m an idiot who only thinks about himself and how I'm feeling.”

“Jeongguk—”

“I’m so stupid—”

“—Gguk!” His aunt repeats, her voice reverberating through the room loudly, assertively.

Jeongguk pauses in his movements, nearly tripping over his own feet. 

She takes a deep breath.

“If it’s a misunderstanding, I’m sure he’s going to be okay,” she assures, her head tilting gingerly—though her eyes are blooming with concern, “He loves you a lot, okay? Way more than you would ever know.”

He nods hesitantly, unconvinced. 

And though Jeongguk wants to ask her what she means by that—craves to decipher the deeper message behind such a foreboding statement—he finds that his mind won’t let him, too clouded by the idea of getting to Taehyung, of talking to him and somehow trying to figure out what went wrong that day, where he so utterly fucked up, communication wise. 

He glances back over his shoulder, giving his aunt a slightly delirious word of goodbye before sprinting out the door, flying down the steps of her apartment building. He multitasks through the hasty exit, fishing through his pocket for his phone, dialing the first number he can think of, when it comes to mending this situation. 

...calling: small fry the cheater

Jimin picks up much quicker than he expects. 

“Hello?” his voice is far more panicked than he’d intended it to be—wincing at the desperation potent in his timbre. 

“Gguk?” His voice is barely audible through the speaker—rambunctious club music drowning out most of it, much to Jeongguk’s dismay. “Is that you?”

“Jimin?” He responds swiftly, beginning his descent out the door of the apartment complex. The wind is robust when he steps foot outside—nearly knocking him off balance. He hugs himself to preserve body heat. 

“Hold on, can’t hear you,” the older boy mumbles over the line. There’s ruckus for a little bit, and Jeongguk swears he hears someone yell wildly in the background before it’s dead silent—the noise considerably diminishing. “Okay, what’s up?”

The younger is practically in a speed walk down the street now, his legs carrying him faster than he could process. He thinks, for a brief moment, that he’d probably move a lot faster had he been in his Spiderman suit. “Hey, uh,” he stumbles, the stress practically coursing through his veins at this point, “is he, uh, is Taehyungie with you?” 

Jimin’s breath hitches for a moment, before his voice resounds through the phone, again. “Yeah, yeah, he’s with me,” he confirms. Jeongguk breathes a sigh of relief. At least he’s safe. “He’s sorta out of it, though.”

It’s been ages since he’d felt anything like this. It feels strange—and yet familiar, the feelings threatening to overtake him once again. It feels wrong. He feels guilty. Guilty of everything—of letting this happen to Taehyung, guilty of having done so much to hurt him.

In an impulsive decision, his only cohesive thoughts consisting of Taehyung and get to him now, he sprints towards a dark alley, and pulls out his Spiderman suit. 

“Out of it?” Jeongguk queries, his voice reaching octaves way higher than he’d anticipated. He hopes Jimin can’t somehow deduce what he’s doing, acutely aware of the ruffle noises he must be sending to his side as he slips on his suit. “How so?”

“I think he’s a mixture of tipsy and absolutely numb,” the older reveals, and there’s a pang of guilt that hits Jeongguk at that—his now freezing lips curling into a frown. “I wanted to ask, are the two of you okay?”

The superhero respires shakily at the question, his head falling down in shame. “We had a little bit of an argument,” Jeongguk informs, his eyes shutting on autopilot—the despondency clawing at him once more, “and I was an idiot and thought it was resolved but it wasn’t and,” he’s rambling now, his pace miraculously increasing, his body quivering, “I just really need to talk to him, Jiminie.”

“Shit,” Jimin curses through the line, “shit, I should’ve guessed that. I know he’s been feeling kinda shitty and yet…” he trails off. Jeongguk wants to tell him not to feel bad, wants to tell him that it’s not his fault and that this was down to him and Taehyung—but his words fail him miserably, and he stays silent.

“7499-11, Jungangucheguksaseoham, Jung-gu, Seoul.”

The younger finally pauses in his operations—taken aback. “Huh?”

“That’s where we are right now,” he elucidates, “come get your boy, Jeongguk. And come quickly.”

The superhero takes a deep breath in. 

“I will,” he asserts, before hanging up the phone. 

He tugs on his mask, securing it to his head, before shooting his webs at the nearest building. I’ll get you back, he repeats in his mind for a moment, propelling himself upwards.  

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Taehyung doesn’t know how exactly he got here, nor does he quite know who he’s dancing with. 

All he knows is that one—he’s slightly buzzed, and that two—all his basic senses have been compromised. The strident music is moments away from deafening him, and the pungent scent of a variety of alcohol working in tandem with disgusting body odor has him wanting to plug his nose with a clothespin—but his evident sorrow keeps him from giving into temptation. 

He misses Jeongguk. 

Even amidst the arms of a stranger, head hardly functioning properly—the younger boy stays as the centerpiece of all his thoughts, as the forefront of his mind. 

No matter how much he tries to, he can’t escape him. 

He wonders where he is—whether he’s outside, fighting villains like the courageous guy he is, or whether he’s back at home—and maybe, just maybe, thinking about Taehyung the same way the older is. 

Though he doubts it. He’s pretty sure Jeongguk mentioned something about going to his aunt’s house later on in the day, anyways. 

There’s a part of him that wonders if being near him, of sidling up to him at night under the notion of platonic cuddling and loving from afar would be less painful than whatever situation he’s concocted himself for right now—than trying to let go of him, trying to let him be. 

Nevertheless, he forgoes the idea. Jeongguk made it quite clear what his priorities were. Taehyung shouldn’t disrespect them. 

“Hey hot stuff,” he vaguely hears someone speak to him—voice hoarse, and nasally, “can I bring you something to drink?”

Taehyung grimaces at the stench of the man, nose wrinkling in displeasure. Nevertheless, he waves him off. “Sure,” he mutters, his back towards the guy. Might as well make use of the dude. “Get me something strong, please.”

“You got it, baby,” the guy responds easily, and the use of the pet name makes Taehyung want to hurl. With no will to fight him off, though, he merely leans his head back into the scene—losing himself under the shitty LED lights and equally shitty party music. 

And he’s nearly gone again—nearly adrift from the rest of the world as he relishes in the feeling of disorientation and carelessness—when he’s terribly interrupted by a tap to his shoulder. 

Taehyung sighs. 

He slowly maneuvers to face the intruder, presuming it to be the unknown man from earlier. “I already said I want a strong drink—” he moves to admonish, before perceiving who the nuisance actually is. 

An involuntary gasp falls from lips.

Because there stood none other than the very person he’d been trying to fend off. 

Jeongguk. 

His arms are crossed, crappy purple lights reflecting on his face beautifully as he stares—stares with so much intensity, it makes Taehyung want to recoil in slight fear. Even then, however, he looks more stunning than ever—in spite of his hair tousled around wildly, of his untied shoes, and his mouth displaying a stern expression of disappointment. 

He’s beautiful, Taehyung thinks in his hazy state—the only thought the older can decipher of the plethora that run rampant through his mind. And had been more aware, perhaps he would take to questioning why the younger was here—how he even got here, in the first place—but his mind prevents the rumination, holding him still. 

“Tae,” Jeongguk’s voice is hardened, devoid of all its usual tenderness—his tone beyond the limitation of simply cold. Taehyung gulps, “we need to talk.”

The statement nearly catapults the older into a frenzy, his senses mildly returning to him at the questionable declaration. He chokes, eyes widening. Talking is never good, not in these situations. 

Before he knows it, he loses all sense of rational intellect—brain beginning to offer him every worst possible scenario of what could go down right now, of what’s at stake, in this situation. 

He’s fed up with you.

He doesn’t need you the way you need him.

“No,” he mutters under his breath, taking tentative footsteps, slowly backing away from the younger, “not right now.”

The younger reaches out to grab at him, but Taehyung refuses the touch—refuses the conversation, the word ‘no’ etched into his mind, into his skin and his veins. 

“Tae—” Jeongguk tries again, his countenance softening, eyes warmer now—but Taehyung is having none of it, can hardly process the change, really—his feet taking him further away from the younger. 

“No,” he repeats, before his body is turning away from Jeongguk—his pace increasing as he eludes the distressing exchange. He’s committed to the escape now, pushing through sweaty dancers and drunk frat boys to wherever he sees a viable exit—some sort of free space he can seclude himself away to breath, to narrowly evade all his problems—all his feelings. There’s a few dirty glares and glances thrown his way as he nearly jogs through all the people, but he finds them easy to ignore—his mind too preoccupied with the idea of escaping the boy who follows him. 

He takes note of a doorway to the rooftop, utterly grateful that the party he’d been crashing at happened to be on the top floor. His legs move before he can second guess his decision, hastening up the stairs, ignoring the sound of Jeongguk’s distressed voice behind him. 

His attempts are basically futile, though, with the way he makes it through the entrance of the open space—yet fails to completely close the door behind him—Jeongguk inevitably catching up as Taehyung holds it shut for dear life. Damn his super speed, Taehyung thinks, rolling his eyes at the way his best friend won’t budge, latching onto the doorknob.

“Taehyung,” his voice is gentle from the other side—much more tender than it’d been downstairs. The music seems to fade from all around them. “Can you please open up?” 

His eyes refuse to meet Jeongguk’s. He knows that the moment he relents, he’ll pry that door wide open. 

“No,” he responds with conviction—the cold air sobering him up completely. 

“Tae,” Jeongguk tries again—and that same rigid tone returns like a slap to the face. “Please.”

Taehyung looks up, albeit hesitantly. His lips part subconsciously when Jeongguk comes into view—Jeongguk, and his large doe eyes, and his dazzling starry orbs. He wonders how loved he must’ve been for the universe to put the whole galaxy in his eyes. Jeongguk. Jeongguk. 

He’s weak. Weak for him, weak for the way the younger makes him feel. 

His hand lets go of the doorknob. Jeongguk plummets through. 

The air between them is silent. 

Jeongguk steps forward slightly, reaching an arm out to the older boy, as if trying to stop him from running—afraid that he’ll somehow run, somehow fall away from his grasp. Taehyung steps aside as Jeongguk enters, his hands dropping to his sides, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart thundering with panic.

The latter doesn’t seem to notice the way Taehyung’s breathing increases and the way his pulse races—doesn’t seem to be cognizant of his slight state of panic, of detrimental fear. He approaches the elder, who backs further away from him, until he bumps against the wall, and he closes the distance between them until there’s nothing but inches—mere centimeters between the two of them. 

They’ve been in close proximity before, but nothing has ever felt as daunting as this. 

“Taehyung, please, we have to talk—” Jeongguk whispers quietly. But the older man is hardly listening. He isn’t comprehending anything that Jeongguk says—all he can hear, as if the superhero wasn’t even speaking to him, is Jeongguk calling his name—over and over, over and over. 

