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There were, in Fluixon Aculon's opinion, very few things in this world that were inherently suspicious.

Here were a few examples: A politician refusing to answer a question, a university administrator announcing a "routine policy update" without explaining what policy was being changed, and a campus organization suddenly receiving an unusually generous donation from a company nobody had ever heard of.

All suspicious, all worthy of investigation, and all perfectly reasonable subjects for his organization—The Conspiracy. After all, if he had to live by one quote in his life, it was that he would always be willing to betray one person to save a thousand—and even if that said person was someone as influential as the aforementioned public figures, then so be it.

Spiderman, however, was not suspicious; Spiderman was obvious. If he had to describe Spiderman in under a minute, he wouldn’t even need a second to think about it: ‘Spiderman was a government pawn.’

Fluixon had said that description many times that it could have practically become a slogan within Conspiracy.

You see, it had started as a very mellow opinion—’Spiderman isn’t as heroic as you think he is.’ He remembered saying that one time another media organization cornered him for an interview after another Spiderman incident happened. 

Then, after multiple more incidents. it had become an editorial The Conspiracy actually made, then another editorial, until at one point, it had already become a whole series.

Eventually, a running joke among the other officers of The Conspiracy arised—something along the lines of Fluixon being one poorly timed Spiderman sighting away from establishing an entire department dedicated solely to investigating the masked vigilante.

He insisted that this was not true, he had no such department… yet.

"He's a menace." Fluixon said this with the solemnity of a man presenting a groundbreaking investigative report.

Across the table, Thomas looked up from his laptop. "You've said that already."

"And I'll say it again." Fluixon huffed. 

Thomas shook his head. "That doesn't make it more true."

"It makes it more consistent." He argued. 

Thomas sighed, Fluixon ignored him.

The Conspiracy office was unusually crowded that afternoon. Papers were scattered across nearly every available surface, someone's half-finished drink had been abandoned beside the printer, and the whiteboard was covered in deadlines that everyone had agreed were important yet collectively ignored.

Gotoga was arguing with Rotation about a headline, Snowbird was editing photographs so that they could have it approved to Sidefall, who headed their partner media organization, Seraphim was trying to convince Newkids that stealing office supplies was, in fact, stealing, even if the office technically belonged to them.

And in the middle of it all stood Fluixon, holding up a photograph of Spiderman as though he had personally caught the man committing a felony. "Look at him."

Thomas looked. "I am looking."

"Do you see it?" He murmured as his hands gestured a bit too dramatically at the photograph.

"I see Spiderman." Thomas deadpanned. 

"Exactly." Fluixon hummed, as if that singular word could explain everything. 

Thomas stared at him. "I genuinely have no idea what you’re trying to point out, dude."

Fluixon groaned as he lowered the photograph to look at his associate editor. "What could you possibly not get? He appears at major incidents, causes extensive property damage, then disappears before authorities can question him! And somehow, the public still thinks he's a good hero."

Gotoga leaned over. "Didn't he stop a robbery last week?"

"Yes." Fluixon nodded without much thinking.

"And prevent a bus from crashing?" Gotoga continued. 

"Yes." Fluixon confirmed again. 

"And save those people from the fire?" 

"Yes." Fluixon paused. "But those so-called good deeds don't prove anything."

Rotation snorted. "How does that not prove anything?"

"Because it’s so obvious that it could just be staged!” Fluixon exclaimed, “For example, that robbery you mentioned, It was later found out anyway that the robber was just a poor homeless man, reaching for the extremes just to survive, and Spiderman was sooo quick to punish him and send him off to the police!”

Fluixon’s tone started getting more and more heated as he rambled, “Yet, when it comes to government officials, who—mind you—have stolen so much more from the people’s taxes with their ‘damage-control’ projects, are still walking freely and even praising Spiderman for lowering the crime rates! Does that not scream public relations to all of you?”

There was silence. Snowbird slowly lowered his camera, Thomas stared at Fluixon. "You think Spiderman is doing all of that for publicity?"

"I think we know who he's doing it for." Fluixon scoffed, “For the people to start believing the government’s actually good.”

"No… I think it’s more like… he’s fighting criminals for the greater good, though." Seraphim reasoned.

Fluixon rolled his eyes at that. "So you say."

"Fluixon." Thomas suddenly started.

He blinked, turning to Thomas. "What?"

"You're insane." Thomas said matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?” Fluixon gawked at that, genuinely offended. "I'm a student journalist—i’m merely asking the questions people are afraid to ask.”

"Those two factors aren't mutually exclusive." Thomas shrugged.

Fluixon frowned, he was about to answer when his phone buzzed on the table, when he glanced down, his entire expression changed—the irritation disappeared, the suspicion softened, and the corners of his mouth lifted.

Thomas immediately knew. "Oh, no." He buried his face on the palm of his hands.

Fluixon picked up his phone, a message sat on the screen.

Saps: 

hi :)

Saps: 

my classes just finished!

Saps: 

are you still at the office?

Fluixon typed back immediately.

Flux: 

yeah.

A reply came almost instantly.

Saps: 

want me to bring you food?

Fluixon smiled.

Flux: 

yes please.

Saps: 

okay!

Saps: 

see you soon <3

He put his phone down. Gotoga watched him. "Who was that?"

"Saps." Fluixon answered quickly. 

"Ah." The conspiracy members all collectively said.

Fluixon went back to his photograph. Thomas looked between him and the phone, then back at Fluixon.

"You know," he said carefully, "if you spent half as much time talking about your boyfriend as you do Spiderman, maybe your peace of mind would be much greater than it is right now.”

"Shut up." Fluixon huffed, “I talk about my boyfriend more than I do Spiderman, don’t get your facts twisted, Thomas. You’re my associate editor, you should know better.”

"Just saying." Thomas sighed, already used to Fluixon’s horrendous bluntness.

Fluixon ignored him, he looked down at the photograph again. Spiderman was captured mid-swing, one hand extended toward the next building, red and blue blurring against the evening sky.

The image had been taken only two nights ago. Fluixon had spent the better part of yesterday analyzing it.

There were patterns; there were always patterns. Spiderman's appearances weren't random, nor were his movements and choice of locations. Someone was going to have to figure out what was really going on behind him, and Fluixon intended to be that person—to be the one to truly expose that superhero’s true intentions.

He just didn't know yet that the answer he constantly searches for was already on its way to the Conspiracy office carrying two takeout meals.

He didn't know that the person he had been investigating for months was the same person whose messages made him smile at his phone like an idiot.

He didn't know that Spiderman knew exactly what Fluixon thought of him.

He didn't know that Spiderman was, in fact, currently standing outside the building, or more specifically, Fluixon Aculon didn't know that the vigilante he criticized every second of day and night—Spiderman—was his long-time boyfriend, Saparata Theria.

Saparata had been keeping that particular secret for a very long time. He had gotten surprisingly good at it—mostly.

There had been close calls, and there had been lies, there had been emergency exits through bedroom windows, suspicious bruises, conveniently timed disappearances, and more than one occasion where Saparata had returned home five minutes after Spiderman had supposedly been seen across campus.

There had also been the small problem that Fluixon was a journalist—A very good one, the kind who noticed inconsistencies, details, and could interrogate a person for twenty minutes about a missing comma in a university memorandum.

The most important factor was that Saparata has been dating him ever since they were in high school, before he got bit by a radioactive spider that led to the whole mess of his life.

Which meant that every time Fluixon published another article condemning Spiderman, Saparata had to sit there, smile politely, and pretend that his boyfriend's latest accusation against his secret identity wasn't slowly killing him inside.

The most recent article had been particularly brutal.

Saparata had read it at three in the morning while lying beside Fluixon. He stared at the screen for a ridiculously long minute.

SPIDER-MAN, HERO OF STATE CIVILIZATION: FOR THE PEOPLE, OR FOR THE GOVERNMENT?

Saparata had nearly thrown his phone across the room. Instead, he whispered, "You have got to be kidding me."

Fluixon, half-asleep beside him, had murmured something incomprehensible and rolled closer. Saparata had immediately softened at the action as he held his boyfriend in his arms just a little tighter.

That was the problem; he could survive Fluixon's articles, he could survive the conspiracy theories, and he could even survive being called a government pawn by his own boyfriend.

What he wasn't sure he could survive was the day Fluixon finally discovered the truth.

Because Saparata knew exactly what Fluixon thought about Spiderman, he also knew exactly what Fluixon thought about Saparata Theria. And, somehow, those two things had never once connected in his boyfriend's mind.

Outside the Conspiracy office, Saparata adjusted the strap of the food bag on his wrist.

Then he looked up at the building. "Okay," he whispered to himself. "Just act normal."

He took a breath, he pushed open the door, and walked straight into the life of the man who was going to expose him eventually—probably—but hopefully not soon.

Because, for now, Saparata had dinner to deliver, and Fluixon had another article to write.

— [ 1/5 ] —

You must be wondering, though, where did this all properly begin in the first place?

Well, the first time Fluixon Aculon publicly declared his love-hate relationship with Spiderman, Saparata Theria was sitting approximately four feet away from him.

"Before we start," Fluixon said, standing at the front of the Conspiracy office, "I want everyone to understand that this is not a personal attack."

Saparata slowly looked up from his phone. To be frank—he didn’t know why he was hanging around in the Conspiracy office, after all, he wasn’t even an official member. 

…Okay, scratch that, he does know why—He just missed his boyfriend, okay? And if he had to go through his boyfriend’s entire hate speech about Saparata’s alter-ego, then so be it.

Thomas, seated beside him, immediately said, "That's exactly what it is."

"No, this is a very reasonable topic proposal for our next article." Fluixon clarified.

"You have a slideshow, dude.” Thomas gestured to the huge projectile screen that Fluixon personally owned and kept in the office, damn his richness.  “Usually, we just submit proposals in a word document.”

"I like visual aids." Fluixon shrugged. 

"I don’t think you like them that much to the point you need thirty-seven slides." Thomas pushed further.

"Thirty-eight." Fluixon corrected in a very sharp tone.

Thomas closed his eyes in defeat. 

Saparata wanted to do the same, honestly. He knew that tone—he had heard that tone before. It was the tone Fluixon used whenever he had found something that he considered deeply, profoundly, unquestionably suspicious.

Saparata had learned to fear it, because Fluixon could be incredibly persistent. Once, Saparata had watched his boyfriend spend an entire evening investigating why a fellow campus organization—Luminara—had suddenly changed the color of its official logo.

The simplest answer had been that the organization had hired a new graphic designer. Still, Fluixon had written a three-page document about the suspicious timing of the change.

So if Fluixon had prepared thirty-eight slides about Spiderman, Saparata knew better than anyone that this was not going to be a short meeting.

He glanced around the room.

Thomas, the associate editor, was sitting with his arms crossed, looking like a man already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment.

Gotoga, the managing editor, was leaning back in his chair, visibly entertained. 

Snowbird, the media chief executive, had a laptop open in front of him for his work of editing the evaluations, but was no longer pretending to work.

Rotation, the internal business manager, had his arms folded.

Seraphim, the external business manager, sat near the end of the table, looking between Fluixon and the projector with the weary patience of the only woman in the room who had somehow ended up responsible for keeping all of these idiots alive.

Newkids, the freshman who wasn't technically an officer, had somehow gotten himself a chair and was watching with the fascination of someone who had just discovered that university organizations could apparently be this dysfunctional.

Saparata was the only person in the room who knew the full extent of the problem. He was also the only person who had to go home with the person giving the presentation.

