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Nobody thought a freaking superhero was going to show up at your doorstep. Well, you certainly didn’t.
Yet, there he was, when you opened your window to a 6 '4 figure, bruised, bleeding and half hidden behind a torn mask.
Spider-man.
The one and only Spider-Man was at your window, bleeding all over your floor that you just cleaned.
You genuinely didn't expect the hero to be at your apartment. Bruised, battered up, cheek swollen from a punch you assume he took in from tonight's villains, only they might’ve won a couple of more rounds than spiderboy did.
Nevertheless, he still looked breathtaking as one masked individual could be.
With the calming rain lashing down on the city behind Spiderman, nothing compared to the look you had on your face. Your body stayed in place. Your brain scrambled for logic, any logic. Why your apartment? Why you? Maybe he’d just collapsed near your building? Maybe you were the closest light on in the storm? Maybe-
A broken cough shattered your thoughts. Instantly, you lurched forward on instinct, catching him before he hit the floor. His weight was heavy and unsteady and worst of all, he was trembling.
Exhausted, hungry, and emotionally broken.
The web hero stumbled and tried to walk around the apartment, grabbing onto you as a way to gain support. The fight with Vulture had clearly gone wrong. His body screamed in bruises, every breath a shallow rasp all while leaving him with a symphony of aches and a throbbing head.
He shouldn't be here.
He knew that.
So, why is he here?
Because for some reason he couldn’t name yet, you’re the only one he can trust.
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The world spun in a dizzying kaleidoscope of pain and fading light for him. Each blink threatened to be his last, awareness flickering like a dying flame.
“(Y/N)”
The name, a desperate plea more than a thought, escaped his lips.
It made your heart stop for a minute.
He needed you, this masked stranger who you'd inexplicably forged a fragile connection with in less than ten minutes. Yet, the way he said your name, the way he moved and breathed; was so hauntingly familiar, familiar to a man who your heart belonged too.
He groaned again, snapping you out of it. You guided him to your couch, your hands sticky with blood, not even caring about the mess.
The storm outside killed the power, leaving only the dull white of the streetlights bleeding through your curtains. Highlights and shadows painted him in amber and darkness, every muscle defined beneath that sleek, midnight blue-red suit.
He looked around, dazed, but too knowingly. The hallway seemed familiar for him, the air shifting scent of jasmine and citrus perfume that lingered in like deja vu..
No. Not deja vu. Recognition.
Oh he knew exactly where he was.
You stood there, heartbeat thrumming in your throat, watching his every move, his every soft groan of pain. That same familiar feeling in your chest didn’t go away.
Why does he feel so familiar? Why did the masked superhero move like someone you knew?
And why on earth–why the hell did he smell like Tsukishima?
Your Tsukishima. The same one whose warmth you could still feel when you closed your eyes.
You swallowed hard and force yourself to move, grabbing the small first-aid kit from under your coffee table. The motion itself felt mechanical, as if you stopped to think, your hands would start shaking. You knelt beside him, fingers trembling as you tore open an antiseptic wipe.
He flinched when the cold sipe touched his skin, a quiet hiss escaping through clenched teeth. The fabric of his torn suit peeled back, revealing a trail of angry bruises blooming across his ribs. You tried not to look too long, tried not to notice the way his chest rose and fell beneath your shaking hands.
“Hold still,” you murmured, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
He obeyed, barely. His breathing hitched again when you pressed a gauze pad against a gash you cleaned near his collarbone, your sleeves already staining crimson.
He stirred with a low murmur, forcing his head to rise. Pain rippled through him, sending a sharp and unforgiven wave of agony through him. The words that followed were barely audible, smothered by the mask clinging to his face. Then his hands caught your arms, tight and desperate.
The antiseptic slipped from your fingers, falling soundlessly to the floor. His eyes burned into yours, wild and searching; until finally, something clicked.
His grip loosened. The storm inside him quieted.