His head swims, the room tilting sideways slightly, and Taehyung feels woozy, lightheaded.

It's hard to breathe. Everything feels wrong. Too dark, too loud, too bright, too hot. Jeongguk is still talking, now just a whisper, but Taehyung can barely hear it. It’s a mixture of his nerves, and alcohol, and exhaustion, he thinks—he’s not sure. He feels his knees give out beneath him and he feels very small—smaller than ever. It’s overwhelming. A sudden rush of anxiety and distress sweeps over him, his stomach twisting itself into knots. 

In stark contrast to earlier, Jeongguk catches sight of this immediately. His arms reach out to wrap around his wrists, tender touches slightly out of place in the tense environment they’d subjected themselves to, “Hey, Tae, hey,” he murmurs gently, “fuck, I’m so sorry—come on. Breathe with me, okay? Let’s just—”

But Taehyung doesn’t think he can handle it, doesn’t think he can handle this conversation right now and he needs to go, needs to escape more than anything else—needs to fend off Jeongguk just a bit longer, just until he can process the idea of getting over him—of not needing him, of not worrying about him every waking second, moment. 

He shakes his head quickly, tears gathering in his eyes. No. He can’t do this, not here, not now. 

Jeongguk looks alarmed, “I can’t—I can’t right now, Gguk,” Taehyung manages to mumble, ducking around the younger as he moves behind him. The latter jolts in surprise—maneuvering himself to face Taehyung again. “I can’t,” he repeats, backing away slowly, steps slow and hesitant before he gains traction in his movements. 

The superhero’s eyes dim, heartbroken. “Tae—” his voice calls out, distressed—as if his sanity were hanging on by a thread. 

But Taehyung pays no heed—can’t pay any heed, really, his movements refusing to halt as he backs up. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, feeling a sharp sting of guilt as he watches how Jeongguk’s features contort, tears pricking at his own eyes—his chest constricting painfully, the pain so much worse than the ones he’d endured in the past.

“Tae, wait!”

It’s too late now, though, as Taehyung runs through the exit and down the stairs until he’s out of the building, runs as fast as he can from the thoughts and emotions and feelings swirling within his head, from all the doubts and concerns clouding his thoughts—from the one person he hadn’t wanted to lose. 

The cold night air of Seoul is harsh against his skin, but he can’t bring himself to care—not as he hastens through the streets, his cheeks wet with the tears that don’t seem to stop—that pour down like rain. He’s numb, completely and utterly numb. 

So much so, that when a presence appears behind him, he doesn’t take any notice of it.  

Not until there’s a hand pressed to a mouth, and the remark of a deep, raspy voice, muttering “Jeon Jeongguk then, huh? Kid really messed up, this time.” 

And everything fades to black. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

When the door closes behind Taehyung, Jeongguk feels his back hitting the wall—heart sinking, his legs giving out underneath him. He moves towards it, leans his forehead against the door as he falls to the ground, his breathing heavy and erratic. He gazes longingly at the exit—at the whisper of the person who’d once been there, who’d once been his. 

He has no semblance of a clue regarding what to do about Taehyung. 

The whole situation is a blur to him, truthfully. He doesn’t understand what exactly happened, doesn’t comprehend the state of his and Taehyung’s relationship—didn’t think he’d ever have to question it, honestly. Taehyung is—was his rock, never faltering in his affections and support for a moment. 

Jeonggguk thinks that now he sees that he might’ve taken it for granted. After all, they had been together for so long and it had always felt... natural for him to be glued to his side. Like Taehyung was meant to be in Jeongguk’s life, meant to be his best friend forever and that there was no other place he’d rather be. But something has evidently shifted since the last time they had a proper conversation—both within himself, and within the older—and Jeongguk doesn’t like it. 

He abhors it, actually. Because it’s scary. Scarier than anything he’s ever known. 

A frustrated fist collides with the ground, the force of his powers leaving an accidental dent in the concrete. He looks at the damage with disdain, shaking his head in dejection. 

The shrill ring of a phone sounds through the cold air—the sudden jolt of the vibrations startling Jeongguk. He feels around his pocket for the device, mindlessly answering the call. 

“Listen,” he mumbles, “now really isn’t a good time so if you could just—”

“—Jeon Jeongguk,” the deep voice of an unrecognizable man reverberates through the line, his tone menacing—threatening, “Nice to hear from you, again.”

Jeongguk sits up abruptly at that, a concerned hand running through his hair. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“I’m quite offended you don’t recognize who I am,” the voice sighs, clicking his tongue—as if thoroughly disappointed. Jeongguk shivers, uncomfortable. “It’s only been recently seen I’ve last seen you, Jeongguk...”

“...Or should I say, Spiderman?” 

The superhero’s breath hitches. 

His heart drops. The beat of it thunders against his chest, speeding up unnaturally. He feels his mouth sear in shock, hands quivering and clammy as he does his best to hold the phone in its place, agitation taking control of his senses and better judgement.

It couldn’t be. This had to be a prank, or something of the sort. No one, absolutely no one knew besides Taehyung of his identity. Not his aunt, not Jimin, not Seokjin—no one. Let alone some nameless old man. 

“I won’t ask you this again,” he swallows dryly, masking his unadulterated fear with the affirmation in his voice, “who the fuck are you?” 

The man hums lightly, almost mockingly. “Now, now, Jeon Jeongguk,” he chimes cheerily, “you shouldn’t be so rude now, should you? What if I had something you wanted?”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at that, anger augmenting as he speaks through the phone—evident bitterness in his timbre, “I have no damn interest in what you have to offer me, so why don’t you—”

“Really?” The man begins to cackle maniacally, the sound of it utterly disturbing to Jeongguk’s ears, yet potent with familiarity. He furrows his eyebrows. Who is he talking to right now? “You crack me up, Jeongguk. Oh, how you’re going to regret those words.” 

“This isn’t a fucking joke,” the superhero growls into the receiver, teeth gritting audibly, “so tell me what the hell is going on right now or else—”

“Does the name Kim Taehyung sound familiar to you?” The man interrupts him casually—with no remorse, as if he hadn’t taken the name of the most important person in Jeongguk’s life. 

His heart stops. 

No. 

“Why the hell do you know Taehyung, you twisted motherfucker?” The superhero demands, panic beginning to rise in his throat. This wasn’t a game anymore. This didn’t seem like a prank—it seemed more like reality. 

No. No. 

It had to be a trick. Maybe he had been drinking too much lately, maybe his brain was playing tricks on him, maybe this entire situation was a dream.

“Oh don’t you worry, lover boy, I haven’t hurt him,” the man proceeds in his mind games, his malevolent chuckles neverending—mocking Jeongguk, mocking his stupidity, “at least,” he giggles, akin to a psychopath, “not yet.”

“Fuck,” Jeongguk mutters under his breath, realization dawning over him. 

No. This isn’t happening. 

“What the fuck did you do to him?” He cries out—with knowledge that he no longer has the upper hand over this situation, never did have the upper hand here. His heart burns, anxiety claws at him. Every single one of his senses are amplified, his torso shaking, trembling with fury, with fear. 

Fear that Taehyung would suffer—pain. Pain because of him. Pain because he didn’t take care of him, pain because Jeongguk has done such a poor job of protecting his loved ones—of making sure they were okay. He grits his teeth together, trying desperately not to let the tears fall. “Answer me, you sick fuck!” 

“Patience is a virtue, Spidey,” the mortifying villain admonishes, amusement evident in the way he speaks—as if he were enjoying this little game, enjoying the way Jeongguk is so easily taunted. “If you must know, though, your beloved Taehyungie is here with me.”

This isn’t happening—can’t be happening. The hero shakes his head slowly, eyes wide. He had a suspicion—knew where this was heading, but the confirmation still stings like a thousand needles jabbing at his heart, nearly killing him in one go. 

And all at once, everything clicks. The voice, the tone, the threat, the promise of revenge—it’s Venom. It had to be. There’s no one else it could be—no one else Jeongguk had lost to. 

Venom has Taehyung. 

Agony surmounts him. 

“Tae…” he chokes out brokenly, gripping tightly at his phone as if his grip alone might keep Venom away from him—from them both. 

The villain lets out a light laugh, jeering, “He’s quite fine, Jeon. Your precious boy is perfectly safe with me. In fact,” he mumbles—a moment of shuffling being heard through the line, as if he were changing locations, “I'll give you the selective privilege of speaking to him right now, actually.”

A dash of hope surges through Jeongguk, the boy standing up from his spot. “Put him on the phone,” he commands, already slipping on his Spiderman suit. “Right now.” 

Some more shuffling, then an exhausted, yet beautiful voice. 

“Jeonggukie?”

And Jeongguk wants to cry, wants to sob with no restraint because he hasn’t heard Taehyung say his name like that in such a long time, hasn’t heard him speak with so much love and affection since their slight falling out. And while that, in and of itself hurts miserably—what’s even more jarring, Jeongguk thinks, is the fact that the boy had to be kidnapped for it to happen. 

Jeongguk hates himself. Hates himself so much—feels uncomfortable in the skin he wears and the suit he adorns. 

He’s an impostor, not a hero. Nothing short of an absolute fraud. 

“Tae,” he lets himself choke—voice cracking. The tears fall with no restraint, now—are let loose, cascading down to the bottom of his cheeks, “Fuck, Tae.”

“Shh,” Taehyung whispers, his voice hoarse—as if he’d been screaming. The younger’s heart constricts painfully at the realization, another choked sob making its way out of his throat, his entire slumping onto the wall in shock, in pain. “Jeonggukie, please don’t come. He’s gonna hurt you—”

Miserable grunts of pained noises reverberate through the line, before his voice is dimming—fading to a mere yell in the background. Jeongguk winces at the struggle in his shriek—at the way his yells of “don’t come!” get muffled into nothing more than incoherent grumbles. 

Even when he’s in danger—Taehyung is the one protecting him. 

Jeongguk is no hero, he thinks again—no Spiderman. Taehyung is more of a hero than he’ll ever be—is the one with the selfless heart and kind eyes. And now Jeongguk has gone and put the guy in danger. 

His heart wilts, teeth chattering and fingernails digging into his skin, as if trying to hurt himself for being such an idiot—for letting Taehyung slip through his fingers. His breaths stutter harshly against his will, as if he can’t quite catch his breath, as if he’s drowning in air. He can hear the villain’s laughter on the other end of the line, loud and clear.

Venom’s voice interrupts his degrading thoughts. “The nerve of this one,” he chuckles, as if out of breath. “You chose a feisty one, Spidey. Might have to chloroform him if he continues like this. Now tell me,” he continues, sadistically, “are you still not interested in anything I have to offer?”

Jeongguk’s blood boils at the threat, his fist clenching tighter around his phone—the device vibrating violently beneath his hand as he attempts to hold on to it, despite how futile his efforts are. “If you dare lay a fucking finger on him,” he warns venemously, “I will kill you. That’s a promise.” 