Fluixon clicked the remote, and the first slide appeared. It was a photograph of Spiderman—comically large, perfectly centered, but horribly unflattering.

Underneath it were the words: SPIDERMAN: HERO OR GOVERNMENT PAWN?

Saparata stared at the screen as he whispered to himself something incomprehensible. Fluixon heard it and looked directly at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He muttered with sickening sweetness.

"Did you say something?" Fluixon narrowed his eyes at him.

"No!” He quickly denied.

He unfortunately forgot that his boyfriend was ridiculously stubborn. "You definitely said something."

"I said nothing." Saparata knew how to deal with it anyway.

Fluixon narrowed his eyes, Saparata smiled innocently, blinking twice as his golden eyes shined brightly, the kind of stare akin to a sad, wet puppy. 

Fluixon stared for another second before turning back to the presentation. "Now." He clicked again.

"Spiderman saves people." Fluixon officially started. 

Saparata blinked—that wasn't what he expected, apparently, everyone else shared the same sentiment.

Gotoga raised an eyebrow. "That's your opening statement?"

"Yes."

"You hate him." Gotoga deadpanned.

Fluixon blinked, as if he was startled at the accusation. "I don't hate him."

"You've called him a menace."

"I have." Fluixon nodded.

"You’ve also called him a government pawn, public safety hazard, unaccountable vigilante, on different and separate occasions."

"Yes." Fluixon did not deny the statement.

Gotoga pointed at the screen. "And yet, for the first time since you’ve become obsessed with Spiderman…”

“Excuse you, I am not obsessed with him.” Fluixon interrupted him with a scowl on his face.

“...You're opening with 'Spiderman saves people.'" Gotoga kept talking anyway.

"Because he does." Fluixon said it plainly. "He has saved people, prevented accidents, and helped during emergencies when police or emergency responders couldn't get there quickly enough."

Saparata sat very still—he had expected jokes, and even exaggeration. Instead, Fluixon was listing things Saparata had actually done; things he remembered doing, things that had left him exhausted, bruised and, occasionally, terrified.

Fluixon clicked to the next slide, photographs appeared—Spiderman catching a falling civilian. Spiderman carrying someone away from a burning building. Spiderman stopping a speeding vehicle.

The images were grainy, but unmistakable. "He has saved lives," Fluixon repeated.

Then he clicked again, the photographs changed quite drastically—Broken windows. Damaged vehicles. A cracked storefront. A section of damaged road. A crowd of civilians running away from a fight.

Fluixon folded his arms. "And that's exactly why I have a problem."

The room became quiet, Fluixon pointed toward the photographs. "These things don't cancel each other out." He looked around the room. "Saving someone's life is good, obviously. Nobody is arguing with that."

His gaze briefly settled on Saparata, it didn’t mean anything, honestly, it was just a natural thing for him. "But if you're going to operate in a populated area while fighting armed criminals, then the question isn't simply whether you stop the criminals."

Fluixon tapped the photograph presented on the projector. "The question is how many other people you put at risk while doing it."

Saparata's stomach tightened.

"But," Rotation started, "Nobody died during the incidents you mentioned.”

"Yes."

"So what's the problem?" Rotation tilted his head.

Fluixon didn’t hesitate. "The problem is that 'nobody died' is an incredibly low standard for someone with this much power."

That shut the room up. Fluixon continued. "If you're a random civilian and a fight breaks out outside your workplace, you shouldn't have to hope that the masked man fighting the criminals is responsible enough to make sure a car doesn't come flying through your window."

He clicked again, and a photograph of a damaged car appeared. "People shouldn't have to evacuate buildings because two superpowered individuals decided the street was an acceptable battlefield."

Fluixon leaned against the desk. "I'm not saying Spiderman shouldn't help people." His voice softened. "I'm saying that if he wants to act like a first responder, then he needs to understand the responsibilities of one."

That was the moment Saparata stopped being amused, because that was fair—annoyingly fair. 

The idea wasn’t new to him, he had thought about this, more times than he wanted to admit. There were always civilians—people on sidewalks, inside buildings, some were children, elders, people who didn't ask to be part of whatever fight he happened to be having—he always tried to move fights away from crowds.

Sometimes he succeeded; Sometimes he didn't, and every time he didn't, he carried the memory of it afterward.

Fluixon didn't know that, but he had somehow arrived at the same conclusion anyway.

He clicked to the next slide. "Now here's where I think the conversation gets more complicated."

He brought up a series of news reports—police statements, civilian interviews, government responses. "Spiderman is not employed by the police."

Click.

"He isn't officially affiliated with government emergency services."

Click.

"He doesn't appear to answer to any public authority."

Click.

"And yet, authorities routinely allow him to operate."

Thomas leaned forward. "That's because he helps."

"I know." Fluixon looked at him. "That's exactly what makes it interesting." He pointed toward the screen. "If the government believes he's a dangerous vigilante, why isn't he being arrested?"

Nobody answered.

"Why does he continue to operate openly?"

Another click.

"Why do officials pretend to criticize him after incidents but continue benefiting from his intervention anyway?"

Saparata frowned, that was harder to answer, because Fluixon wasn't entirely wrong. The police had criticized him, but they had also quietly accepted his help. Sometimes officers had arrived after he had already handled a situation, sometimes they had thanked him, sometimes they had told him to leave, sometimes they had simply looked the other way.

Overall, It was complicated.

Fluixon folded his arms. "So I'm left with two possibilities."

He held up one finger. "One: the government genuinely has no idea what to do with Spiderman and has decided that his usefulness outweighs the risks."

A second finger. "Two: someone in power has realized that an unofficial masked vigilante is incredibly convenient."

Saparata's eyes narrowed. "Convenient how?"

Fluixon looked at him. "Because he does things the government can't officially do."

Saparata went quiet, Fluixon took that as cue to continue. "They don't have to order him to do anything, they don't have to publicly acknowledge him, and they don't have to take responsibility for his methods."

He gestured toward the photographs. "If Spiderman succeeds, they can benefit from it, and praise his good deeds, earning the likeability of the public."

"If he fails?" Saparata asked, he made sure his voice didn’t shake as he did so

"Then they can distance themselves."  Fluixon replied plainly.

That was the general theory —not that Spiderman was secretly evil, or that he didn't save people.

It was worse. Fluixon was arguing that someone could simply be using him—using the fact that people trusted him, using his abilities, using his willingness to act, and letting him absorb the consequences.

Saparata didn't like how much that thought bothered him, he especially didn't like how much sense it made.

Thomas finally spoke. "You're saying the government created Spiderman for use?"

"No." Fluixon shook his head. "Spiderman’s not some sort of… creation." He paused. "He’s just a human, like everyone else is."

The room went quiet.

"And maybe, he's completely independent—Maybe no government agency has anything to do with him."

Fluixon looked at the screen. "But until we know, I don't think we should automatically assume that someone wearing a mask and saving people is above scrutiny."

Fluixon turned back toward the group. "Because here's the part that bothers me most."

He clicked again, the final slide appeared: WHO PROTECTS THE PEOPLE SPIDERMAN CAN'T SAVE?

Fluixon looked at them. "If Spiderman makes a mistake, who answers for it?"

Nobody spoke.

"If a civilian gets hurt because of his actions, who explains what happened to their family?"

Silence.

"If he destroys someone's home while fighting a criminal, who pays for it?"

Another pause. "And if ever someone does decide that just because Spiderman usually means well, does that mean the consequences of his actions don't matter?”

Fluixon shook his head. "That's not justice."

Saparata looked down, his fingers tightened around his phone—that one hurt. Not because Fluixon was wrong, but because Saparata knew exactly how much responsibility came with putting on the mask.

He knew every mistake stayed with him—every broken window, every dented car, every civilian who screamed, every time someone looked at him with fear instead of gratitude.

He remembered all of it, he just never talked about it—especially not with his own boyfriend, he never wanted him to worry about the vigilante he criticized day and night.

Fluixon finally clicked the projector off, the room remained quiet for several seconds. Then, Gotoga said, "Okay."

Fluixon looked at him. "Okay?" He repeated with utter confusion.

"I hate that I actually understand your argument." Gotoga shrugged.

Rotation nodded. "Same."

Thomas leaned back. "I still think the government part is a stretch."

"It might be." Fluixon shrugged. "That's why it's a theory."

Saparata looked at him, and when he did so, Fluixon caught his eye. "What?"

Saparata hesitated, then with an uncharacteristically quiet tone, "What if he's genuinely just trying to help?" He mumbled.

Fluixon was quiet, the question seemed to catch him off guard. After a moment, he nodded. "Then I hope he keeps trying."

Saparata blinked, Fluixon continued. "I mean that." His voice was softer now. "I don't think Spiderman is evil."

Saparata stared. "You don't?"

"No." Fluixon shook his head.

"You've called him a menace." Saparata pointed out.

"Because I think he's reckless." Fluixon sighed. "But regardless of that, I don't want him to fail."

Saparata almost smiled, Fluixon looked down at the photographs on the table. "I want him to be better."

Saparata stopped the smile after that—that hit harder than any insult could have. Which was ironic, because what Fluixon just said wasn’t an insult at all.

He suddenly looked away, because suddenly, he understood something. Fluixon didn't hate Spiderman because he thought Spiderman was a bad person, he just hated the idea that someone could have that much power and not be held accountable for what came with it.

And somehow, that made Saparata feel both relieved and guilty.

Relieved, because Fluixon didn't think he was evil.

Guilty, because if Fluixon ever found out who he was, he would have to admit that all of those concerns were aimed directly at him.

—

The meeting eventually broke apart.

Thomas stayed behind to argue with Fluixon about the fact this would be hard to publish as an article because of how controversial it was.

Gotoga was still amused.

Rotation was already suggesting edits.

Snowbird asked for the original photographs.

Seraphim reminded everyone that nobody was allowed to turn the discussion into another three-hour argument.

Newkids lingered near the door, still visibly fascinated.

Saparata packed his things quietly, he was almost finished when Fluixon walked over. "You've been quiet."

Saparata looked up. "I'm listening."

"You're usually more annoying." Fluixon tilted his head. 

Saparata snorted, not taking offense. "Thanks."

Fluixon smiled. "You okay?"

Saparata nodded, "Yeah." He hummed quietly.

Fluixon still wasn’t convinced. "You seemed... bothered."

Saparata hesitated, he couldn't exactly say: My secret identity is the subject of your presentation and some of your points are making me question my life choices.

So instead, he said, "I just never thought about it that way."

Fluixon nodded. "I don't expect you to agree with me."

Saparata paused, "I don't completely." He quietly admitted;

"I know." Fluixon replied quickly like he already expected that.

"But..." Saparata looked at him. "You make sense."

Fluixon blinked. "Wow."

"What?"

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said about my work."

Saparata laughed. "Don't get used to it."

Fluixon smiled, then he reached over and fixed Saparata's collar. "Come on."

Saparata looked up at him, catching his gaze. "Where?"

"Home."

Saparata's heart softened. "Okay."

—

The walk home was quiet, Fluixon talked about his presentation earlier, and Saparata listened.

Every so often, Fluixon would point out something he wanted to change; A sentence that needed clarification, a source that needed verification, a photograph that needed better context.

He wasn't trying to make Spiderman look bad.

If anything, he was trying very hard not to.

That was the strange thing, the article criticized Spiderman harshly, but Fluixon kept adding qualifiers—Spiderman has saved numerous lives, his intentions appear to be protective, his interventions have prevented serious crimes. However—Always the however. 