You blinked, your breath catching as you dabbed the cut along his jawline, the dark fabric of his mask brushing your wrist. Yet, it was more painful than he expected it to be.
“A-ah, go easy” He hissed, his voice hoarse but soft behind the mask.
Oh his voice, his soft voice...as sweet as it sounded...
it was familiar.
But unbearably familiar.
Too familiar.
“(Y/N)?” he whispered, almost begging.
You froze.
The alcohol-soaked towel in your hand fell away completely, forgotten.
That same exact voice. You’ve heard it before.
Because that voice,the one breaking softly under your name under all that exhaustion, beneath the pain and blood…
That voice was his.
“Tsukishima?”
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Your pulse roared in your ears. You almost didn’t hear his voice getting caught in his throat, at the fear that you might’ve found out who the superhero really was.
You reached up before you could stop yourself, fingers hovering near the edges of his mask.
“Don’t…” he rasped out, his hand twitching towards yours, but his words came out weak with fear. Pleading, but not commanding. His fingers curled in on yours, attempting to lower instead of pushing you away with what little strength he had left.
You hesitated. His chest rose sharply, your fingers were just inches from his skin.
For a second, you both froze, caught in that unbearable space between fear and truth.
Then, he exhaled. A shaky breath that sounded almost like surrender. His hand fell from the air, brushing against your wrist before settling in his lap. The resistance in him faltered, and though he said nothing more, the silence that followed felt like permission.
He was letting you.
Slowly, cautiously, your fingers traced the torn edges of his mask. The fabric was damp with crimson blood, stubbornly clingy to his skin. You hesitated, watching him for any twitch, any breath that meant he wanted you to stop.
His eyes followed every single motion of yours, pupils blown wide, his breathing now shallow then ever.
You tugged gently, peeling the fabric upward. He flinched one, jaw tightening, but you knew what it meant.
He didn’t stop you. In fact, he leaned in closer.
The tension in his shoulders slowly disappeared.
And then-
His mask slipped free.
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For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The world shrank to the space between you, to the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the soft tremor in your fingers.
It was him.
Oh my god, it was him.
Tsukishima.
Your heart instantly broke at the sight. His face was bruised, his lip split open, a couple of thin cuts that looked deep above his eyebrow and under his eyebags. His glasses were cracked with emotions you couldn’t even begin to decipher.
Despite everything, it was him. Dear god, it was him.
The boy who would always somehow be late to your dates. Somehow climb in through your window, claiming he could use the ladder, but you never remembered seeing ladders near your apartment.
And suddenly, all the disappearances made sense.
Your boyfriend was the one and only superhero of this city. The one who put his life on the line for his citizens.
Your throat tightened painfully. You lifted your hand again, brushing a streak of dried blood from his cheek. HIs skin burned beneath your fingertips, and the moment you touched him, his lashes fluttered.
He looked at you like he didn’t know whether to apologize or fall apart.
“Say..say something,” He whispered, his voice barely there.
You swallowed hard again, your throat suddenly too dry for words. His eyes were half-lidded, shadows hiding part of his face.
But even through the shadows, you could feel his gaze, sharp and searching for an answer from your distraught face.
“I–I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice cracking in the quiet. “I don’t even know what to say.”
He gave a shaky breath, a sound that almost turned into a laugh, low and rough, like he was trying to hide the pain with humor. “You? Lost for words?” His lips curved faintly, that ghost of a smirk that was so him. “That’s new.”
That tone, dear god that stupid, teasing tone that always walked the line between sarcasm and affection. How it tore through you like glass.
“Don’t,” you whispered, the word trembling out before you could stop it. You pressed the towel against his jaw a little harder than you meant to, your hands trembling with something you couldn’t name. “Don’t talk like that right now. You’re hurt.”
He hissed, his hand twitching but not pulling away. The sound came out through gritted teeth, but even then, the smirk didn’t leave. “Still bossy,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You exhaled sharply, part exasperation, part disbelief. “You idiot, you almost died,” you were shaking at this point.