“Now, now, Jeongguk,”  Venom mocks him through the phone, his malicious chuckle making his stomach churn uncomfortably, “if you want him back, all you have to do is ask.” 

“Where?” Jeongguk speaks with a booming assertion, “tell me where he is,” he insists. He could hear the smile that stretches across Venom’s lips—he could practically see the sinister grin that stretched them, the way that his eye twinkled. 

From above him, the sound of thunder infiltrates his ears—the promise of a storm to come making him curse in reaction. 

“Patience, Jeongguk. Must you always take the fun out of everything? Anyways,” Venom clears his throat, and the superhero resists the urge to roll his eyes—to try and figure out a way to punch the guy through his damn phone, “come to 722-6, Banghwa 1(il)-dong to retrieve your precious boy. Come without the police and any of your goddamn sidekicks, or I’ll kill Taehyung on the spot. Got it?” 

Jeongguk’s breath nearly stills—his heart not liking, severely put off by the way ‘kill’ and ‘Taehyung’ are in one sentence. He fidgets where he stands, movements erratic in nature due to anxiety—but he wills himself to get it together. Taehyung needs him now. He can’t mess this up because of fear. No, Taehyung deserves better than that. 

“You keep him unharmed until I get there,” he contends in response, words robust, demanding, “you got that, you crazy son of a bitch? If I even see a scratch—”

“Yeah, yeah,” the villain cuts him short, derisive in his tone of voice, “I’m giving you 10 minutes. You better come quickly.” 

With that final remark, he cuts the line. 

Jeongguk, overwhelmed, takes a deep breath. But he has no time to ponder over what just happened—what threat was awaiting him only a few miles away.  

Sans another thought, he pockets the device. He pulls his mask over his head, before shooting his webs onto the next building over, letting himself freefall into the nighttime abyss of Seoul. 

I’m gonna save you, Tae, he thinks, as the rain finally begins to pour down in cascading chaos as he swings, nearly drenching him completely, I will. 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

The address brings him to an abandoned warehouse of sorts—though it lacks a roof, visibly damaged on the exterior.  

Everything about the place is eerie—as if it came straight out of a horror movie. Cobwebs run rampant on the sides of walls and vaguely ominous noises of animals resound throughout the perimeter of the place. There’s cracks and chips on nearly every surface—and the rain pouring down from above does nothing to soothe Jeongguk’s nerves, his torso shivering on autopilot. 

A fitting location, he supposes, for an intense fight between him and his archnemesis to save his best friend in the whole world—but he rolls his eyes at the cliche nature of it all, regardless. Leave it to Venom to be such a typical villain, he thinks, before tiptoeing towards what is left of a broken door, latching his fingers onto the surprisingly intact knob. 

He tries to keep his movements as reticent as possible, deciding that at least one form of attack he could pull against Venom is the utilization of the element of surprise—sneaking up on him when he’d least expect it. However, his plan is something close to futile as when he opens the door—the entire thing creaks, revealing his entrance into the knock off evil lair of Venom himself. 

The aforementioned villain cackles from a distance. 

“Has our Spiderman finally arrived?” He says in between his maniacal laughs, his voice reverberating through the room. His voice sounds much more raw—more sinister—as if the threat were one hundred times more serious now, considering his nearer proximity. “Took you long enough. Was thinking of putting your sidekick to sleep, with the way he’s been whining.”

The threat upon Taehyung, though Jeongguk perhaps should have evidently seen it as a trap, lures him out of the shadows—his voice rising in volume with every definitive step he takes. “Don’t you dare touch him,” he mutters, eyes scanning the parameter of the area. His gaze falls on the villain in front of him—the one with the glowing red eyes that are far too familiar for comfort. The blood rushing in Jeongguk’s ears is deafening—all he can hear is the sound of the raindrops falling down from above, pounding into concrete and the floor beneath them like fists hitting the ground.

Much to his dismay, however, Taehyung himself is nowhere to be seen. 

“Where is he?” Jeongguk seethes, though he stays stagnant in his place. He has no idea what the guy’s plans are—certainly didn’t know what they were last time he admitted defeat to him. 

“Ah, there he is,” Venom exclaims, gesturing wildly in front of him. His smile widens into a grin. “Thought you would decide to hide for a lot longer than that, Jeongguk. Consider me impressed.” 

“I asked you,” the superhero repeats—his temper rising, senses sharpening. The full force of his power is beginning to kick in—coursing through his veins. His mind stays rooted on Taehyung, however, the anxiety of not knowing where he is—not knowing if he’s safe—occupying all crevices of his mind, “where the hell is he, bastard?” 

“Patience,” Venom derisively reprimands, shaking his head—as if actually disappointed with Jeongguk, “he’ll be here in due time. I believe that before that, however, we have some... personal matters to settle, don’t we?”

But his mind refuses to address any of the questions the villain throws on him—his brain entrenched on the idea of Taehyung Taehyung where is Taehyung. His fists rattle at his sides—raging, one provocation away from setting off and nearly destroying Venom on the spot. It’s like he knows how dangerous it is to provoke the hero—as if he wants to get rid of him as quickly as possible; as though it’s a burden just to watch Jeongguk.

Nevertheless, Jeongguk wills the urge away—knowing that he can’t act out before ensuring Taehyung’s safety. His breath begins to hitch, tears burning behind his eyelids, but he doesn’t give in; he just continues his search for his best friend—hoping, praying that amongst the strewn boxes and dingy furniture—Taehyung hides somewhere, safe, and unharmed. 

“Where is he?” Jeongguk repeats—his voice booming now—comparable to the thunder that claps loudly above them. His outrage only expands, his eyes narrowing at Venom even as the rain beats upon them both. Taehyung Taehyung Taehyung I need Taehyung. 

Venom seems to sense his fury—grin wider, laugh harder. “Fine, fine,” he waves the hero off, maneuvering himself to face the back, “I was going to be generous and save him the pain of seeing his weak little Spiderman get killed but,” a devious cackle reverberates through the air, “if you insist. ”

His deadly powers of manipulating matterer—the ones that had nearly killed Jeongguk, last time—become useful, then—as he maneuvers much of the junk surrounding the two of them, twisting and turning the objects to his liking. It’s nearly psychotic, the way he bends anything to his will—and the way he seems to enjoy it, seems to enjoy having absolute control and power over everything and anything. A chill runs down Jeongguk’s spine. 

Once finished with his supposed...clean up, the villain steps aside, dramatically—and while his slight shift to the right couldn’t have been more than a second, a millisecond, a nanosecond—it feels like far too long to be normal, everything in slow motion—as if time had decided to stand still, for a while. 

When Jeongguk’s sight grabs hold of Taehyung—everything inside him burns alight. 

Because there he is—safe, unharmed. His normally kempt hair is tousled, presumably from the rain, and his face is covered in a sheen of sweat but he’s safe, safe and he’s there and it’s Taehyung—his Taehyung, with his kind brown eyes and his charismatic moles that Jeongguk wants to touch, wants to feel underneath his fingertips again as they lay in bed together, chatting away under the stars. His Taehyung—with the same determination he always harbors even while tied up, with his furrowed eyebrows and hardened glare towards Venom. His strong, resolute Taehyung that despite seeing mere hours ago Jeongguk longs for so much—that encompasses him in the most intense feeling of longing that he’s ever known—the kind that tugs at your heartstrings and renders you defenseless, utterly useless. 

His Taehyung, that even amidst all the chaos they’ve found themselves in, Jeongguk can’t help but let his mind linger on just how beautiful he is—every single inch, every piece of him. 

He sees his Taehyung and he sees relief—sees joy and affection and care—and he feels so overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all that he swears his knees buckle, swears they might give in at any moment. Their gazes lock with one another and Jeongguk swears Taehyung’s eyes brighten—swears they sparkle when they catch sight of the superhero and Jeongguk knows, is one hundred percent certain that his eyes—they look the exact same, glimmer in the exact same way. And had it not been for the abominable villain standing between them, he wouldn’t hesitate to run, to sprint there and beset him in his arms, to hold him forever and never let go—not ever again. 

“He’s been keeping me great company,” Venom interrupts him from his thoughts—his voice sickening, discomforting. Jeongguk reluctantly lets his eyes wander from Taehyung to the villain—his blood boiling intensely, fists balled up at his side. “Except for when I had to shut him up.”

“You let him go right now,” Jeongguk says, voice low and threatening—though it’s barely recognizable as his own—the mask rendering it into a garbled mess—a mangled, incoherent mess. He wants to just jump at Venom—wants to show him what he’s capable of—but he knows that Venom has the upper hand here. He can’t risk having Taehyung get hurt. 

Venom’s chuckle fills the room. “And why would I do that?” He asks, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“Because this is between you and me,” the superhero asserts—his teeth biting on his tongue, a growl resonating deep within his chest. He’s never felt this agitated before; he’s never felt more vulnerable or exposed. Venom has his best friend—his everything. If anything were to happen, Jeongguk wouldn’t know what to do. “Not Taehyung. Only a damn coward brings innocent people into their battles.”

“Call me a coward if you want,” Venom grins sadistically—his teeth dark and slimy, “it won’t change the fact that I have your boy toy over here,” Jeongguk winces at the manner in which he addresses Taehyung—hates the way he demeans him, “and besides, I wouldn’t call Spiderman’s supposed sidekick innocent.”

“Leave him alone,” Jeongguk repeats, his eyes going back to where Taehyung sits. The latter looks more than exhausted, eye bags swelling up—muffled cries hardly audible from the distance at which he’s located. Jeongguk physically wants to throw up—never wants to see him like this again, would rather die than ever put him in this situation again. His heart thumps erratically. “Leave him the fuck alone.” 

The volume of Taehyung’s sobs increase at that—his brown orbs begging, pleading. Jeongguk wills himself to look away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate if he focused on the state of the older. 

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” Venom tells him, his voice calm, almost monotonous, a hint of smugness evident in every syllable. 

“Then what the hell do you want for him?” Jeongguk replies—furious, his anger bubbling beneath the surface—ready to snap.

“Well that’s simple,” the villain starts, a gleeful expression plastered on his face, “I want you to fight me. Defeat me, Jeongguk.” 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at the request—already having expected the inevitable. There’s a sense of increased nervousness that tugs at him though because now, the situation is so much more real. It’s happening—right here, right now. 

He has to fight Venom again. And he can’t, by god he cannot, lose this time.

“I,” Jeongguk stammers, struggling to find the right words to respond. He’s not confident—doesn’t have the energy to bluff at the current. “I thought you said I was unworthy a few weeks ago.” 

The villain scoffs, shaking his head. “Well that’s just it, isn’t it? You’re worthy now.” 