Saparata noticed it. "You really don't want people thinking you're saying he's evil."

Fluixon looked at him, then shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think he is." Fluixon shrugged. "I think he's reckless."

Saparata hummed, "You've said that before."

"I know."

"And stubborn?"

"Extremely." Fluixon sighed. 

"Arrogant?"

"Probably."

Saparata raised an eyebrow. "Probably?"

"Have you seen him?" Fluixon put both of his hands on his hips as he said that.

Saparata laughed at that, Fluixon continued while he did so. "But..." He looked ahead. "I think he cares."

Saparata's laughter faded.

Fluixon continued walking. "You don't put yourself in that kind of danger if you don't."

Saparata didn't know what to say, so he simply walked beside him. After a moment, Fluixon bumped his shoulder against Saparata's. "You've been quiet again."

Saparata gulped, his boyfriend was always so ridiculously observant, but that was one of the many factors on why he fell in love with him. "I'm thinking." He reasoned.

"About?" Fluixon tilted his head at that, trying to gauge Saparata’s thoughts.

Saparata smiled. "Nothing important."

Fluixon narrowed his eyes. "You've been saying that a lot."

"Maybe I'm mysterious." Saparata shrugged, trying to act nonchalant.

"You're terrible at being mysterious." Fluixon rolled his eyes at that.

Saparata laughed faintly at that, If only he knew.

—

That night, after dinner, Fluixon sat on the couch with his laptop.

Saparata sat beside him.

The article was open on the screen.

Saparata glanced at it, The headline from his presentation earlier was still there. "You're keeping the title?"

Fluixon nodded lazily, "For now."

"It sounds aggressive, though.” Saparata hummed, he knew Fluixon was never fond of titles that were too exaggerated. 

“I know.” Fluixon sighed, "But unfortunately, it gets attention."

Saparata leaned back, Fluixon typed for a while, then he stopped.  "...Do you think I'm being unfair?" He suddenly asked.

Saparata looked at him. "About Spiderman?"

Fluixon hummed in confirmation. "Yeah."

Saparata thought carefully. "I think..." He paused. "I think it's fair to question him."

Fluixon looked at him, as if he was expecting more. "But?"

Saparata hesitated to continue. "But… I think you should remember that he probably has reasons for doing what he does."

Fluixon nodded slowly. "I know." 

He continued typing as Saparata went on. "Maybe he doesn't always have a choice."

"Maybe." Fluixon agreed without much thought.

Saparata fiddled with the hems of his sleeves as he kept on rambling. "And maybe… he doesn't have anyone else."

Fluixon stopped typing, he looked at his boyfriend after that statement seriously. "That's what worries me."

Saparata’s eyes widened at that, like he was expecting every other reaction except that. "What?"

"If he's alone." Fluixon clarified as he closed his laptop for now. "If he really is just some person trying to help, then someone should tell him that he shouldn't have to do everything alone."

Saparata swallowed. "Maybe someone will." He tried to agree without his voice cracking.

"Good." Fluixon leaned over and kissed his cheek, Saparata visibly melted at the action. “As long as he doesn’t try to get help from that damn corrupt government.” He scowled as he picked up his laptop again.

Saparata laughed faintly as he stared ahead. For the first time that night, he wasn't worried about Fluixon finding out—he was worried about something else.

What if Fluixon was right? What if being Spiderman wasn't just about stopping criminals? What if he really did need someone to remind him that saving people wasn't enough?

He always knew that with great power, comes great responsibility; every civilian mattered, so did every mistake.

Saparata looked at his boyfriend. Fluixon was typing again, completely unaware of the thoughts running through his head.

Saparata smiled. "You're gonna be the death of me."

Fluixon glanced over, partially startled at the abrupt statement. "What?"

"Nothing." Saparata hummed as he scooched closer to his boyfriend.

Fluixon narrowed his eyes at him, but he subconsciously leaned closer anyway. "You keep saying that.”

"I know." Saparata hummed as he buried his face on Fluixon’s shoulder.

Fluixon smiled, then he went back to writing. Saparata stayed beside him as he did so. For tonight, at least, his secret was safe.

His boyfriend knew that Spiderman saved lives. His boyfriend knew that Spiderman cared. His boyfriend simply didn't know that the man he was criticizing was sitting right beside him.

And Saparata had a feeling that, for now, that was probably for the best.

— [ 2/5 ] —

Saparata Theria made the mistake of assuming that that first incident had been the worst of it—It had not. After that incident, the rest was simply history, as it all accumulated to the present time now. 

The topic proposal had been a success, and Fluixon’s article had been published by Monday.

By Wednesday, it had circulated through half the university.

By Thursday, Sidefall had been so thoroughly amused and ecstatic at the controversial article that he had printed copies and taped them to the bulletin boards around campus.

By Friday, Fluixon had received enough responses to decide that his original article had not been nearly thorough enough.

Because of that, Fluixon Aculon was fueled with more determination and decided to investigate Spiderman further. 

Saparata learned this when he woke up on Saturday morning and found his boyfriend sitting cross-legged on their living room floor, surrounded by photographs.

He stopped by the doorway, Fluixon looked up. "Good morning."

Saparata stared at him. "What's all this?"

"Research." Fluixon answered smoothly.

Saparata looked around; There were several items scattered across the floor—newspaper clippings, printed screenshots, maps, a whole notebook, three different colored pens, and, for some reason, a measuring tape.

Saparata slowly pointed at it. "Why do you have that?"

Fluixon looked down. "The measuring tape?"

"Yes."

"I needed it."

"For?"

"For estimating the scaling."

Saparata stared at him. "Scaling of what?"

"The buildings." Fluixon pointed at the said pictures of the buildings, scattered on the floor as well.

Saparata stared dumbfoundedly at the pictures. "...Right."

Fluixon went back to his notes, Saparata remained in the doorway. He was still wearing the shirt he had slept in—which was Fluixon’s shirt, actually, his hair was a mess, and he had barely woken up. 

…Yet somehow, he was already being confronted by the single greatest threat to his secret identity—not a villain, not the police, not some government agency—His boyfriend, with a comically large supply of stationery.

"...How long have you been awake?" Saparata decided to question instead. 

Fluixon paused as he thought about it, "Since six." He hummed.

Saparata narrowed his eyes in concern, "It's eight."

"I know." Fluixon hummed. 

"You went to sleep at two.”

"I did."

"You need sleep, baby." Saparata sighed deeply. 

"I'm fine." Fluixon reassured him. 

Saparata shook his head. "You say that every time you're doing something unhealthy." 

"I'm not doing anything unhealthy." Fluixon countered.

Saparata gestured toward the floor. "You've built a crime board."

"This is not a crime board." Fluixon denied.

"...There's red strings." Saparata pointed out.

"No.” He disagreed just to get the last say.

Saparata looked down. There was, in fact, a red string, lots of them, actually.

Fluixon followed his gaze, then paused. "Okay." He sighed. "It became a crime board, but that was not the intention."

Saparata covered his mouth with both hands, he honestly looked like he was praying, Fluixon looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

"Nothing." Saparata whistled as he avoided his boyfriend’s gaze.

"You look like you're laughing." Fluixon furrowed his brows.

"I'm not." Saparata closed his eyes as he denied it.

Fluixon glared at him, his boyfriend always closed his eyes when he was about to tell a blatant lie. "You are."

"I'm just tired." He reasoned.  "I haven't had coffee yet."

Fluixon narrowed his eyes further, but eventually gave up as he returned to his notes.

Saparata carefully stepped over a photograph. "What's the investigation this time?"

Fluixon picked up a photograph. "I've been comparing his appearances."

Saparata's stomach tightened. "Why?"

"Because the pattern doesn't make sense."

"What pattern?"

"His response time." Fluixon looked up. "Think about it."

Saparata slowly sat on the couch. "I'm listening."

"Spiderman doesn't appear in every major crime, but he appears at certain incidents with suspiciously consistent timing."

Saparata said nothing.

Fluixon opened his notebook. "I started documenting every confirmed sighting from the last six months, then I compared the locations." He spread several maps across the floor. "There's a concentration around the central districts."

The central district he was talking about actually included the little apartment they lived in together. Saparata felt sweat start to form on his forehead despite the chilly weather, he had a certain hunch on where this conversation would go.

"But there are gaps." Fluixon continued, tapping on the map. "Large ones."

"Spiderman doesn't patrol randomly, and if you asked me what I think the reason is..." Fluixon said the next sentence with so much confidence it was almost sad. “...He only goes to missions that the government assigns him to do.”

Saparata wanted to just jump off a very tall tower and be erased off of the face of the world by this point, because technically, Fluixon was right in the first sentence—he didn't patrol randomly, there were only so many hours in a day. He was a university student first and foremost before anything, after all, he still had classes, he had sleep (occasionally), amongst several other things he also had to prioritize.

Of course, there was also his greatest priority—Fluixon Aculon.

Saparata had always prioritized areas where he knew Fluixon was near, just to ensure the danger never even got close in Fluixon’s path.

Apparently, Fluixon had noticed, he just didn’t have the right conclusion. "I think he's also choosing locations based on information given by the government.”

Saparata loves his boyfriend, because he was really smart for even coming up with theories like this with so little evidence, it’s just really hard to take it seriously when he knows the actual truth. "What kind of information?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Fluixon reached for another photograph. Saparata recognized it immediately, it was a blurry image of Spiderman on the rooftop of their very own apartment. 

He remembered that night, he had been sitting on the rooftop because his spidey senses tingled something that alerted him of a robbery a few blocks away from Fluixon’s favorite cafe—one he was hanging out in during that time.

"Where did you get that?" Saparata asked.

Fluixon shrugged, “Confidential.” He said vaguely.

Saparata frowned, “Keeping things from your own boyfriend? That’s just mean.” 

Fluixon rolled his eyes, he didn’t feel any sympathy because he knew Saparata didn’t really care anyway, he tapped the corner. "Look."

Saparata leaned closer. "What?"

"He's looking in a particular direction."

"...Yeah?”

Fluixon pointed toward the background, there was a digital billboard, a news ticker was running across the bottom. Saparata recognized the headline, It was merely the police alert of the robbery he dealt with, though it came much later than his own spidey senses, so he didn’t really care about it.

"That alert went up five minutes after Spiderman appeared." Fluixon looked pleased. “It feels so strangely rehearsed, like the government news already knew about the crime, y’know?”

Saparata hesitated to say anything after that, because to be frank, it was a logical and smart conclusion, and it would’ve made sense to him, if he didn’t know the real reason—but he couldn’t say that now, could he? 

He couldn’t just tell Fluixon that no, it wasn’t a rehearsed crime, It’s just that Saparata’s senses are basically built to detect any danger near Fluixon quicker than any alert could ever catch up to.

As Saparata got lost in his own thoughts, Fluixon folded his arms.“But, I feel like there’s still more I haven’t figured out.” He smiled slightly. "That's why I'm investigating."

There it was—that look. The one Saparata had come to fear, because Saparata knew that if Fluixon had enough evidence, he would follow it wherever it went. "You're taking this seriously."

"Of course I am."

"Even after the article?"

"Especially after the article."

Saparata laughed. "You're impossible."

Fluixon smiled, then his expression became thoughtful again. "There is something else, though it’s not that important."

Saparata's laughter faded. "What is it?"

Fluixon reached for another photograph, this one showed a crowd outside a damaged building. "Three witnesses reported that Spiderman arrived less than two minutes after the police dispatch."

Saparata nodded. "Okay, and?”