“Yeah I know,” he said quietly, his gaze on your hands now as his humor trickled away. Only now the truth was between you both. “But I didn’t.”
That made you pause. You looked at him, really looked. You saw how the exhaustion clouded his eyes, the faint tremor in his hands, the way he tried to comfort you when he was the one bleeding.
Something in your chest cracked. You wanted to yell, to cry, to hold him all at once.
His eyes softened at that. “Hey,” he whispered, voice rasping but gentle, “I’m here.”
You shook your head, fighting the tears stinging your eyes. “You’re Spider-Man,” you said, half in awe, half in disbelief.
“Yeah,” he breathed again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Guess I am.”
His hand found yours, weak, trembling, but still steady enough to curl around your fingers. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
You met his gaze, the words catching in your throat. “Like what?”
“Like I’m someone else,” he murmured, that faint, broken smile tugging at his lips. “I’m still me.”
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You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Your eyes dropped to the blood smudged across his cheek, and without thinking, you reached for another clean wipe. The silence between you stretched, thick and humming, every sound of rain outside only making it louder.
“Baby, look at me,” He asked again, his voice desperate for an answer.
Tsukishima watched you, gaze tracing every tiny movement, your trembling fingers, your bitten lip, the way you couldn’t look at him for too long.
Breathing in what seemed like a huff of confidence, you stared back at his golden-hazel eyes. You tried to keep your focus, but the space between you was closing in with every heartbeat.
Your hands found his jaw, sending you electric shocks through your brain. You couldn’t tell if he was doing it subconsciously or if it was your nervous system going crazy.
“Kei,” The nickname hit him like a pulse, his chest rose with slight panic which he tried to hide. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you whispered finally, your voice cracking at the edges.
He went silent for a second, searching for a proper answer that didn’t sound like an excuse.
“Because you’d worry,” he said after a long pause, quiet and sincere. “And I didn’t want that for you. Not for something I chose.”
Your heart and your brain were ripping apart inside.
Oh your beautiful, handsome, superhero boyfriend, was carrying the world’s weight literally on his shoulders.
A tear fell down your cheek. You didn't even realize you were crying. “You think I wouldn’t worry anyway?” you said, your words shaking as your thumb brushed a smear of blood off his chin. “You come home every night like nothing’s wrong, but-”
He grabbed your wrist, gently this time, his touch feather light. “I didn’t want you to look at me like this. I wanted to keep that version of me, the one that existed with you safe.” he murmured, voice low, the exhaustion bleeding through it. “I wanted to keep you safe.”
Your heart swelled at his words. You blinked, your tears finally spilling over.
“You idiot,” you whispered.
“I fell in love with you. All of you.”
He went still. His hand slid down, intertwining with yours instead of holding it still. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of fights you never knew about, but his touch was still so careful.
“Guess I didn’t hide as well as I thought,” he said, a quiet smirk ghosting his lips.
You huffed a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob. “No. You really didn’t.”
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For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The rain outside softened to a murmur, and all you could hear was the rhythm of his breathing, slow, deliberate, grounding.
Your forehead brushed his, almost by accident. He didn’t move away.
You could feel his breath on your lips, the space between you unbearably small, the air heavy with everything neither of you said.
“(Y/N),” he murmured, voice softer now, raw around the edges.
“Mm?” you responded, your eyes half-lidded.
“I’m sorry.”
You froze, unsure what to say at first.
“Don’t be. Just… make sure I never lose you.”
You closed your eyes, trying to push away the fears that crept up unknowingly to you.
He nodded once — small, broken, but certain. “You won’t.”
“I mean it, Kei” you teased, a hint of fake anger in your voice.
Your hand lingered on his cheek a moment longer, thumb tracing the faint line of his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed under your touch, and for the first time that night, the storm outside felt far away.
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