“I don’t understand,” the superhero stumbles over his words—utterly baffled. And perhaps its stupid, absolutely dumb to be conversing so casually with a guy who could kill him at any moment, but Jeongguk needs to know. 

“You heroes and your lack of basic comprehension,” Venom chuckles—snickers more like. “Your stupidity,” he continues with an ugly grin stretching across his lips. 

“Just say it,” Jeongguk commands, desperation seeping through each word.  

“It’s obvious,” the villain laughs cruelly, tilting his head, “You’re much more valuable as an opponent when you’re fighting so perilously for someone you evidently… love,” he emphasizes the word with distaste, as if he couldn’t fathom the idea of the emotion, “so much.” 

Love? Love? Love Taehyung? 

And as if the fog were clearing up out of the air—as if the clouds had parted and allowed the moonlight to shine through, illuminating every last part of his mind, revealing every little detail about himself—everything clicks. Everything clicks, completely. 

The days spent gazing at Taehyung, noting down in his mind just how stunning he is—how perfect he is. The weeks spent mewling over his absence. The hole that was left in Jeongguk’s soul once Taehyung was gone. How much Jeongguk missed his presence, missed the warmth of his body, the smell of vanilla and mint, his intelligence and wisdom, the sweet sound of his singing voice in the mornings. 

Of course he loves Taehyung. How couldn’t he?

He loves his stupidly wide smile, loves his laugh—by god he loves his laugh. He loves his big almond eyes, the way they sparkle and dance in the light, how his eyelashes flutter delicately against his cheeks whenever he ggrins. He loves how soft and delicate his hands are when he’s taking care of the younger, how tender he is, how patient he has always been with him—even when Jeongguk fucks up to the point of no return. He loves the way Taehyung’s touch ignites something inside his stomach when they’re together and the butterflies that swarm throughout his stomach whenever Taehyung kisses him as an act of comfort, whether it be on the cheek or the forehead. He loves the warmth that engulfs him when he’s around him. He loves the way he smells, loves how his scent envelopes him as he draws him closer—like home, like safety, like safety, like protection, like love. He loves that Taehyung manages to pull him out of his shell even when Jeongguk doesn’t expect it and he loves Taehyung for loving him—loving him in ways only he ever had and will. He loves Taehyung’s love, loves the way he looks at him. 

And just the same—he loves his love for the older, how it burns in his chest like fire, scorching all the way down to his very core.

He’s in love with Taehyung, of course he is because who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t be irrevocably in love with such an astounding person? 

And now he’s gone and put him in this situation. Now he’s gone, and put the very person he loves in absolute danger. 

His eyes dart back to where Taehyung is situated, watches the blonde hair fall into his eyes and shield them from view. He’s trembling, quivering like crazy and Jeongguk’s heart hurts, it hurts so bad. 

If he has to fight Venom to keep Taehyung, to keep the man he’s so incredibly in love with safe—he’ll do it. He’ll do it any day, any night, any minute, any second. And he’s going to win.

“You’re right,” Jeongguk’s voice starts off soft, gaining momentum with every word, “you’re right. I love him.” From a distance, he hears the cries mellow out—hears them stop. “Which is why,” the hero continues with conviction, with belief, with confidence, “I’m going to defeat you, Venom. I will.”

Venom snarls, his lips curving into an unhinged smirk. “I’d like to see you try.” He turns around abruptly, pacing towards where Taehyung sits. In one swift motion, he rips the tape off his mouth, chuckling. “Needed to take this off before, though,” the villain remarks, swerving towards Jeongguk, “You’re gonna wanna hear his screams as I end you, Spiderman.” 

And as if an imaginary whistle goes off, as if a flag waves and a horn blows—Jeongguk goes for the first hit. 

It’s a futile, desperate one—a web thrown onto the villains in hopes of taming him—but the attack falls flat. Venom simply absorbs the matter, morphing it into the weapon of his choice. Within moments, he’s manipulated himself a set of knives, letting them wave around freely. 

“A weak move, even for you Spidey,” Venom manically chortles, moving forward. With a flick of his wrist he releases the knives—the objects flying towards Jeongguk at full speed. 

His spider senses come in handy as he manages to dodge the attack—veering left and right to deter the killer weapons. Then—just as suddenly as they appeared, the knives vanish from existence, seemingly vanishing without a trace. “Not so easy are we, huh?” the monster smirks. In a flash, however, the knives return in front of his vision—the sudden movement causing Jeongguk to stumble backwards, barely managing to avoid getting sliced in half by one of the knives. 

Shit, he thinks to himself, gaining his composure again, he’s quick. Think fast, Gguk.

Jeongguk is thankful for his spidey senses acting as a defense mechanism, however—knowing that they’ll be good enough to narrowly fend off any similar surprise attacks. Assured in his strength, he moves to execute a stronger rebuttal, latching onto a slippery wall, swinging himself towards a new location. While in the air, he shoots his rapid fire webs—pleased when they hit Venom—throwing him off balance. 

“How’s that for a weak attack?” Jeongguk chuckles, landing steadily on his feet. 

“Not bad for you, I suppose,” Venom growls—his knives once again flying towards the hero. He’s prepared this time, however, and manages to deter them with ease. 

The villain grunts in frustration, but he’s quick to make up for the moment of weakness—striding towards Jeongguk with intent. “Come,” the villain taunts as he moves. “Try and stab me. Try and kill me!” He cackles evilly, his blades circling around, ready to impale Jeongguk in mere seconds. Jeongguk’s gaze hardens in concentration. 

He needs to think. Needs to figure out a solution before he loses—loses Taehyung forever. 

Working quickly on his feet, he decides to launch a plethora of webbed grenades, targeting them towards the villain. Venom deflects each one with ease—quickly retaliating when one lands too close to him, swatting away the sticky projectiles easily. “Not enough, Spidey,” he huffs, his grin deranged as he inches forward. 

Jeongguk thinks he anticipates his next attack, readying himself in a stance to dodge the knives that will inevitably spring up mere inches from his face. He’s stunned, however, when he finds that Venom won’t stop moving towards him, hands balled up in fists at his sides. 

He’s going to use his fists, Jeongguk thinks. 

His theory is proven correct when Venom goes for an uppercut—his hand swinging forward and nearly knocking Jeongguk over. The latter manages to elude the swift charge—but the quick dodging causes him to falter in his footing, leaving room for an opening. The villain seizes the opportunity and goes for the punch—a punch that catches the superhero directly in his midsection, sending him flying through the air like a rag doll until he collides with the back of a wall. 

The impact is utterly painful, Jeongguk wincing at the pain that now surges through the entirety of his backside—but he opts to ignore the ache in favor of ensuring that saving Taehyung is the priority in this whole ordeal. 

He wants to check up on the boy, wants to make sure he’s okay—yet he resists the urge. He knows that the minute he locks eyes with Taehyung, he’ll become distracted with the thoughts of his eyes—his eyes and how they’re so beautifully starry under the moonlight. 

Venom is trying to kill you, he focuses himself back onto the task at hand, recovering from the sustained hit. Save Taehyung first, think about how much you love him later.

“This is too easy, Spidey,” Venom cackles deviously, his grimy fangs making Jeongguk grimace in disgust, “I thought you were more worthy now, huh?”

The rain pours down tirelessly from above them as Jeongguk dusts himself off, preparing himself to retaliate against the villain. “I am,” he says, launching another volley of grenades his way, watching as Venom blocks each one easily, his knives returning to his possession. “I think it’s you who isn’t, Venom.”

The words must have struck a nerve with the villain, because he’s storming towards him, daggers raised high in the air. “Yeah? Is that really what you believe?” Venom sneers, throwing his knives down to the ground, effectively trapping the hero underneath. The blades slice into him, cutting through his suit and flesh alike—though it’s nothing more like a slight nick—akin to the likes of a paper cut. The sensation sends a shudder of fear down Jeongguk’s spine. He vaguely hears Taehyung cry out—his voice raspy, broken. 

Get up Jeongguk, his heart and mind and body yells at him after hearing the worry in Taehyung’s sobs—refusing to let the other one be worried, you have to get up to save him. Come on. 

And it works. The hero, though the cut oozes of blood now, miraculously wills himself up from where’d been trapped—webbing up the weapons that held him down. Venom looks at him with curiosity, as if wondering how he possibly recovered so quickly from, arguably, the most lethal attack thus far. 

Jeongguk smirks. He decides to shoot his webs out forward, swinging towards Venom with full force. He goes back to hand to hand combat now, trying his hand at an aggressive punch. 

“It is what I believe,” the hero grunts, satisfied when he lands a decently damaging hit on the villain’s cheek. His suit is sticky from the rain now, and there’s a layer of thin sweat covering his face underneath his mask but he feels alive now, feels empowered—because he’s going to do it. He’s going to defeat Venom and save Taehyung. He will. “Because I’m not a fucking wimp who hurts innocent people! I don’t take people away,” Jeongguk screams, throwing another punch blindly—enraged, and fired up, “from the goddamn people that love them!”

Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite measure up—hitting Venom squarely in the stomach. The villain doubles over slightly, breathing heavily—then he straightens up immediately, his knife poised to strike. 

Jeongguk dodges the attack, however, jumping high into the air. When he does—he blasts another larger, more powerful and violent set of webbed grenades towards the villain. 

They collide midair; the resulting explosion sending the criminal tumbling backwards, crashing roughly into the brick wall behind him.

The superhero saunters over to where Venom now lays stagnant, visibly writhing in pain. He huffs—breathing heavy from all the fighting as he glowers down at the villain, his eyes narrowed. 

He stands over his slightly broken body, triumphantly. “Because I’m going to defeat you,” he murmurs, readying his webs—so he can tie and lock up the villain for good, “and keep Taehyung safe.” 

There’s a period of silence, a moment of solitude that transpires between them. Not a pin drop could he heard—only the sound of the rain crashing down, pattering against the wet, cold ground. 

Until Venom’s hideous cackle echoes through the vast area, filling Jeongguk’s ear with the most unpleasant noise. 

“You? You?” He snickers in absolute disbelief, as if he could hardly fathom what Jeongguk is trying to imply, to insinuate, “You’re going to keep him safe? That’s rich, coming from you.”

At the remark, Jeongguk disengages his fighting stance—confusion sweltering in his brain. What? What is he talking about? 

“You?” Venom repeats—his laugh absolutely mortifying, sickening in every sense of the word. It cuts through the chilly air like a knife. Even Taehyung’s slight cries—which had been persistent throughout the fight, die down in bafflement. “When you’re the very reason, the very person who made it so easy to capture Taehyung in the first place?” 

The declaration makes Jeongguk’s blood run cold—his heart stilling, and his breathing uneven as he stops any and all of his movements—taken aback in unadulterated shock. 

What? 