"That's fast." Fluixon squinted his eyes. 

"He's very fast.”

Fluixon looked at him. Saparata realized too late that he'd answered too quickly, the former raised an eyebrow at that . "You seem to know a lot about Spiderman."

Saparata's brain scrambled. "I mean..." He pointed vaguely. "Everyone knows he's fast."

"...Do they now?" Fluixon tilted his head, his tone getting a little lower, he always did that when he wanted to pry people for more answers.

Usually, Saparata would find that incredibly hot, but he realized when he’s the one getting scrutinized, it was actually quite frightening. "...Yes."

"How fast?" Fluixon hummed in the same low tone.

‘Okay, he should stop doing that.’ Saparata thought to himself, because if he continued, then he definitely wouldn’t be able to stop the flush slowly showing on his cheeks. "...Fast." He said dumbly.

Fluixon stared, Saparata stared back. "That's not a unit of measurement."

"I wasn't trying to measure him." Saparata mumbled.

"Clearly." Fluixon snorted.

Saparata smiled. "Do you want coffee?"

Fluixon narrowed his eyes. "You are changing the subject."

"I just think you need it, especially with the lack of sleep you got.” He huffed like a nagging mother.

"I hate your coffee." Fluixon deadpanned.

"Hate is a very strong word.” Saparata pouted.

Fluixon blinked, "Your coffee genuinely tastes like plain hot bean water.”

"Is that not what coffee really is, though?” Saparata shrugged his shoulders as he started walking towards the kitchen.

Fluixon continued staring as he did so, eventually, he sighed and accepted defeat. "Fine."

Saparata smiled at that, he was halfway toward the kitchen when Fluixon called after him. "Saps."

He stopped and turned around slightly to catch the gaze of his boyfriend. "Yeah?"

"You're weird." Fluixon said bluntly.

Saparata smiled. "You love me."

Fluixon's expression softened. "Unfortunately."

Saparata went into the kitchen. The moment he was out of sight, his smile disappeared.

He leaned against the counter, then quietly whispered, "Shit."

—

The problem with having a secret identity was that secrets became harder to maintain when the person investigating you knew your habits.

Unfortunately, Fluixon Aculon knew Saparata Theria's habits like it was the back of his hand—he knew how Saparata took his coffee. He knew that Saparata always forgot to charge his phone. He knew Saparata hated waking up early. 

He also knew that Saparata often disappeared whenever there was an emergency, and that he had a tendency to come home with unexplained bruises. 

None of these things were enough to actually conclude something, but when it keeps on happening, it eventually becomes more dangerous. Saparata knew that, so he started being more careful.

He stopped leaving through their bedroom window, he started carrying excuses with him, he even started changing his routes around campus.

For approximately three days, everything went perfectly, then Fluixon noticed. "Why are you taking the long way home?"

Saparata froze. "What?"

"You've been taking a different route." 

Saparata looked at the street ahead. "No, I haven't."

"You have."

"Have I?"

"Yes." Fluixon stopped walking, Saparata stopped too, he looked at him. "Are you avoiding something?"

Saparata laughed. "No."

"You're lying." Fluixon crossed his arms.

Saparata frowned, "I'm not."

"You smiled."

"I always smile."

Fluixon shook his head, "Not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're hiding something." Fluixon leaned closer to him.

Saparata's heart hammered, he didn’t know if it was because of fear or because his boyfriend was ridiculously attractive. Then he remembered something, he stepped closer. "Maybe I am."

Fluixon blinked, Saparata smiled. "Maybe I'm planning a surprise."

Fluixon's expression changed immediately. "A surprise?" Fluixon's suspicion disappeared so quickly that Saparata almost felt guilty.

Almost. "What kind of surprise?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise." Saparata laughed brightly. 

Fluixon smiled. "You're terrible at this."

Saparata tilted his head as he intertwined his hand with Fluixon’s. "At surprises?"

“Yeah.” Fluixon accepted Saparata’s hand like it was second nature.

Saparata merely laughed at that,  Fluixon bumped his shoulder against Saparata's as they continued walking.

Though, when he thought Fluixon got distracted at something else, Saparata exhaled quietly; That had been close—very close. Unfortunately, he didn't realize that Fluixon was watching him.

—

A week later, the Conspiracy office had acquired a new piece of furniture—A corkboard.

Saparata stared at it. "Wow."

Fluixon looked up. "What?"

Saparata gestured at the new piece of furniture. "You bought a corkboard."

"It'll be useful." Fluixon shrugged, he didn’t specify if it was for general journalism purposes, or spiderman purposes. 

Saparata tried to look at Thomas, but the man evidently avoided his face. "Don't look at me."

Saparata shook his head in disapproval, "You let him do this."

"I didn't let him do anything!” Thomas exclaimed as he raised both of his hands to plead innocence.

"You helped him buy it."

"I helped him carry it." Thomas whined. 

"Same thing."

Thomas shrugged. "I gave up."

Gotoga was sitting nearby, eating chips. "I think it's impressive."

Saparata glared at him. "Don't encourage him."

Gotoga straightened his shoulders, "I'm not."

"You are."

“Well, It’s the truth.” Gotoga pointed toward the board. "I mean, just look at all that."

Saparata looked—there were photographs, maps, dates, times, witness statements, and, horrifyingly, a section labeled: KNOWN ASSOCIATES?

Saparata stared, then, on cue, Fluixon started explaining. "I'm trying to identify people who may have connections to Spiderman."

Saparata's blood ran cold. "Why?"

"Because he has to get information from somewhere."

"Maybe he doesn't." To be fair, he really doesn’t, he usually relies on his senses and his trusty A.I. assistant, J.O.S.E.P.H.

"He does." Fluixon said persistently.

Saparata tilted his head, "How do you know?"

Fluixon shrugged, "Because he's human."

Saparata stilled at that, not expecting that kind of answer.

Fluixon pointed toward the board. "People don't operate in isolation. Even if Spiderman works alone in the field, someone supplies information, equipment, medical care, transportation, something."

He continued before anyone else could interfere. "Which means there should be a network, and if it isn’t obvious already, that network is most definitely related to the government.”

Rotation looked at the board. "That's a pretty big assumption."

"It's a hypothesis."

"Same thing." Seraphim supplied.

Fluixon furrowed his brows at the two of them. "No, it isn't."

Saparata stared at the photographs, then he saw something that made his stomach drop. One of the photographs showed a street near campus, then when he flickered at a different spot, another showed a university building.

Fluixon had started connecting Spiderman to State University—that was dangerous, very, very dangerous.

"Why’s our campus here?" Saparata asked.

Fluixon looked at him. "There have been multiple sightings."

"So?"

"So Spiderman must spend a lot of time around here."

"Maybe he lives nearby."

"Maybe." Fluixon looked thoughtful. "Or, maybe, he goes here."

Saparata's heart stopped, Fluixon looked at the board. "There are several sightings within walking distance of the university."

"Lots of people live around here."

"I know."

"Lots of people..." Saparata trailed off.

Fluixon raised an eyebrow. "Lots of people what?"

"Nothing."

"You really like saying that." Fluixon clicked his tongue. 

Saparata smiled weakly. "I've noticed."

Fluixon turned back to the board, when Saparata was out of Fluixon’s point of view, he glanced at Thomas, and found him already looking at him. The message in his eyes was clear. ‘You're in trouble.’

Saparata silently mouthed: ‘I know.’

—

That evening, Saparata called Jophiel. He had just finished another criminal case, so he was pacing around on a discreet rooftop of an unfamiliar building with his suit on. "I’m fucked." He groaned

“Hello to you too, my annoying little spider-brother.” Jophiel greeted her brother before pausing. "...Care to elaborate?"

"He's investigating Spiderman." Saparata explained.

Jophiel wasn’t really surprised at that. "He's always been investigating Spiderman."

"No." Saparata paced across the room. "He's connecting Spiderman to the university."

Jophiel sighed. "Okay."

Saparata blinked, "Okay?"

"That's not necessarily bad." Jophiel hummed through the phone.

"He's a journalist, he has always investigated superheroes or anything he’s ever found suspicious.” She reminded him. "He's also your boyfriend."

"Exactly." Saparata sighed at her last comment.

"So?"

"So he knows me." Saparata admitted quietly, like the very thought haunted him everyday. 

Jophiel was quiet, Saparata stopped pacing. "He knows everything about me."

Micro's voice came from somewhere nearby. "Does he know about the suit?"

Saparata blinked, he did not know his twin would be at Jophiel’s apartment today, but it wasn’t really a big surprise. "No."

"The mask?" Micro asked further. 

"No."

"Your web shooters?"

"No."

"Your powers?"

"No."

"Then you're fine." Micro officially concluded. 

Saparata stared at the phone. "That's not comforting."

"You're Spiderman, aren’t you?” Micro asked sarcastically. 

"Yes." Saparata nodded, even though no one was actually there with him physically.

"Aren’t you supposed to be good at keeping secrets?” Micro huffed.

Saparata frowned. "I am."

Jophiel laughed. "You've been dating him for how long?" She suddenly asked.

Saparata answered faster than any heartbeat possible. "7 years, 14 days, 336 hours, 20,160 minutes, and 1,209,600 sec—”

“Okay, damn, I did not need the specifics.” His sister snorted.  "All that time, and he still hasn't figured it out."

"Because I'm careful." Saparata frowned even further.

"Sure." Jophiel agreed, though her tone didn’t really help Saparata feel more confident at all.

Saparata narrowed his eyes. "You don't believe me."

"I believe you!” Jophiel said, and it finally sounded a little more genuine.

Saparata sighed deeply at that, "Good."

"I just think it's funny." Jophiel added. 

Saparata felt his brows furrow at that. "What's funny?"

"You've spent all this time being afraid that Fluixon will discover you're Spiderman…” Jophiel started slowly.

Saparata waited. "And?"

Jophiel hummed quietly before continuing, as if she was trying to find the right words. "...And if he ever does, he's probably going to be more upset that you lied to him than that you're Spiderman."

Saparata went quiet—That thought had occurred to him, He just didn't like it. "I don't want him to think I've been deceiving him."

"You have, though.” Micro told him bluntly.

"Okay, fuck you too, bro." Saparata scoffed in annoyance.

"You have." Jophiel agreed with Micro.

Saparata genuinely withered at that, he called his siblings for comfort, not for him to gang up on him. "I have to."

"I know." His siblings said simultaneously.

“It’s just…” Saparata stared at the sky after he trailed off, it was clearer than usual. “I just… Ugh, I don’t know—! Tell me honestly, if he really did find out, would he still love me the same?”

Jophiel didn't answer immediately, Saparata eventually continued his rambles. "I just..." His voice softened. "I don't want him to look at me differently."

After that, she finally answered, her voice was gentler. "Then don't give him a reason to."

Saparata redirected his stare to the floor.

Micro spoke quietly in the background. "You're still his boyfriend."

Saparata smiled faintly. "Yeah."

"You've always been his boyfriend."

“I have.” Saparata remembered, they were each other’s first boyfriend, after all, every time Saparata remembered, it always made him feel so giddy.

"Spiderman is just something else you are." Micro hummed, “And since I’ve known you both since high school, I’m sure Fluixon would love every version that you have.”

“Wow, you’re strangely sweet today.”Saparata leaned back. 

His brother scoffed at that, like the compliment disgusted him. “Don’t get used to it, you chud.”

Saparata laughed at the insult. For a moment, he felt a little better, then his phone buzzed.

A message from Fluixon.

Flux: 

where are you?

Saparata looked at the clock—He had completely forgotten he was supposed to meet Fluixon for dinner.

He immediately typed back.

Saps:

hi baby

Saps:

im on my way <3

Saps:

I just got caught up with something!! :( :( :(

Jophiel heard the frantic typing. "What happened?"

"I forgot dinner." Saparata said with utmost panic like death was awaiting him.

"Again?" Micro sighed disapprovingly.

The tone didn’t make Saparata feel any better. "I've been busy." He reasoned with them.

"Doing what?" They both said at the same time once more.

Saparata stood. "Trying not to get caught."

"Good luck." Micro sighed.  "You're going to need it."

—

Saparata arrived twenty minutes late.

Fluixon was waiting outside the restaurant; arms crossed, expression unimpressed.

"I'm sorry." was what Saparata greeted Fluixon with, panting like he just ran a marathon, and technically, he kind of did.

"You said you'd be here at seven." Fluixon deadpanned.

"I know." Saparata whined.

"It's seven-twenty." Fluixon glanced at his own watch. 

"I know." Saparata honestly wanted to gravel on the floor and beg for his boyfriend’s forgiveness.

"You didn't answer my messages."

"My phone died." Saparata reasoned smoothly, despite the fact that it was not true at all.

Fluixon stared at him, raising a brow.

Saparata smiled nervously. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad." Fluixon sighed.

"You're doing the face, though." Saparata pouted.

Fluixon blinked, genuinely confused. "What face?"

Saparata didn’t answer, he just gestured helplessly like that would help, Fluixon merely sighed. "Come here."

Saparata blinked. "What?"

Fluixon didn’t wait for another reply as he walked closer and pulled him into a hug.

Saparata immediately relaxed when he was embraced by Fluixon’s comforting scent and presence, he buried his face deep on his boyfriend’s shoulders.

"I'm not mad," Fluixon murmured.

"Okay." Saparata murmured back.

Fluixon paused for a while, like he was hesitating. "…I'm just worried."

Saparata shifted a little at that. "About what?"

"You've been distracted lately." Fluixon observed. 

Saparata froze, Fluixon pulled back just to look at him directly. "You've been forgetting things."

"I know."

"You're disappearing more."

Saparata's heart started beating faster. "I've just been busy."

"With what?"

Saparata hesitated, he didn’t know how to answer that.

Fluixon studied his face, then his expression softened. "Whatever it is, you can tell me, y’know?”

Saparata looked at him, and for one terrifying second, he considered it. He could tell him—he could tell Fluixon everything—his identity, his powers, his patrols, his bruises, the reason he sometimes disappeared, the reason he was always tired.

He could tell him, but then he remembered Fluixon's articles and conspiracies—the government pawn thing, the board, the questions about accountability.

Saparata swallowed. "I'm just trying to balance everything."

Fluixon looked at him after he said that, as if he was assessing Saparata like how one would when assessing a specimen through a microscope, then he nodded softly. "Okay." He didn't push, which somehow made Saparata feel worse.

"Sorry." Saparata repeated once more, but it wasn’t any less sincere.

"It's fine." Fluixon reassured him.

"I'm really sorry."

"I know." Fluixon reached for his hand. "Come on."

They went inside the restaurant, and for a very long moment, Saparata had a ridiculous thought: If Fluixon found out his secret, would he still be able to feel his soft embrace like this?

— [ 3/5 ] — 

Saparata Theria had been interviewed by many organizations and news outlets alike before, both as a student, and as Spiderman, and usually, it was harmless.

If he were interviewed as Saparata—someone would ask him what he thought about an event, an article, or any of the latest gossip he might’ve also heard just for fun.

If he were interviewed as Spiderman, though, it was more serious, but nothing he couldn’t candle—someone would ask him how he knew about the danger, how he handled it, and what was his next course of action, so on and so forth.

But, even after all that, Saparata had never been interviewed by the Conspiracy, not as Saparata Theria, and definitely not as Spiderman.

Though as they say, there was always a first time for everything. Unfortunately, that first time was happening now.

—

The incident had started as something painfully ordinary, the Conspiracy was covering a student protest walkout outside one of the university's main buildings. It wasn't particularly dangerous, a few dozen students had gathered; some were holding signs, and some were chanting.

Fluixon was doing what Fluixon did best—He was in the middle of everything. "Thomas, get the statement from the organizers."

"Already did." Thomas waved the recorder that was held in his hand.

Fluixon nodded before looking at Snowbird. "Snowbird, photos?"

Snowbird didn’t need to look at Fluixon to confirm it. "Got them." He hummed, scrolling through the gallery of photos in his camera. 

Fluixon nodded, then abruptly said. "Gotoga, interview more students now."

Gotoga looked offended. "I already reached my quota, dude, I've been interviewing like—fifteen participants already."

"You've been talking to your friends."

"They're participants too."

Fluixon sighed. "Your friends’ answers are always too brutal to even publish publicly.”

"Exactly." Gotoga shrugged. “The Conspiracy advocates for the brutal truth, no?”

Seraphim walked past them with her camera as they kept arguing. "Five minutes before something goes wrong."

Fluixon looked at her, narrowing his eyes. "Don't jinx us."

"I'm being realistic." Seraphim shrugged, meanwhile, Newkids raised his hand. "Something's already going wrong."

Everyone looked at him, he pointed toward the road. And immediately, a delivery truck had just run a red light, striking a vehicle. The impact sent the car spinning.

Protestants nearby screamed as the truck jumped the curb. The crowd began to scatter, leading to a horrible mess of frightened voices, when the initial fright finally subsided amongst The Conspiracy, they didn’t hesitate to assist the protestants back to safety. 

Fluixon immediately shouted. "Everybody back!" While the rest of the officers moved and guided the people away.

Then, amidst the crowd, Fluixon’s eyes searched desperately for pale white hair—Saparata Theria.

Where the hell was he?

Just a while ago, Saparata was standing several meters away watching the banter. He had been helping with handling the Conspiracy’s equipment earlier. Yet now, as Fluixon kept scanning the crowd, not even a flicker of his white hair could be seen. 

Fluixon Aculon did not panic, he wasn’t the type to do so, but not even death could stop him from shouting Saparata’s name loudly in hopes of finding wherever his boyfriend is in this mess. 

Unfortunately, amidst his rising panic, he didn’t take account for his own safety, as he didn’t notice that a car was quite literally being hauled and thrown at his direction at a horrifying speed. “Saps—” He cut himself off as he glanced at the car rapidly approaching his left.

Wow, Fluixon Aculon did not realize he would die via a thrown car—his last thought was ‘that’s such a stupid way to die, being slain in a duel of the one you cherish via an axe would’ve been better.’ as he closed his eyes and braced for the impact.

The impact of the car and the pain of death didn’t come, though. 

What did come was a sudden embrace of strong arms as he felt himself get carried away, reaching to the heights.

Fluixon physically felt the air get taken away from him as he closed his eyes tightly because of the sudden acceleration, his heart could practically beat out of his chest by this point, as he instinctively wrapped his arms on the person who’s carrying him. He would come to regret that soon, though, as he reluctantly opened his eyes to look.

He felt the blood drain away from his face. “SPIDERMAN!?” He genuinely yelped, his voice was so uncharacteristically loud that Spiderman actually winced at it.

“Hi.” Spiderman greeted plainly, there was a teasing lilt in his tone, “Hold tight, okay?”

Fluixon couldn’t even form a proper response as he Spiderman swung from one building to another, all the while shooting countless webs that helped prevent the hauled vehicles from coming close to nearby civilians. 

Thirty seconds later, he shot another web across the street, aiming at the truck that was already tipping.

Spiderman landed on its side, still carrying Fluixon with one arm.  "Okay." He planted both feet against the pavement. "Let's not do this."

The truck shifted, Spiderman grunted. "Please." It shifted again. "Please don't make me regret coming out today."

He pulled with his free arm, and in all honesty, the task would’ve been easier if he had stopped for one second and thought of putting Fluixon down.

Still, he managed to stop the truck anyway, people scrambled away. Spiderman immediately moved toward the other vehicle, looking towards the crowd. "Someone call an ambulance!"

With that, the immediate danger was over, the crowd began settling, and police pushed people farther away from the wreck.

Fluixon had absolutely no words to say at all, in fact, all he could think of was that he wanted to take back the previous sentiment he thought of earlier—dying because of a thrown car seemed much more reasonable for him than accidentally slipping from Spiderman’s grasp and falling to his death.

Then, against all odds, instead of finally putting Fluixon down on the ground, Spiderman had decided to shift Fluixon’s weight instead to hold him bridal-style.

Fluixon hadn't registered their position yet when he started speaking.

“Are you okay?” Spiderman asked, his tone all soft and genuinely worried, if anyone ever heard it, they’d automatically think that the tone did not suit the crazy incident that just occurred.

Fluixon blinked once, then twice, before the deepest scowl formed on his face. “Put me down.” He ordered sharply.

Spiderman actually flinched at that, as if he didn’t expect it, he swiftly dropped Fluixon carefully, making sure he landed on two feet. “Woah—easy there, princess, I mean no harm!”

Fluixon gawked at him, “Princess?” He repeated with so much offense in his tone, and he couldn’t see Spiderman’s face, but with the way the eyes of his mask moved, it seemed he only realized how wrong that sounded.

“I mean—” Spiderman gestured around helplessly like an idiot. “Flu—uhm—dearest civilian!" He stuttered continuously.

Fluixon blinked as he stared at Spiderman like he grew two heads. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me!?” He cried.

Fluixon shook his head, “No, there definitely is, I bet the government has injected something in your brain that’s starting to turn it dead.”

Spiderman stepped back, raising his hands up like he was being framed for murder. “No—!? What—that doesn’t even make any sense.” 

“Look, I’m sorry for…” He started doing hand gestures that resembled the action of carrying someone, “...Whatever happened, okay? I was just acting on instinct y’know—to save your life!” He reasoned.

Fluixon still had the nastiest glare to exist. Spiderman visibly withered at that, as if he just realized something. He was about to leave, when Fluixon abruptly caught and held his wrist.

"Oh you’re not going anywhere, Spiderman.” Fluixon hissed, as he lifted his hand to grab something from his pocket—a recorder.

—

Saparata's soul left his body—No. Absolutely not. He must be having a nightmare—is this the consequences of his actions?

You see, the reason Saparata disappeared into thin air earlier was because his spidey senses already alerted him of the incident, which gave him enough time to scurry away and wear his suit and mask, even if that meant he couldn’t say goodbye to Fluixon and the Conspiracy.

Unfortunately, when he came back at the scene, the very first thing he saw was a whole car rapidly approaching Fluixon’s way.

He didn’t even have to think about it—He immediately shot a web to attach to a nearby building as he swung to swiftly carry Fluixon away from danger, and he kept doing so for the next few minutes until the incident truly subsided.

…Now that he thought about it, okay, fine—he should have at least considered his plan of action after carrying Fluixon—like dropping him off in a very safe space, or even at the place where the Conspiracy was, but he let his… boyfriend senses control him too much!

Fluixon remained firm on the grip on his wrist that Saparata almost winced again. "I'd like a statement." He asked—no, demanded. “You owe me that much after whatever the hell you made me go through.”

Spiderman stared at him; Of all the people. Of all the journalists. Of all the possible people who could have approached him. It had to be Fluixon.

"Me?" He said dumbly to Fluixon’s demand. 

Fluixon raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you."

"Oh." Saparata looked around. "Right."