“How do you think I got hold of him, of your name, Jeon Jeongguk?” Venom reveals, his voice rising to a shrill pitch with each word. Jeongguk has no answer to that question—he barely even has an understanding on how the villain found him in the first place.

A sinking feeling overcomes his gut. 

No. No no no. I didn’t do this. 

“You’re just trying to get in my head!” Jeongguk practically screams—though he can feel his mind spiraling downwards in an ever tightening coil. 

“Keep telling yourself that,” Venom chuckles, still underneath him—still wincing in pain from the explosions that hit him. Yet his resolve is strong—robust as he taunts Jeongguk, as he gets in his head. “But word of advice to you, Spiderman,” he continues, leaning his head forward—revealing sharp pointed teeth. His words are dripping in sarcasm, “maybe don’t wear your suit to personal affairs.” 

Personal affairs? 

What personal affairs? 

Jeongguk's heartbeat quickens in realization. 

The party. 

He’d gone to the party in his suit—had decided to swing there in desperation to see Taehyung, to understand what the tension between them was. Anyone—anyone could’ve been following him, could’ve seen him transform back to Jeon Jeongguk on that rooftop to get to Taehyung. Jeongguk’s breathing becomes erratic; his heart racing madly as the cognizance hits him. 

He led Venom right to him. Right to himself, and right to Taehyung. 

This is his fault. 

His hands quiver at his sides, trembling with immense dread. If he hadn’t worn the suit earlier that night, if he wasn’t so selfish and careless, if he only put two and two together, things would go much different. Jeongguk bites his bottom lip hard, almost drawing blood from it. 

Venom stands up now, though there’s visible strain in his movements. He limps, holding onto his torso. “You are the reason he’s my captive now, Jeongguk,” he says menacingly, rancor seeping from his tone. “You’re the reason he’s in danger!”

And Jeongguk’s mind is completely hazy now—is clouded with fear, with insecurity. He can’t hear a thing, can’t focus on anything besides those last few words spoken by the villain and the way they ring in his ears, echoing throughout his whole existence. His thoughts are jumbled, confusing. He’s in deep waters now, he knows that, yet he struggles to find the shoreline of calm. 

Taehyung. I did this to Taehyung. I did it. 

“You’re the reason he’s in danger, because you were too weak to protect him!” The villain barks, spitting vindictively. In Jeongguk’s confused daze, he manages to gain control over the hero—pinning him down to the ground. 

His hold around Jeongguk tightens as he uses his symbiote powers, surrounding his body in the black, disgusting goo that Venom is composed of. Jeongguk can’t breathe—can’t feel his arms, feels his legs—his entire body being encompassed by Venom—by his body and his strength. 

“You can’t save him,” Jeongguk thinks he hears Venom taunt him from above, wounding himself tighter and tighter around the hero’s body, “and now you can’t save yourself, either.” 

Jeongguk feels lightheaded—feels dizzy and everything around him is spinning, blurry, blurry. He hears a crackling sound, then another. He wants to let the darkness take over him—wants to let Venom win because he can’t protect Taehyung—can’t take care of him. He hurt him, hurt him more than anyone else ever has. He’s disgusted with himself—displeased and ashamed that he couldn’t stop this when he wanted. Jeongguk tries to scream, but his voice is caught in his throat.

Maybe I should just let go. Maybe Taehyung will be better off that way. 

Goodbye, Taehyung.

And he’s about to—is about to succumb to Venom’s wrath—is about to give up, to end it all when a vociferous yell from behind him grabs his attention—clears his mind. 

“Don’t listen to him, Ggukie!” It’s Taehyung’s voice, and despite his obvious distance from the pair—it’s loud, so loud—rings in Jeongguk’s ears as if he were right next to him. “None of that is true. You do protect me,” it’s hoarse, his voice is hoarse—as if he were using up the last bit of it but it’s strong, it’s firm with conviction, “You protect me every single day, Ggukie. Better than anyone else.” 

“Shut up!” Venom loosens his hold for a moment, gritting the command angrily towards Taehyung. 

Jeongguk holds on for a second more. He gathers what’s left of his strength—resisting Venom’s grappling. 

Taehyung’s encouragement doesn’t end. “You are by far the most amazing, most selfless and kind human being I’ve ever met,” he cries out, his sobs wracking through his body. The sound of his voice, his beautiful, tender voice calms Jeongguk—gives him power, fortitude. “And I can’t live without you Ggukie, so please, please, don’t listen to him. You can’t listen to him.”

“Shut up, you good for nothing sidekick!” Venom scrams, his timbre deep, vicious, “You can’t save him, Spiderman!”  

He’s confused, his brain is confused and while he isn’t dormant now his energy is draining—draining quickly and Venom is winning and—

“I need you,” Taehyung bellows—his words loud, clear, distinct, even through the rain, “I need you and I,” he murmurs, “I love you. So don’t give up on me, Ggukie. Please.” 

Taehyung needs you. Taehyung loves you. 

Taehyung needs him. Taehyung can’t live without Jeongguk and above everything Taehyung believes in him. 

He amps up his tenacity—using his power to persevere against Venom’s grip. It hurts, everything hurts and there’s pain shooting up his legs, up his feet and wherever he can feel it—but he fights. He fights now, fights and doesn't let go now because Taehyung, sweet, beautiful Taehyung believes in him. 

He has to keep going. 

Jeongguk musters up all the power he has, letting it course through his veins, letting himself be consumed by the adrenaline—by the rush and the thrill of wanting to get back to Taehyung, wanting to save him from this goddamn monster. 

“Shut up, shut up!” Venom screeches—tries to regain the control he once had over Jeongguk but in his distraction, in his attempt to quiet down Taehyung he alleviates his hold on the superhero in the slightest, giving him enough wiggle room to push through, to push away Venom’s arms and his indescribable symbiote grip. 

And it still hurts—everything still hurts and Jeongguk isn’t quite sure how the dark goo of Venom’s body affected his own flesh but he fights through the agonizing pain he feels all over—fends it off as he barely squeezes himself out of Venom’s grip—fueled by Taehyung’s strength, his courage, his love. It pains, it burns, like a thousand firecrackers exploded inside his skull as a thousand red hot embers burst forth, and his vision blurs for just a second but he wills it away—wills everything away to break free, to escape Venom and to finish him off, for good—for Taehyung. 

Within a second he’s completely out of it, rolling off to the side as he barely saves himself from crashing into a nearby box—steadying his breathing as he gets his bearings back under control; his heartbeat is elevated at an alarming rate even before he attempts to get back up and off the ground. 

“How could you have possibly escaped?” Venom screams out, and though there’s satisfaction that Jeongguk gets from seeing the man so terribly distraught—he knows he’s low on energy, needs to do something, needs to end this fight fast. 

“Because,” he mumbles, as he runs back towards the villain. He’s out of breath—but not enough, not enough that he can’t manage a reply. His voice is snarky as he speaks, raucous and resolute, “I have someone worth living for, asshole.” 

He engages in hand to hand combat again now—though his punches are evidently weakened. It’s something close to a dumb idea, considering that it isn’t a sustainable attack method—but Jeongguk feels helpless. He knows that sooner or later, he’s going to tire out. Venom side steps all of his hits easily—and though the villain is also weakened, especially given the immense amount of strength he must’ve put in pinning Jeongguk down—the hero knows he’ll be able to hold his own against such feeble punches. 

Jeongguk glances down at his ammunition in deep thought amidst the battle—extremely displeased to see that he’s out of webbed grenades and bombs, as well. Without his weapons—there isn’t any way to physically defeat Venom. 

Except for perhaps one way. 

The one thing he couldn’t do last time. 

But before he can ponder over it—take a second to decide whether or not he wants to do it, Taehyung yells out the idea for him. 

“Gguk!” He shrieks, “You need to do it now. You have to use instant kill!” 

Instant kill. 

As bad as Venom is—the idea of using instant kill on him seems terribly daunting. The mechanism is one Taehyung had convinced him to install in his suit—as a means of a last resort, a final option to protect himself in dire situations. The title of it is slightly misleading—a person being able to possibly survive, under the wrath of the attack (though they would sustain major injuries). Nevertheless, Jeongguk has a semi fear of actually utilizing it. He didn’t think he’d ever have to use it—couldn’t bring himself to use it last time, when it had just been the two of them in head to head combat with no Taehyung involved.

Now, however—he doesn’t think he has a choice. It’s either Venom, or Taehyung. 

His mind reels in discomfort, in puzzlement. He tries to ignore the sickly feeling curling in the pit of his stomach—feels it twist around him as he contemplates what to do, if there’s an alternative. There’s beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, threatening to trickle down the sides of his face as he takes stock of the situation. A shiver racks his body every few moments, almost involuntary. 

But Venom takes away any chance he has to think about his options—the villain charging at Jeongguk with all his might. Taehyung screams at the top of his lungs as Venom lunges forward, his knives back in the air. Jeongguk ducks and weaves beneath the onslaught.

He’s going to kill me—kill Taehyung like this. 

I have to do it.

With the thought in his mind, Jeongguk activates the mechanism—firing up his suit. 

His heart is racing a mile a minute, his eyes wide, darting from one point to another in a frenzied frenzy. His limbs shake, feel numb, and the only thing keeping him upright is Taehyung’s unwavering faith in him. 

His entire body tenses as he feels his eyes begin to glow bright red—as he feels every single one of his muscles tense and strain, preparing for action. He’s aware his whole body is shaking, his eyes wide and glassy, focused solely on his target in front of him. His fingers curl tightly around his fists at his side—knuckles white and knuckles bloodied from the constant clenching. With all the remaining strength Jeongguk has left, with all the strength he can muster, he rushes forward, launching his webs into the air, right at his enemy, right at the source of his pain.

The increased lethality of his webbing is enough to trap Venom underneath it—the material burning through the villain’s flesh. He lets out a guttural scream as he disintegrates, a cry of, “Damn you, Spiderman!” ripping through the air, his body practically melting into the ground. He’s groaning, shrieking in agony and the shrill sound of his pain makes Jeongguk wince in dismay—until he’s nothing, anymore. 

Jeongguk releases the webbing, stumbling backwards, as soon as it’s no longer necessary. Everything is silent, aside from his heavy breathing and the beating of his chest. He drops his hands limply, allowing gravity to pull him further towards the ground until he lands in a sitting position. 

It hits him. 

He did it. 

Venom is gone. 

Taehyung is safe, out of harm’s way.

Taehyung. 

The thought of the older boy has Jeongguk moving to stand up—though his movements are unbearably slow, due to the injuries he sustained. His entire body aches, aches so bad as his limbs stretch themselves out, as he readies himself to limp towards his person—his best friend, the love of his life, everything. 

He locks gazes with Taehyung—finds that his eyes are wide, blown up out of shock—as if they couldn’t quite comprehend what went on—what is going on. 