He silently cursed every decision he'd made prior to this moment. Saparata looked around, like he was trying to find an escape route. "...Can I say no?"

"Yes." Fluixon surprisingly said. 

Unfortunately, Saparata knew him well enough that the ‘yes’ didn’t actually mean ‘yes.’ "...But you’ll hold it against me?"

Fluixon widened his eyes at that, almost smirking before he caught himself. “...Maybe.” He shrugged, “It’d just be awfully suspicious to the public if Spiderman suddenly refused an interview, no?”

Saparata sighed, like he already expected that response. "...Fine, I'll cooperate."

Fluixon nodded. "Good."

Saparata had to physically remind himself to breathe; This was fine. He could do this—he had dealt with armed criminals, fought superpowered people, and had been thrown through windows—surely, he could survive ten minutes of being interviewed by his boyfriend who unfortunately hated him at the moment.

Fluixon didn’t even need his notes to start the interview, he simply pressed the recorder on. "Let's start with something simple."

Saparata nodded.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Fluixon asked smoothly, his voice carrying the same professional tone Saparata always adored, but now, he was terrified of it.

Saparata looked around, his brain still hasn’t properly comprehended that it’s his boyfriend interviewing him right now. "...The truck crashed."

Fluixon waited, there was an unbelievably awkward pause that settled. Saparata realized he needed to elaborate. "Big truck."

Fluixon stared. "Yes."

“It hit a car." Saparata was doing hand gestures that demonstrated his explanation. "Which sent them flying and hauling, so I swung in to stop it… and I did… so now people are safe.”

Fluixon lowered the recorder slightly, clearly unamused. "Are you always this eloquent?"

Saparata almost laughed. "Only under pressure." He admitted meekly.

Fluixon rolled his eyes, “I didn’t know Spiderman had the brain of a toddler to give out horrible answers like that.”

Saparata raised his hands up in defense, “I think that was a pretty good and straightforward answer!”

"Absolutely not, at least, not for my organization.” Fluixon clicked his tongue. “The Conspiracy would absolutely make fun of this.”

Saparata couldn’t stop the snort that left him, “Haha, yeah.” He agreed mindlessly.

That made Fluixon perk up sharply, “You know about the Conspiracy?” He asked bristly. 

Saparata scrambled—holy fuck—how could he possibly slip up like that? "I mean—" He shook his hands helplessly to deny it. 

His eyes flickered around to search for an excuse, until it landed on Fluixon’s shirt, he pointed at the logo on it "...Your shirt has a logo, so I assumed it’s that.”

"...Right." Fluixon scoffed, he seemed like he wanted to say more, but he merely raised the recorder again, switching back to his professional tone. 

"You've been criticized recently for causing property damage while intervening in criminal incidents. What's your response to that?"  He asked swiftly.

Saparata blinked for a moment, he had expected the second question to be anything but that, as if the interview suddenly switched to every criticizing question Fluixon had pent up. 

A long pause occurred as Saparata actually thought about it; He thought about the article. About the criticism. About the civilians he had pulled away from the truck. About the people who would have been hurt if he hadn't stopped it.

"Property can be repaired." He answered, his voice softening a little. “...But people can’t.”

Fluixon’s eyes seemed to widen at his answer, but he didn’t interfere. So, Saparata took that as cue to continue. "If I have to choose between a building getting damaged and someone getting hurt, I'll always choose the former."

Fluixon’s eyes sharpened at that, "But what about situations where your intervention causes damage that could have been avoided?" He retorted quickly.

Saparata paused, but it didn’t take him that long to answer it. "Then I should do better." He continued. "I'm not saying everything I do is right."

That answer surprised Fluixon, like he never expected Spiderman to actually be aware of his actions. "You're admitting that?"

"Of course." Saparata nodded smoothly.

Fluixon blinked, he unconsciously held the recorder tighter. "Most people wouldn't."

Saparata rolled his eyes at that, but unfortunately it could not be seen because of his mask. "I'm not most people, y’know.”

Fluixon scoffed stubbornly. “Could’ve fooled me, honestly.” He muttered.

He glanced toward the damaged road, as he prepares his next question. "Some people would argue that your methods create more danger than they prevent."

Saparata's expression changed. "Sometimes they do." He answered, before slightly trailing off.

Fluixon looked at him. "But?"

Saparata took a breath. "But… I don't think the answer is standing around while people get hurt because I'm afraid I'll break something."

Fluixon went quiet.

Saparata looked toward the crowd—a student was being treated by a paramedic, another was talking to the police. People were shaken, but alive. "People are more important than buildings."

Fluixon lowered the recorder, for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Fluixon asked quietly "Is that why you do this?"

Saparata looked at him."Why I do what?"

Fluixon simply gestured around their surroundings, and then to him. "This whole masked superhero thing."

Saparata almost laughed. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No." Fluixon deadpanned, "Some would claim that you're doing it because you’re connected to the government." He raised the recorder high enough so that his question would be heard.

Saparata went silent—there it was, the million-dollar accusation. He almost wanted to say that Fluixon is the only one who has ever thought of such thing.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the opportunity to do so as his boyfriend didn’t hesitate to ask the next question. "Are you?"

"No." Saparata didn’t hesitate to deny it as well.

Fluixon wasn’t convinced, unfortunately. "Not at all?"

“Not at all.” Saparata shrugged, but Fluixon was persistent. "You don't receive information from any government agency?"

"No." Saparata shook his head.

Fluixon squinted his eyes. "You don't coordinate with the police?"

Saparata blinked at that, slightly hesitating. "...I cooperate with them when necessary."

"That's not what I asked." Fluixon quickly countered.

"I don't work for them." Saparata specified.

Fluixon studied him. "Then why do you seem to know where incidents are happening before everyone else?"

“It’s a hard thing to explain.” Saparata sighed, he placed both of his hands on his hips as he thought of an answer. “I have like… supernatural senses that detect danger easily, y’know? Comes along being a hero with superpowers and all.”

Fluixon looked unimpressed. "That's your explanation?"

"Would you prefer a demonstration?” Saparata huffed.

"No." Fluixon drawled.

"Good." Saparata said, he stretched his arms up as he did so, like he was already preparing to leave.

Fluixon wasn’t done yet, though. "You understand why people suspect government involvement with you, right?"

"...Yes?" Saparata hummed slightly, he understood some of it, but when it came to his boyfriend’s ridiculously detailed conspiracy theories… not so much.

"Because you seem to have access to information normal civilians don't." Fluixon continued anyway.

Saparata nodded, not seeing any harm to that. "That's fair."

"And because the government has historically used people with unusual abilities for its own purposes."

Spiderman tilted his head. "Are you asking me if I'm a government pawn?”

"I'm asking whether you're being used." Fluixon corrected sharply.

"No, I’m not.” Saparata answered honestly.

"How do you know?"

"Because nobody tells me what to do." He shrugged.

Fluixon didn’t say any rebuttal to that, Saparata’s voice became firmer as he continued "I don't take orders from politicians."

"Police?"

"Not that either.”

"Military?"

"No."

"Any government agency?"

"Definitely not.” Saparata shuddered. 

"Then who do you answer to?" Fluixon questioned with so much reverence in his tone.

Saparata paused at that as he looked around—at the injured, at the wreckage, at the people helping one another, then back at Fluixon—he especially stared longer at Fluixon. "...The people who need help."

Fluixon was very quiet for the first time in a while, as if he was seeing Spiderman in a new light.
Saparata was desperately hoping he did. "That's it." He ended his statement.

"You expect people to believe that?" Fluixon muttered.

Saparata shrugged for the nth time today, "I don't particularly care if they don’t.”

Fluixon tilted his head at that. "You don't care whether people think you're working for the government?"

"I care more that people don't get hurt." Saparata replied honestly.

Fluixon's expression hardened. "Those things aren't mutually exclusive."

"I know."

"Then why dismiss the possibility so easily?"

Saparata looked directly at him. "Because I don't trust the government."

Fluixon blinked again. If Saparata could read Fluixon’s mind, he’d probably see a thousand of expected answers that were anything but what he was actually answering right now. "Not enough to hand them my life."

Fluixon lowered the recorder slightly. "Why?"

"Because governments don't suddenly become trustworthy because someone puts a badge on them."

Fluixon's eyebrows lifted, Saparata gestured toward the damaged street. "They want control? Fine. Let them explain why civilians are always the ones paying for their mistakes."

"That's a strong statement." Fluixon said quietly. 

"It's supposed to be." Saparata agreed.

"You think the government is the problem?"

"I think governments are capable of becoming problems." Saparata folded his arms. "You keep asking whether I'm their pawn." He brought up the question once more.

"...Yes." Fluixon confirmed, although his voice was surprisingly more hesitant now.

"Ask me the opposite question." Saparata folded his arms as he said his response.

Fluixon frowned. "What?"

"Why would I let them be mine?" He asked rhetorically.

Fluixon stared like a dumbfounded idiot, So Saparata opted to continue. "If I ever let a government decide who I save, when I save them, or whether they're worth saving, then I stop being someone who helps people."

He pointed toward the wreckage. "I become another tool." Then he simply pointed at himself, "And I'm not interested in being anybody's tool."

For the first time during the interview, Fluixon didn't immediately have a response, he looked down at the recorder that was still on—like he was debating on turning it off now or not, then back at Saparata—or, in his perspective, Spiderman.

"So you're saying you don't trust the government." Fluxarata said, and the sentence felt so foreign on his lips, especially if it was directed to the very vigilante he swore was everything he wasn’t.

"Correct." Saparata confirmed it easily.

"You don't trust the police."

"Not blindly."

"Politicians?"

"Especially not."

For the first time today, Fluixon almost smiled. "Do you trust anyone?"

Saparata thought about it. "People."

Fluixon raised an eyebrow. "That's surprisingly optimistic."

"I've seen people run toward danger to help strangers." He glanced toward the crowd. "The government can write laws. Police can enforce them. Corporations can buy buildings." He paused. "But when someone almost comes to death’s door because of a hauling car, it's usually another person who reaches first for them."

Fluixon stared at him, and an odd sense of deja vu hit him at that odd example.

There was a brief silence, then Fluixon checked his recorder, clicking it off. "...That's all for the Conspiracy."

Saparata visibly relaxed at that, almost like he couldn’t believe he survived that, “Really?”

Fluixon scoffed, “why, do you want more?” He taunted, as he dared to raise his hand to act like he was gonna click the recorder back on again.

Saparata quickly flailed his arms at that as he shook his head rapidly, “Of course not!”

Fluixon had to bite back a laugh at that, clicking his tongue in (fond?) annoyance. "You seemed nervous."

"I wasn't nervous." Saparata whistled, shifting his weight.

Fluixon glanced at his body as he did so. "You kept shifting your weight." 

Saparata froze, immediately stopping the action, he had forgotten—he always did that when he was nervous, and Fluixon noticed.

Spiderman immediately shifted his stance back to its original position. "...Old injury." He reasoned.

Fluixon snorted, It was brief—barely a laugh. But Saparata knew that sound, He'd heard it countless times, the corner of his mouth lifted beneath his mask.

Fluixon didn’t seem to notice it, thankfully. “Y’know, Spiderman.” He suddenly started as he put the recorder back in his pocket.

Saparata tilted his head, “What?” 

"You sound like someone I know." Fluixon mentioned casually. “Someone like…”

Saparata's heart stopped—Oh sweet parental of Ish, please do not continue that sentence.

As if Ish personally heard him, Fluixon suddenly shook his head. "...Never mind."

Saparata wanted to thank Ish personally for that as he quickly changed the subject. "You have a lot of questions." He teased.

Fluixon narrowed his eyes at that, folding his arms out of partial defense. "I'm a student journalist."

"I know." 

"You don't like journalists?"

"Some." Saparata admitted.

Fluixon narrowed his eyes even further as his brows visibly furrowed. "Which ones?"

"The annoying ones."

Fluixon tilted his head at that, feeling a vein pop on his forehead. "Are you calling me annoying?"

Saparata put his hands behind his back, a shit-eating grin formed on his face, and he had to thank his mask for concealing it. "Would you like me to answer honestly?" 

"Yes." Fluixon answered quickly. 

"Very.” Saparata answered with the same speed. 

Fluixon scoffed. "You're one to talk."

Saparata laughed brightly at that, It reminded him of the banter he and Fluixon always had way back before, and until now. Even as Spiderman, it seemed the banter always came smoothly and easily for the both of them. 

“It’s fine, though.” Saparata spoke up again. "I've been called worse." 

Fluixon tilted his head at that, "By who?" He asked curiously.

"My boyfriend." He hummed, a small smile forming on his face.

Fluixon paused, "Your boyfriend?" He repeated dumbly.

"Yeah." Saparata nodded.

"You have a boyfriend?" He asked, and it was such a stupid question in Saparata’s perspective, as if he wasn’t the boyfriend in question.

"Yes." Saparata stared at him. "...Why do you sound so surprised?" He asked with slight offense.

"I’m not!” Fluixon defended himself.

Unfortunately, his answer just gave Saparata more openings to tease him. “You’re not surprised that I have a boyfriend?”

“I—” Fluixon stuttered, and that was a very rare occurrence, Saparata wanted to capture it in a video and keep it forever, “No—? Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds kinda weird.” He complained.

Fluixon stopped, he looked mildly humiliated at his current predicament, sighing out loud. "Actually, I don't care."

Saparata laughed. "Sure."

"I don't." Fluixon repeated.

"Okay." Saparata went along with it.

"I have a boyfriend too, y’know.” Fluixon huffed, turning his head to the side, if Saparata stared long enough, he would be able to notice the faint flush creeping at the back of Fluixon’s neck, reaching all the way to the tip of his ears.

Saparata did stare, "I know." He replied before he could even think about it, too distracted at his boyfriend’s cuteness. 

Fluixon blinked. "How do you know?"

Saparata felt himself still after he realized his horrible mistake. "...Lucky guess."

Fluixon stared. "Right."

"Anyway." Saparata waved a hand. "My boyfriend’s great."

Fluixon crossed his arms again, a little uninterested. "...Good for you?”

"He puts up with me a lot."

"Poor guy."

"He's patient."

"...Congratulations."

"Smart, too."

Fluixon's expression became increasingly irritated. "You're really committed to this."

Spiderman tilted his head. "Committed to what?"

"Talking about your boyfriend."

"You asked." Saparata hummed.

Fluixon actually did not ask. "I did not."

"You did, though?” 

"I asked if you had one." He corrected.

"Exactly."

"And now you're bragging."

Spiderman smiled. "He's worth bragging about."

Fluixon's expression tightened. "I really don’t need to know anything else.”

Saparata wanted to laugh at the irony of this whole conversation, then, he thought for a moment. "He's also really passionate about what he believes in." He added.

Fluixon’s scowl was so deep it could reach the bottom of a sea at this point. "Are you done?"

"Almost." Now he’s just doing this for the love of the game.

Fluixon was not enjoying a single bit of it. "Please be done."

"He's kind of stubborn, and he asks a lot of questions." Saparata continued yapping anyway.

Fluixon glared, with that, Saparata laughed and finally stopped. "Sorry."

"You should be."

Saparata simply shook his head at that, and for a very long moment, he simply stared at Fluixon—at his boyfriend. How pretty he looked despite the scowl on his face, and he wondered, for a single moment, if he removed his mask right here and right now, would the scowl turn deeper, or turn into the soft expression Fluixon Aculon had reserved for Saparata Theria?

It seemed that a long moment has truly passed, because the silence suddenly became a bit unbearable for Fluixon. "What are you staring at, you chud of a hero?” He hissed like a violent cat.

Saparata blinked as he got out of his lovesick daze, "No need to get so feisty,” He shrugged, “I was just thinking that you’re really good at this.”

Fluixon looked at him. "At what?"

Saparata just gestured at him, "At asking questions, at getting answers, and at journalism, in general.” He complimented genuinely. Saparata didn't even realize what he'd said until it was too late.

Fluixon's expression softened by the smallest amount, then, just as quickly, it immediately returned to annoyance. "Don't compliment me."

Saparata flinched at the change of tone. "Why?"

"I have a boyfriend." Fluixon huffed.

He blinked. "So do I?”

"Exactly."

"What's the problem?"

"You were flirting." Fluixon pointed his finger at him in accusation.

Saparata genuinely felt his mouth go agape at that, "I was complimenting your journalism."

"That's how flirting starts." Fluixon retorted stubbornly.

Saparata laughed. "You're paranoid."

"I'm cautious." He corrected

"Same thing." Saparata shrugged.

Fluixon shook his head, "No, it is not.”

Saparata smiled. "Your boyfriend must be lucky."

Fluixon's expression became even more offended. "I know."

Saparata paused, then laughed. "Wow."

"What?" Fluixon asked with an irritated expression. 

Saparata was just fishing for assurance at this point. "You really like him."

"Obviously." Fluixon said, one brow partially raised. Saparata was very pleased with that answer, "Good."

Fluixon narrowed his eyes. "Why do you sound pleased?"

"Because he sounds lucky."

Fluixon stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. "Whatever."

Saparata smiled beneath the mask. "Take care, journalist." Fluixon looked back, but he didn’t say anything to that, too stubbornly annoyed to even greet a quiet farewell.

Spiderman fired a web toward the nearest building, anyway. But before swinging away, he glanced back. "And for what it's worth?"

Fluixon raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Saparata started, "I don't think you're wrong to question me." He rolled his wrist around his webs to get more grip, "But don't confuse questioning me with assuming the worst."

Fluixon considered that. "...Fair."

Satisfied, Saparata nodded at that, then, he simply swung away.

—

Fluixon watched him disappear, then, after a few minutes of walking, he finally met up with the Conspiracy after the incident.

Thomas looked at him with so much relief, but also so much frustration. "Where the hell have you been, Flux!?” He exclaimed, placing both of his arms on Fluixon’s shoulders.

"I interviewed Spiderman.” Fluixon randomly said. 

The Conspiracy officers opened their mouths simultaneously at that, then closed it, out of total shock.

“...Spiderman?” Snowbird repeated dumbly.

“How was it!?” Rotation suddenly burst out in excitement, like he never thought he’d live to see the day.

Fluixon stared at the empty space where Spiderman had vanished. "Annoying."

Thomas laughed. "That's it?"

"He's arrogant." Fluixon continued along.

“Well, if you were gone for that long,” Seraphim suddenly quipped in, "Then surely you two must’ve gotten along."

"We did not." Fluixon refused immediately.

Newkids raised an eyebrow, definitely not believing it, the others mimicked his action. Fluixon merely frowned. "He was also weird."

"Weird how?" Thomas tilted his head.

Fluixon thought about it—The way he shifted his weight. The way he joked when nervous. The way he answered questions. The way he'd spoken about his boyfriend.

Something about it bothered him—not in a bad way, just… strangely familiar. Fluixon shook his head. "Never mind."

Gotoga butted in out of sheer disappointment, “Don’t leave us hanging, dude!”

Fluixon shrugged. “I’ll talk about it sooner or later.

Thomas sighed, "Fine, are you coming with us back to the office?"

Fluixon nodded, "In a minute." 

Thomas nodded back, then alongside the others, he walked away.

Fluixon remained where he was, he looked down at at the recorder then toward the skyline. He couldn't explain why, but there was something about Spiderman that gave him an immense amount of deja vu.

Fluixon frowned, then shook the thought away—It was ridiculous. He already had enough problems, he wasn't going to start imagining connections where there weren't any.

Besides, Saparata was probably somewhere nearby, probably waiting for him to finish.

Fluixon smiled faintly. "That idiot's probably hungry." Then he turned and headed back toward the Conspiracy group.

He was completely unaware that the ‘idiot’ he was thinking about had just swung away from the building, and was currently laughing so hard beneath his mask that he nearly missed his next web.

— [ 4/5 ] —

After the truck incident, it seemed that the inconvenient disasters just kept piling up for Spiderman, and by the time Saparata made it home on a random night, the city had already gone quiet.

Not completely, of course. The streets outside were still alive with the distant hum of traffic, the occasional horn, the muffled voices of people heading home after a long day. But compared to the chaos he'd left behind nearly an hour ago, it felt almost unnaturally peaceful.

His body disagreed.

Every step toward the apartment sent a dull ache through his ribs. His left shoulder throbbed beneath the torn fabric of his shirt, and there was a shallow cut above his eyebrow that had dried into a thin line of blood.

He'd told himself it wasn't that bad—he'd told himself that several times, actually.

It was one of the benefits of being Spiderman. You get very good at convincing yourself that something was probably fine.

The problem was that Saparata also had a boyfriend who was very good at noticing when something was probably not fine.

He unlocked the apartment door as quietly as he could; 11:47 p.m., he winced at the time displayed on his phone.

Fluixon was going to kill him—that’s an exaggeration, but that’s what it’ll at least feel like.

Saparata slipped inside, shut the door behind him, and carefully placed his keys on the counter. He tried to move toward the bedroom without making a sound.

He got three steps in before the silence was cut. "Saps." His boyfriend greeted with an eerily calm tone.

He stopped, for a moment, he considered pretending he hadn't heard.

"Saparata." The tone wasn’t so calm now.

He sighed. "Hi, baby.”

Fluixon was sitting on the couch, unimpressed at the term of endearment. He was still dressed, his laptop open on the coffee table. He had clearly been waiting, There was something deeply intimidating about the fact that Fluixon didn't have to raise his voice. "What time is it?" Fluixon asked.

Saparata glanced at his phone again. "...Late."

Fluixon clicked his tongue, "Try again."

"...Eleven forty-seven." Saparata sighed as he finally admitted it.

"You said you'd be home by ten." Fluixon reminded him.

Saparata visibly withered, "I know… but—” Saparata smiled weakly. "—At least I’m back…?"

Fluixon gave him the most deadpan stare Saparata has ever achieved in the seven years and more that he has known his boyfriend; Saparata immediately regretted everything.

Fluixon got to his feet. "You look terrible."

"That's a little harsh." Saparata whined. "I promise I'm fine."

"You have blood on your face." Fluixon furrowed his brows at him.

Saparata instinctively touched his eyebrow, his fingers came away red. "Oh."

Fluixon's expression changed. The irritation was still there, but concern had already begun pushing through it. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Saparata replied too quickly.

"Saps." Fluixon called his name, but it was more of a warning, honestly.

"...I fell." Saparata excused.

"...You fell." Fluixon repeated his excuse, it was evident in his tone that he did not believe it.

Saparata nodded weakly, "Yeah."

"Onto what?" Fluixon questioned.

Saparata paused. "...The ground." He said, even pointing to their floor for emphasis. His boyfriend stared at him, Saparata tried to smile, but it didn't work.

"Okay," Fluixon said slowly. "Sit down."

"I'm really fine." Saparata tried to assure his boyfriend.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t having any of it today. "Sit." Fluixon said more firmly.

Saparata sat.