And before his brain can think, Jeongguk’s legs are moving—walking, walking as fast as he can as he hobbles over to him, one small step at a time. He gains momentum, nearly enough to call it a jog as he runs, runs and runs until he’s right in front of the stunning male—suddenly stagnant. 

Taehyung looks up at him—looks up at him with his teary almond and quivering hands and Jeongguk wants to cry because he looks so utterly baffled, so lost. A gentle hand moves to undo the ropes that are wound tightly around his body—letting them fall quietly onto the floor.

Wordlessly, he brings the older male into his embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. 

His heart is so full—so goddamn full when Taehyung collapses into it. 

He feels the softness of Taehyung’s wet skin under his touch, feels the wet strands of his hair, the weight of his body and the way he begins to sob into Jeongguk’s chest—and the latter couldn’t be more thankful, utterly grateful to hear it, to feel him—to see that he’s alive, alive and mostly completely safe. Having Taehyung back beside him, back where he belongs is the most euphoric of feelings—indescribable, akin to finding a treasure trove after years of searching and looking and looking for it—finding it in the shape of Taehyung.

His mind, his heart, his body, his senses, all focus upon his best friend—their arms linked together, embracing one another as if they never want to let go. Jeongguk closes his eyes, lets his eyelids fall shut as he buries his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck—hoping it’ll be comforting, soothing enough to calm him down. 

He must be horribly shaken up, Jeongguk thinks. While the hero is used to this sort of thing—Taehyung was only ever behind the scenes. He never had to witness such horrors in person. 

Taehyung continues to cry, sobs racking through his entire body as he shakes, trembling wildly in Jeongguk’s arms. The latter only holds him close; wraps his arms more securely around his slender frame and cradles his head gently. He kisses his temple softly, his lips pressing into the soft strands of blonde hair in front of him. “It’s over, he’s gone,” he murmurs, as the other male continues crying into his embrace—the tears flowing steadily down Taehyung’s face, “you did so well. So incredibly well. I’m so, so proud of you.”

They stay like that for a few moments, the two of them hugging each other as the rain pours gratingly around them. Jeongguk feels Taehyung’s breaths grow heavier against his throat, hears the faintest, softest sounds coming from the elder male as he slowly relaxes in the hero’s old—his sobs becoming less distinct, less prevalent. 

Jeongguk pulls his head back to look Taehyung in the eye, his thumb wiping away the stray tears from beneath his eyelashes. “You’re so strong,” he whispers, hoarsely—pleased when Taehyung latches onto his forearm in return, “So, so strong, Taehyungie.”

Taehyung attempts a measly grin—though his execution is a little less than perfect—the smile looking more like a grimace, than anything else. There’s a whimper, a soft whine before Taehyung begins to tear up again—Jeongguk’s heart breaking into so many pieces at the sight of him, at the manner in which his best friend tries to compose himself, but evidently fails to do so. His hands come up to grab onto the hem of Jeongguk’s suit, tugging lightly. He doesn’t say anything, though his eyes say it all. He just stares at him, tears running freely down his pale cheeks, his breath shaky, as his lower lip wobbles. He can’t keep it together. 

Jeongguk has to calm him down. 

Think, Jeongguk. Think. 

There’s an idea that springs to his mind—a dumb, comedic one—one that’ll make him look more like an idiot than anything else, but Jeongguk supposes it might be worth a shot if his touches, his hugs and comforting words are ineffective at the current. 

Before he can second guess his stupid plan—he disconnects himself from Taehyung’s body—the latter gazing at him in complete and utter confusion. Jeongguk fends off the look, though—instead shooting his webs above, letting them latch onto the highest point of the warehouse. He propels himself upwards, climbing up to where the tops of his webs are—before promptly flipping himself upside down, lowering his body downwards—akin to a real spider. 

Taehyung watches as he comes towards him—now completely inverted. 

He tilts his head in confusion—his cheeks still tracked with tear stains. He looks dazed, eyes scanning over Jeongguk’s figure—his whole position—before he begins to crack a smile, giggling, giggling freely at the way the younger looks—the way he’s just hanging around in the air. His laughter is bright, loud—the sound of his voice mixing fluidly with the rain that falls from above. 

Jeongguk feels the tips of his ears get a little hot—but he chooses to remain stoic, determinedly staring at Taehyung and trying not to embarrass himself even further. 

The older’s giggles are like music to Jeongguk. He can feel every nerve in his body buzzing in excitement at the fact that his ridiculous plan worked—every sense being heightened. 

Taehyung shakes his head in endeared perplexity, raising an eyebrow. He saunters towards the younger, his fingers drifting toward the bottom of his mask. With one swoop, he latches onto it—unravelling the fabric from Jeongguk’s face. “What are you doing, Ggukie? Why did you just turn upside down?” And his voice is slightly broken, slightly discordant and gravelly—but nevertheless, beautiful. 

“Hanging around,” he responds easily—and the older snorts. “Wanted you to smile again.”

They both pause for a moment, a brief period of silence infiltrating the room—nothing, except for the sound of the rain. 

Taehyung breaks it. “Thank you,” he mutters lowly, slowly inching towards Jeongguk, “for protecting me. Always. I wasn’t lying when I yelled that out, before.” 

Jeongguk grins, nods—feeling lighter somehow. He smiles warmly—proudly at Taehyung—wants nothing more than to bring him closer—to kiss his forehead or nose or cheek or chin—to cradle him against his body and never let him go again. But he refrains, stays in his spot. “Anytime,” he replies, “I'll always be there for you.” 

And there’s more silence—more laconism as the two of them gaze at one another, their breathing heavy. Taehyung takes another step closer—and another one, and another one—until he’s close, so close that Jeongguk can feel his warm breath against his lips—can feel his proximity and the way he lingers above Jeongguk, hovering over the younger, hesitating. 

He’s so near, so near that it overwhelms Jeongguk—so near that he can feel every inhale he takes and every exhale he lets out and oh my god. 

A brief pause, before Taehyung comes in close, his fingertips caressing the side of the younger’s face. And despite the superhero still being upside down, he lets his lips press against Jeongguk’s own.

The kiss is gentle, hesitant at first, tender almost, as if testing to see how fast Jeongguk could react. As soon as he does, Jeongguk reciprocates—kisses Taehyung back with everything in him, with all of his energy and his might.

It’s passionate, loving, sweet—even if slightly wet, and sloppy from the rain above. It’s full of care and affection, full of gratitude, full of admiration, full of adoration—full of emotion. Their lips move so delicately against each other, as if they’ve done this exact action countless times before. Each brush of their lips causes their hearts to beat rapidly, their skin to flush redder. They don’t part too far away; continue kissing, holding one another so close, their bodies pressed against the other’s. They pull apart briefly for air, taking a few long deep breaths before returning their focus on kissing, lips crashing against one another fervently. Jeongguk places his hand against Taehyung’s jaw, thumbs grazing across his flushed cheeks, caressing his skin lovingly and carelessly. 

Taehyung hums in response, his own hands resting on either side of Jeongguk’s head, fingers threading themselves into the locks of black hair. The butterflies are fluttering within the younger’s chest, causing the heat within his blood to rise exponentially. They kiss once more—slowly this time. They take their time and relish every detail of kissing one another—their gazes never leaving each others' faces, only flickering between their lips and the other’s eyes. The world seems to fall away. Everything—from his surroundings—to the people outside, to the rain—all disappear. He wraps his arms tightly around whatever he can reach of Taehyung’s backside, attempting to pull him impossibly closer—and he’s sure that if he weren’t hanging in the air right now, he would be pressed up against the older right now, kissing him until neither of their lips are left.

When Jeongguk, albeit hesitantly, finally pulls away from the kiss—takes the chance to rest his forehead against Taehyung’s own, he looks at the other—smiling widely. 

“Gguk,” Taehyung says softly, his own hand brushing gently across Jeongguk’s face, his hand cupping his left cheek, his thumb stroking gently. “I love you,” he breathes—his tone filled with sincerity, love, warmth—with everything that Jeongguk ever needed. 

Jeongguk sighs, his voice tender as he murmurs back. “I love you more, Tae. Now,” he whispers into the air between the two of them, his tone loving, gentle, “let’s go home.”

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Taehyung thinks his favorite place to be is in Jeongguk’s arms—with their legs and hands intertwined, hesitant palms grazing each other’s skin, and beady eyes looking into one another’s. It always has been—ever since they were younger, and began to make the habit of cuddling together, seeking amenity in each other's warmth. 

But Taehyung finds that now, being in Jeongguk’s arms is a whole lot better when there’s kisses involved. 

They’ve been like this for a couple of days now—strewn out on Jeongguk’s bed together, kissing, holding onto one another tightly and occasionally letting go long enough for either of them to reach for food. Taehyung shifts against Jeongguk’s chest as he stretches, groaning slightly, before leaning back towards him with an affectionate look on his face. He brings one hand up to cup Jeongguk’s cheek tenderly and kiss it before releasing him; the other rests against his stomach, thumb idly rubbing circles on it.

After the traumatic events with Venom, neither of them had a desire to leave each other’s vicinity—let alone partake in university. Taehyung doesn’t know what they are, doesn’t know if this entails them as boyfriends—is baffled by Jeongguk’s sudden change of heart and attitude—but he doesn’t mind. No, he really doesn’t—not if it means he gets to spend hours upon hours curled up by the man he loves. 

Unfortunately, like all good things—he supposes that his paradise of sorts has to come to an end. A somewhat jarring end, in this case—a chill running down Taehyung’s spine when, on the fourth day of ignoring the obvious elephant in the room, Jeongguk looks down at the boy laying on his arm and murmurs the words he’d been dying to avoid. 

“We should talk.” 

At the dreaded phrase, Taehyung’s eyes blow wide—his head tilting up to face his..lover of sorts. The latter must’ve noticed his immediate panic, however, as he’s reaching down between the two of them to intertwine their hands, bringing Taehyung’s knuckles to his lips as he leaves a small kiss. “Nothing bad,” he reassures, “just feel like we need to discuss everything that’s happened, I think.”

With the consolation the hero provides, Taehyung’s anxiety slightly minimizes—the elder nodding reluctantly in response. He supposes Jeongguk is right. They couldn’t run from it—not forever. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “yeah. You’re probably right.”

Jeongguk offers a soft smile, running a gentle hand up the length of Taehyung’s arm. “Okay,” he starts, his voice tender—as if scared of hurting the older boy, “how are you feeling? About the Venom stuff?” 

The question, despite its simplicity, is a heavy one. 

Taehyung can’t say he’s fully recovered from being kidnapped by a gooey, black symbiote humanoid—considering the way he jolts at some loud noises, and how he hasn’t been sleeping—night terrors of the villain coming to find him. Truthfully, he doesn’t think he’ll ever completely recover. Despite how familiarized he is with the villains Jeongguk must confront from behind the scenes—it’s a whole other thing when they’re seen in the flesh, up close and personal. He’s not sure how Jeongguk does it everyday. 

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Taehyung admits. “Visions of him just...grabbing me and killing in my sleep.” 

Jeongguk’s lips curl into a frown at that, before he leans down, pressing a gentle peck onto Taehyung’s temple. He sighs, “Yeah, the nightmares happen. The first few times I fought villains, I couldn’t stop having them.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly, “What helped me, I think,” he whispers, a hand snaking around Taehyung’s waist, “is remembering you and my Aunt. Remember how you guys are there for me, and that no one can hurt me when you’re by my side.”

“I remember,” the older hums, recalling the early days of Jeongguk’s journey as a hero, “you’re amazing, you know? I don’t know how you go out and do that every single day.”

Jeongguk chuckles at that, shaking his head, lightly. “It’s the work of a superhero, I guess.” 

Taehyung furrows his eyebrows at the response, not liking the way the younger discredits himself. Abruptly he sits up, glancing down at his boyfriend-not-boyfriend. 

Jeongguk gives him a look of confusion. Taehyung tries to ignore the way his biceps flex as he slides a hand under his head, propping himself up. 

“No, don’t do that,” he reprimands, running a stressed hand through his hair, “don’t downgrade what you do, Gguk. You’re just,” he stumbles over his words—doesn’t think there’s enough vocabulary in the world to describe just how spectacular Jeongguk is—how much Taehyung adores him, loves him. “You’re beyond anything I’ve ever known. You’re so selfless and strong and…” he respires, shakily—unable to finish his sentence. 

Jeongguk watches him silently, a fond smile on his face. “And,” Taehyung speaks again, taking the younger’s hand in his own and lacing their fingers together—nearly squeezing the life out of them. “I don’t know how you do it. I don’t.” 

The hero sighs, holding up a beckoning finger. “C’mere,” he mutters, his voice low and raspy—far too attractive for Taehyung’s health. The older complies, hovering over Jeongguk’s torso, before the latter grabs onto his waist while still lying down, practically tugging him onto his lap as he straddles the younger. 

An involuntary giggle leaves Taehyung’s mouth. 

“You praise me so much,” Jeongguk gazes up at him with loving eyes, with that same sweet smile. Taehyung feels the heat rising in his cheeks. He brings his free hand up, cupping the older’s face. “But none of it would be possible without you, you know? You’re just as much a hero as I am, Taehyungie. Maybe even more so.” 

And Taehyung wants to sob, wants to cry tears of joy because despite everything the two of them have been through—despite their argument, their distance, the fight they endured—they’re here together now, they’re here and they’re okay, they’re happy. And he’d do it all over again—go through all of it again and again if it meant that in the end, he’d end up with Jeongguk, would get to kiss him, love him, freely. 

“You sap,” Taehyung shakes his head, as if disapproving. 

“Your sap,” Jeongguk says, his lips stretching into a wide smile. It soon fades away, however, as he reaches forward to cup Taehyung’s cheeks. He places a delicate kiss to the older’s lips, humming contently when Taehyung reciprocates, their hands roaming freely across each other.

They pull away reluctantly. 

The uncertainty Taehyung feels about their relationship returns in tsunami level waves. The thought makes him nervous, almost sick. What if Jeongguk doesn’t feel the same, or worse, what if he does but doesn’t want the same thing in return? What if he’s just looking for some fun? 

He concedes to his concerns. He needs to ask. 

Taehyung bites his lip, leaning forward again. “Hey,” he whispers, softly—his voice shaky, hesitant. “Can I ask something dumb?” 

“It probably isn’t dumb,” Jeongguk immediately responds, running comforting hands up and down Taehyung’s arms, “but shoot.” 

The older takes a deep breath. He hopes, prays to god that this doesn’t turn out badly—that he won’t regret it. 

“When you said you loved me,” he mumbles, refusing to look the younger in the eyes, “back during the fight and, uh, after it…” his mind reels with horrible outcomes. Jeongguk hating him, Jeongguk laughing in his face at his naivety. Nevertheless, he pushes forward, “did you, uh, did you really mean it? Because I’ve loved you for so, so long and I don’t think,” he looks down, sinks into himself, “I can do this if that’s not...that’s not it.” 

Jeongguk’s breath hitches at the question. He exhales, reaching up to grasp Taehyung’s chin—forcing him to look at the younger. Taehyung grimaces, but complies anyways—letting himself look into the hero’s eyes—letting himself get lost in the beauty of them, in the way his eyelashes flutter and the way his orbs sparkle. 

“I am in love with you, Kim Taehyung,” Jeongguk speaks—admits with conviction—as if he’s sure of it. So sure of it, that the confession rings with an absolute truthfulness, and leaves him feeling slightly lightheaded from the weight of it—as if he hadn’t been convinced already. His eyes widen, and he searches the younger’s face, searching for any signs that he’s lying—but he finds nothing. Just a softened gaze, the corners of Jeongguk’s mouth turning upward. “And I’m sorry,” he says, apologetically, “that it took me so long to open my eyes and see just how much I love you. I mean, for god's sake, freaking Venom realized before I did.”

Taehyung’s heart bursts—overwhelmed. He knows his jaw must be dropped in surprise, but that his eyes must be shining, must be glimmering like stars, must be filled with wonder, with awe—with pure happiness, at the mere fact that the love of his life could possibly feel the same way—at the possibility that Jeongguk feels just as deeply, just as strongly, just as hopelessly for him. 

“I think I was scared,” Jeongguk continues—diffidently, “That if you and I were...together, or something, your safety would be compromised. Which is why I also pushed you away during that one argument we had, because all I ever wanted to do was protect you.” He sighs, evidently disappointed in himself. “But I guess I endangered you, anyway, so that was a bust.” 

Taehyung frowns, his heart hurting at the way Jeongguk continues to beat himself up—continues to blame himself for the most normal, most human of mistakes. He wishes the hero wouldn’t be so hard on himself—wishes he could convince the younger that it wasn’t his fault; that they both did dumb things that they weren’t proud of. 

“I already told you Ggukie,” Taehyung breathes out, “that isn’t on you. I was irresponsible, I went to that party even though Jimin told me it wouldn’t be a good idea. We both had our parts in this mess,” he gestures between the two of them, “I mean,” he pauses, taking Jeongguk’s face gently in his hands. He runs a soft thumb over the large gash on his cheek—over the smaller scars littered throughout, “I feel responsible for these, too, you know?” 

Jeongguk moves to protest—visibly appalled, with the way his jaw goes slack, hardening. 

“But,” Taehyung presses a finger to his lips, hushing him before he can object. “I know that I couldn’t have seen any of this coming—so I’m working on not feeling guilty every time I see your beautiful scars,” he murmurs, hoping Jeongguk gets what he’s trying to say—hoping he’s making any sense, at all. 

“Wow,” Jeongguk breathes out, staring at the older, awestruck, “you’re so wise, Taehyungie. My wise baby.” 

Taehyung flushes red at the pet name—though he likes the way it rolls off Jeongguk's tongue. Jeongguk’s baby. Jeongguk ’s. 

He is Jeongguk’s, and Jeongguk is his. 

A dreamy smile grows on Taehyung’s face. Jeongguk chuckles, pressing another chaste kiss to the elder’s lips.

Silence envelopes them as Taehyung lays back down beside the younger—a peaceful kind of silence that only exists for those who truly love and treasure one another. 

They stay like that—like that for an indeterminate amount of time until Jeongguk breaks the laconism first, his voice soft, unsure. 

“I think a part of me also thought I wasn’t good enough for you,” he mumbles, and Taehyung’s heart nearly splits in two. What? “Not only because I feel like you deserve better than Jeongguk: Nerd Supreme, but also because I thought you’d just be, I don’t know, better off with someone who wouldn’t leave you all the time. Someone who could be with you at all times, who could do everything a normal lover would do.”

Taehyung looks up towards the younger, reaching up to leave a kiss on the underside of his jaw. “Hey,” he coos, his hand resting against the side of Jeongguk’s neck and rubbing slow, soothing circles into it. “Look at me,” he encourages. Jeongguk hums softly, his eyelids fluttering shut as he turns his head to meet Taehyung’s eye. “I love you for all of you,” Taehyung asserts, his voice “including the nerdy side of you, and the Spiderman part of you. We’re in this together, Ggukie. I understand if we can’t have the most conventional of relationships. I’ve always understood that—and I fell in love with you, anyways.” 

Jeongguk cracks a little smile, his eyes brightening in delight. “Really?” He asks shyly, his tone hopeful. Taehyung grins, his own eyes sparkling as well—he leans up to press a gentle, lingering kiss to the younger’s lips. “Yes, really,” he whispers against the others lips, “and besides, do you know how daunting it is being Spiderman’s boyfriend? You’re a superhero, for god’s sake!” 

His hand flies up to cover his mouth when he realizes his fatal mistake. 

Oh no. I didn’t just say that. 

No. No no no no. 

“Boyfriend?” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow, a smirk growing on his features. Taehyung wants to die. 

Thankfully, the tension slowly melts from the atmosphere—leaving calmness and tranquility as a small chuckle escapes Jeongguk’s throat. “I like the sound of that, baby.” 

Taehyung beams at his response, his eyes crinkling with joy. “It suits us, I think,” the younger muses, looking around the room, taking in its surroundings. His hand slides under Taehyung’s shirt to find the small, bare skin of his lower stomach. “Hi boyfriend,” he murmurs, rubbing more gentle circles. 

“Hey you,” the older grins, pressing one last peck to Jeongguk’s lips. He taps the side of the bed, “C’mon, we should get your bandages changed. Can’t have that getting infected.” 

“Mmm, no,” Jeongguk groans—Taehyung snickering at his childish antics, “just wanna stay here with you. At least until we have to go back to university.” 

“Stop talking nonse—” the older begins, before remembering something. 

University. 

Fashion Project. 

Oh shit. 

“Fuck,” he panics, sliding off of the bed, pacing around their room, “shit, shit, shit.” 

Jeongguk looks alarmed, sitting up nearly immediately. He winces slightly at the frantic movement. Taehyung would yell at him, had his mind not been so preoccupied. “What? What happened?”

“My fashion project,” Taehyung reveals, biting at his nails, his hands shaking uncontrollably—as they always did when anxiety overtook him, especially now, in situations like these. “It’s due tomorrow, and I completely forgot to work on it over the past couple of days. Shit.” 

Jeongguk reaches out for the elder’s hands. “Hey hey hey, calm down there, okay?” he asks, calming Taehyung somewhat. “Don’t worry. We can get it done. I’ll help you out.” 

The older nods, breathing shakily, “Okay,” he murmurs, “yeah, yeah, okay—okay. But,” he sighs—realization hitting him yet again, “don’t you have Spiderman duties to attend to? I don’t wanna...police you, you know?” 

Jeongguk looks away—as if he’d forgotten he said that. He exhales, heavily, “I’m sorry I ever said that, Tae. I really am. I know you were just looking out for me and when you weren't I realized how much of an idiot I was for ever implying that,” he atones, guiltily, “but to answer your question, no.”

"S'okay," the older responds—honestly, this time. He means it. "I mean, a part of me also knows that I need to learn how to let you do your superhero thing without going batshit crazy. I get why you snapped in the end but...no?” Taehyung asks again—as if to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. "Are you sure?" 

“No,” Jeongguk repeats, a small smile growing on his face, “Someone once told me that they think we can leave those small, pesky issues to the police, and I agree with them. For now,” he walks towards the older boy, grasping both of his hands, “I wanna help the guy I love.” 

And Taehyung has to resist the urge to jump into Jeongguk’s arms—to cry into his shoulder, to kiss him in gratitude. Instead, he leans up to press a kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek. He knows they still have a lot to work on together, but this is certainly a start. “Thank you,” he whispers into the air between the two of them, tilting his head softly. 

Jeongguk looks dazed, a hand reaching up to touch the spot Taehyung had left his mark on. “Always,” he mutters—and his promise is sincere, “always.” 

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡　🕷️　ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

Being with Taehyung is a dream, Jeongguk thinks. He’d been worried, for a moment, that things would get awkward—that he and Taehyung would never be able to properly move past the boundary that is being best friends—but now that it’s happening, he thinks they might’ve already crossed that line a long time ago. 

Being with Taehyung is like flying through clouds without needing wings; it feels like floating freely in the air, not weighed down by anything or anyone else except himself and his lover. It’s akin to being on top of the world without ever having to feel any shame about how high up you are. It’s flying on the back of an invisible wind, only to realize that you're soaring above everything but gravity and are now completely suspended midair, looking down upon it all at your leisure. When it comes to this sort of magic, Jeongguk doesn't believe that any other feeling could compare. He loves this, loves this so much more than anything he's ever felt before.  

Mornings with him were like the ones movies talked about—the ones with back hugs and pancakes, with soft kisses to fluttery eyelids and piggy back rides when Taehyung felt too lazy to move. In those mornings, their bodies seemed to melt into one another and the atmosphere was filled with sweet love. Their hearts beat together as though they belonged there, and the air around them smelled fresh and clean with the scent of honey and coffee. 

Evenings with him were no less enjoyable, with gentle words exchanged in low voices and warm laughter as he sat next to Jeongguk on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms. Some of them, when Jeongguk could manage the two of them in a trip, were even spent on that same rooftop ledge, gazing at the stars and galaxies that litter the sky above them, hands entwined with the occasional kiss. 

And working with him, of course—is still one of the best decisions Jeongguk has ever made. Their dating only affirmed that choice. Afternoons in the lab working on revamping the suit were now accompanied by impromptu makeout sessions—the two of them acting like secret high school lovers. Speaking over the intercom while Jeongguk fought crime became an outlet to flirt excessively with one another, the superhero dropping comments on how “sexy your brain is, baby” and “I have the most intelligent boyfriend”, only to receive a punch in the arm from the boy when he gets home. But Jeongguk will take it—will take the pain just to see his Taehyung blush and turn away—admiring just how cute he is. 

Of course, the only real downside is having to deal with their annoying friends. 

The first time they’d found out, Seokjin and Jimin threw an entire fit—upset that they had to discover the relationship through the two of them making out in the lab, as opposed to a confirmation from the boys themselves. They were cross with Taehyung and him for a while—making it a point to scoff at them everytime they walked by.

And as horrible as that sounds, Jeongguk thinks he might miss that treatment from them.

Because now, all they do is tease. They tease whenever they’re together—whenever Taehyung’s hand brushes against Jeongguk’s, whenever they speak to one another, whenever they so much as look at each other. 

Such as right now, as Jeongguk watches his boyfriend standing proudly on the stage—waiting for him to present his fashion project. 

“Look at the lovesick man,” Seokjin taunts, his lips quirking up into an amused smirk. Jimin joins in, easily, “It’s like Taehyung is all he sees.” 

“Because he is all I see,” Jeongguk groans in response, “you caught me. I’m a whipped man. Now, would you please let it go?”

“Nuh uh,” Jimin shakes his head, crossing his arms, “not when you literally said a couple weeks ago that you’d date Kim Namjoon over him. I don’t think my best friend is in good hands.”

The younger winces at the reminder. What was I thinking? 

“I admit,” Jeongguk raises his hands up in mock surrender, “I was dumb back then. Now,” he maneuvers back towards the stage, letting his stare linger on his stunningly gorgeous boyfriend, “can we please let this go, so we can all enjoy Taehyung’s presentation?”

Unsurprisingly, they refuse. 

But it’s okay, Jeongguk thinks, because he knows how to shut them up for good—a sly smirk overcoming his features at the plan for the day’s events. 

“And next up,” the voice of the announcer echoes through the room—vociferously, “we have Kim Taehyung, presenting his design for the semester.”

An obligatory round of applause is done, before Taehyung steps to center stage—the boy looking slightly nervous, timid. 

Jeongguk shoots him a thumbs up. 

The older man acknowledges it with a grateful smile. 

“Hello everyone, I’m Kim Taehyung,” he introduces himself. This piece,” he holds up the design they worked on nearly a month ago, at this point. It’s a blue and red two piece—a red, velvet A-line dress, paired with a complimentary denim jacket. He’d done a tremendous job and gotten a near perfect score on the enterprise, even if he’d suffered several mental breakdowns the day he completed it (“The whole fitting of the bodice is off, Ggukie! What am I supposed to do now?” “I don’t even know what that means, Tae.”). It’s why he got to present the venture today—in front of everyone else in his department, “I struggled a lot with finishing it, mainly because I’m a terrible procrastinator.”

The audience chuckles. Jeongguk winks at him. 

“But now that I managed to persevere and finish it,” Taehyung grins, displaying the piece proudly, “it’s become the most important project I’ve ever made. And I’m so thankful I got the opportunity to work on it.” 

He goes into the technicalities of the work—the type of fabric he used, the stitching, the pattern—all fashion jargon that Jeongguk doesn’t quite understand. Nevertheless, he listens intently—making sure to capture every word the older speaks. 

“But finally, I want to talk about the most important part of this look,” he breathes out, his voice slightly shaky. Jeongguk resists the urge to run up there and bring him in his embrace, shielding him from his worries, “the inspiration behind it.”

Jeongguk’s breath hitches. 

“My beloved boyfriend,” he continues, his voice wavering slightly, “is the reason I was able to come up with this idea, and finish this project. So, my love,” he giggles, lips curling up into a grin, “thank you so much for doing this with me, and for always supporting me. I love you, so so much.”

The superhero’s heart bursts, his eyes sparkling like sapphires with tears gathering at the corners. His insides tingle, tingle with fondness and affection, with love, as his eyes dart across the room, scanning every inch of it to try and commit every detail of the day to his memory. His boy is something special; and everything here, everything about this presentation makes Taehyung even more unique. He’s everything this world could possibly give him and more, and for this alone Jeongguk wishes he could live forever.

The moment, unfortunately, is ruined when he hears Seokjin gag from beside him—his nose scrunched up in discomfort. “I’m gonna hurl,” he whispers—to which Jimin nods in agreement. 

Oh my god. 

Jeongguk decides that right then is a great time to put his plan into motion. 

As Taehyung says thank you to the audience once again, and exits off the stage—Jeongguk slips out of the room, into a dark janitor’s closet. He works quickly and quietly as he reaches into his bag, pulling out the item he needs. 

His spiderman suit.

He slips the spandex on, making sure to slide his mask on, as well. He throws the remainder of his clothes back into the bag, zipping up his belongings tightly. Slowly, he exits the closet. 

As he makes his way out the door, he scans the room for his boyfriend—pleased when he sees him chatting away with Jimin and Seokjin—a grin etched on his face. 

He takes a moment to admire how stunning Taehyung looks—to admire the way his blonde hair has grown out, framing his face beautifully, and the small hint of red dusting his cheeks, along with his bright and shiny brown eyes that hold nothing but adoration for him. He’ll never get tired of watching his handsome boy. 

He approaches him from afar, careful not to make a sound as he creeps towards him. Jimin and Seokjin catch sight of him first—their jaws dropping, hands reaching up to cover their mouths. They point in Jeongguk’s direction—their fingers shaking. 

Taehyung turns around. 

“Oh my god,” he utters—his eyes blow out wide, “what are you—”

“Could I speak with you off to the side, my prince?” Jeongguk flirts easily—his confidence much more prevalent with the suit. 

Jimin and Seokjin nearly shriek, the latter of the two loudly whispering, “My prince? Are you cheating on Jeongguk with the freaking Spiderman?”

“Sure,” Taehyung ignores them, a twinkle in his eye—as if catching onto what Jeongguk is trying to do, “show me the way, handsome.”

Jeongguk grips Taehyung’s wrist, bringing him to a more secluded area of the room. They get some looks, of course, considering Spiderman is casually conversing with a student, but the hero opts to overlook them as they eventually reach a place where there's no one around—just the two of them, his focus turned to the older boy completely. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Jeongguk murmurs, caressing Taehyung’s palm, “you absolutely nailed it. And your little message to me made me tear up, slightly.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Taehyung giggles, reaching up to lift Jeongguk’s mask—just enough to expose the latter’s lips, “but let me just say, you’re the most petty human being ever. You know they’re gonna kill you for this, right?” 

“Let them,” Jeongguk whispers, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist. Without hesitating, he leans down to lock his lips with Taehyung’s—the older’s own arms coming to wrap around his neck. The kiss deepens instantly—feels so natural, so intimate—feels giddy and content. “God, I love you so much,” Jeongguk tells him between kisses—before continuing on to whisper sweet compliments in between each kiss, peppering them on his face and neck.

“Love you much more, my hero,” Taehyung pauses for a moment to say before letting their lips meet again. Jeongguk’s heart swells—he can hear Taehyung sigh contently, can feel his smile against his own mouth, “My very own hero,” he repeats, and Jeongguk feels as though he’s floating, as though his limbs have suddenly gone weightless as they continue kissing—ignoring the rest of the world around them. 

The superhero feels his phone buzz in his pocket. 

small fry the cheater  

WAIT A MIN 

idiot seokjin

ARE 

small fry the cheater  

YOU

idiot seokjin

SPIDERMAN??? 

Jeongguk resist the urge to cackle right there—especially with Taehyung peering over his shoulder and giggling softly into the curve of his neck.

He can respond to those later, he thinks. But for now—he turns back to his boyfriend, his lips meeting Taehyung's languidly—for what seems like the thousandth time that day. 

Him and Taehyung, Taehyung and him. As it should be. 

Always.