He watched Fluixon disappear into the bathroom, and the moment he was out of sight, Saparata leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.

He was tired—not just the typical type of tired, but the kind of exhaustion that settled into his bones and made every muscle feel several pounds heavier than it should.

The fight today hadn't even been particularly difficult, it was just the actions in between—a rooftop chase, a poorly timed landing, and a collision with a metal railing that Saparata was fairly certain had won.

He'd dealt with worse; He always dealt with worse. The problem was that he had to stop thinking about himself like Spiderman the moment he walked through the apartment door.

Here, he was just Saparata Theria, and Saparata had a boyfriend who worried.

Fluixon returned with the first-aid kit. He sat beside him and opened it.

Saparata looked at the supplies. "You're serious."

"Very."

"It's just a cut, though."

"You're bleeding." Fluixon huffed as he got the supplies they needed.

"That’s generally what happens with cuts." Saparata tried to joke.

"Do you want me to let you bleed, then?" Fluixon said a little too sharply than what Saparata usually liked.

That shut him up quite quickly, "...No." He said meekly.

"Then stop complaining." Fluixon sighed quietly.

Saparata smiled, even with Fluixon’s irritation, there was something almost comforting about this. Fluixon had a particular way of taking care of people, after all. He complained the entire time, as if affection was something he had to disguise beneath several layers of irritation.

He cleaned the cut above Saparata's eyebrow with a damp cotton pad.

Saparata flinched. "Ow."

"Hold still." Fluixon berated him.

Saparata had to fight off a loud hiss at Fluixon’s cruelty, "I am holding still."

"You're moving."

"Because you're stabbing my head." Saparata complained like a toddler.

"I'm wiping your forehead." Fluixon corrected him.

"It feels like stabbing."

Fluixon glanced at him. "You survived getting hit by a car once."

Saparata blinked, he almost forgot about that moment, to be frank, it had happen multiple times already, not just once… but Fluixon didn’t know that. "...That was different."

"How?" 

"I had time to prepare." Saparata said it so genuinely it was like he really believed his sentiment.

Fluixon snorted despite the scowl on his face, Saparata smiled—That was better. He could handle Fluixon being annoyed, but Fluixon being worried? Saparata doesn’t know if his heart could handle it.

When Fluixon finished cleaning the cut, his fingers lingered for half a second near Saparata's temple. His expression softened. "You scared me."

Saparata's smile faded. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Fluixon closed the first-aid kit. "You don't have to tell me everything."

Saparata looked at him.

"But at least tell me when you're going to be late."

"I will."

"And answer your phone.” Fluixon scolded him softly, “Also, don't tell me you're fine when you're clearly not."

Saparata hesitated, before nodding anyway, he could never say no to his boyfriend,  "...I'll try."

Fluixon hummed in approval at that. "Better." He reached for Saparata's hand, his thumb brushed absentmindedly over his knuckles.

The gesture was so familiar that it hurt a little. Saparata had to look away, there were nights when the secret felt almost impossible. This was one of them.

Because Fluixon was sitting right there, holding his hand, looking at the bruises Saparata had gotten while wearing a mask, and Saparata couldn't tell him—Not yet.

"Have you eaten?"

Saparata looked up. "No."

Fluixon sighed. "I figured."

"I'm not hungry." Saparata reassured him.

Fluixon hummed at that once more, "That's unfortunate."

Saparata blinked as he stared at his boyfriend dumbly, "Why?"

"Because I'm making you food." Fluixon decided.

Saparata watched him stand. "You don't have to."

"I know." Fluixon headed toward the kitchen. "I'm doing it anyway."

Saparata smiled faintly. There was no point arguing, because He knows he’ll always lose. He has lost these arguments many times before.

A few minutes later, Fluixon returned with something warm and placed it on the coffee table. Saparata stared at it. "You made this?"

"No, a ghost did." Fluixon deadpanned.

Saparata chuckled, "Funny."

Fluixon couldn’t fight the small smile that formed on his face, "I try."

Saparata picked up the spoon. The first few bites made him realize just how hungry he actually was. Fluixon sat beside him, watching with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had successfully forced another human being to eat.

For a while, neither of them spoke, then Fluixon sighed. "You know who else is terrible at taking care of himself?"

Saparata's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. "Who?"

"Spiderman." Fluixon randomly said.

Saparata swallowed, he definitely did not expect the conversation to lead to Spiderman. "Right."

You see, ever since Fluixon interviewed him—or more specifically, Spiderman, his complicated outlook towards Spiderman shifted from insane government conspiracy theories to just… pure annoyance about how reckless the masked hero is in general.

Fluixon leaned back against the couch. "I saw the footage from earlier."

Saparata tried to keep his face neutral. "The fire?"

"Yeah."

Saparata nodded slowly, "That was pretty bad."

"He got hurt." Fluixon added. 

Saparata looked down at his food. "Apparently."

"And yet, the idiot still went back in." Fluixon sighed deeply. 

Saparata shrugged. "People were trapped."

"I know." Fluixon's voice wasn't mocking, that was what made it worse. He sounded almost conflicted. "I know why he did it."

Saparata glanced at him. "But?"

"But he's just too reckless."

There it was, Saparata smiled faintly. "Fair."

"He doesn't know when to stop."

"Probably."

"He gets himself hurt," Fluixon kept continuing, "And then he disappears before anyone can even ask if he's okay."

Saparata took another bite. "...Sounds like a pain."

"He is." Fluixon nodded solemnly. 

Saparata nearly laughed, he managed to hide it behind his spoon.

Fluixon didn't notice, or if he did, he ignored it. "I still don't understand him," he said again.

Saparata hummed. "What's there to understand?"

"That's exactly the problem." Fluixon rubbed his thumb against the edge of his phone. "For a while, I thought he was being used."

Saparata went still, but Fluixon didn't notice. "By the government," He specified. "I mean, you know what I think."

Saparata nodded carefully. "Yeah."

"I still think it's reasonable to question it."

"Of course."

"But..." Fluixon hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the dark window. "I don't think that's what's happening anymore."

Saparata looked at him, something warm settled in his chest. "Why?"

"Because he doesn't act like someone who's being controlled." Fluixon's expression tightened as he thought. "If anything, he seems almost aggressively opposed to the government."

Saparata had to bite the inside of his cheek, that was one way to describe it. "Maybe he just doesn't like being told what to do."

"That would explain a lot."

Saparata smiled. "Yeah."

Fluixon shook his head. "I still don't agree with how he handles things."

"You don't have to." Saparata assured him, but it felt like he was assuring himself too.

"I know." He sighed. "But I think I was wrong about his intentions."

Saparata's smile disappeared. Fluixon continued eating his own food. "I don't think he goes out there because he wants to hurt people… I think he actually wants to help."

Saparata looked down. He suddenly found his dinner very interesting. "That's what it looks like."

Fluixon glanced at him. "You agree with him a lot tonight."

Saparata shrugged. "I'm tired."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

Fluixon laughed quietly, then he looked back at the television. "I still think he's an idiot."

Saparata smiled. "That's fair."

"With no sense of self-preservation."

"Definitely."

"And absolutely no understanding of how much collateral damage he causes."

Saparata paused, that one was harder. He knew Fluixon didn’t mean for it to come off as hatred—not anymore—It was simply frustration; A genuine frustration with the way Spiderman operated.

Saparata could understand that. "I'm sure he knows," he said quietly.

Fluixon looked at him. "Does he?"

"I think so."

"Then why doesn't he change?"

Saparata thought about it. He had tried before, but sometimes there was no time to think about property damage when someone was falling, because sometimes saving one person meant breaking something else, because every decision had to happen in seconds, and because being Spiderman meant accepting that there was no perfect way to do any of it.

…But he couldn't say any of that, so he shrugged. "Maybe he's doing his best." It was the easiest and closest explanation he could give.

Fluixon stared at him for a moment, then his expression softened. "Maybe."

The conversation should have ended there, but it didn't. Fluixon, apparently deciding that Saparata's injuries had not already provided enough opportunities for suffering, decided to bring up the interview. "I still think he was annoying."

Saparata looked over. "The interview?"

"Yeah."

"What was he like?"

Fluixon frowned, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.. "He dodged questions."

"You asked difficult questions." Saparata defended Spiderman—or himself, technically.

Fluixon looked at him plainly, "That's my job."

"He answered them eventually, though.” Saparata tried not to smile too obviously.

Fluixon noticed. "What?"

"Nothing." Saparata answered too quickly.

Fluixon did not like that. "You look amused."

Saparata laughed at his boyfriend’s expression. "I just think it's funny." He shrugged.

"What's funny?"

"How many times you’ve complained about him to me." Saparata smiled, knowing that Fluixon didn’t get the full context of his response.

Fluixon narrowed his eyes. "You've been weird about him lately."

Saparata's heart stopped, suddenly looking at their very beautiful dinner table like it was a prized possession. "Have I?"

"Yeah." Fluixon stared so intensely at Saparata that he physically felt it bore into his soul.

"How?" Saparata gulped as he asked that.

"You defend him."

"I don't."

"You just did."

"I said maybe he's doing his best."

"Exactly."

Saparata laughed nervously. "Maybe I just think you're being unfair."

Fluixon stared, then, surprisingly, he smiled. "Maybe."

Saparata blinked, like he didn’t expect his boyfriend to agree with him. "What?"

"I said maybe." Fluixon leaned back. "Maybe I am being unfair."

Saparata's chest tightened. That was almost more dangerous than anger, because Fluixon was changing his mind—slowly, reluctantly, but genuinely, and Saparata hadn't expected that to affect him as much as it did.

He had spent months listening to Fluixon criticize Spiderman. He'd gotten used to it, he'd even learned to laugh about it, but hearing Fluixon admit that he might have been wrong?

He never thought he’d live to see the day, and the strange warmth that Saparata could only name as hope—hope that when the inevitable day comes and Fluixon finds out his greatest secret, then maybe, it wouldn’t lead to anger, but instead, love.

—

Later, Fluixon made him lie down.

Saparata protested, he insisted he could shower. Fluixon said no. He insisted he could clean up the kitchen. Fluixon told him to rest. He insisted he wasn't tired, but then he yawned directly into Fluixon's shoulder, which promptly ended the argument.

"You're impossible," Fluixon murmured.

Saparata smiled against him. "You love me."

"Unfortunately." Fluixon sighed.

Saparata laughed softly. Fluixon helped him settle onto their shared bed, pulled the blanket over him, and disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he had an ice pack.

Saparata groaned. "Again?"

"Your shoulder is swollen."

"It's fine."

"You say that too much." Fluixon frowned, he carefully placed the ice against his shoulder.

Saparata hissed. "Cold."

"That's generally how ice works." Fluixon said matter-of-factly.

Saparata would’ve laughed if there weren't any shivers slithering around his spin, all the way up to his shoulders. "You're very funny tonight."

"I know." Fluixon was the one who laughed instead.

Saparata closed his eyes. The apartment was quiet now—no sirens, no shouting, no police, no criminals—Just Fluixon sitting beside him. Just the soft hum of the air conditioner. Just the weight of the blanket.

 For a moment, Saparata let himself forget—He wasn't Spiderman, he didn't have to think about patrol routes or police scanners or how to explain another bruise. He was just Saparata Theria, Fluixon Aculon's boyfriend—safe, loved, and very, very tired.

"Hey," Fluixon murmured.

"Hm?"

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I think I was too hard on Spiderman."

Saparata opened his eyes slightly at that, Fluixon was staring at the ceiling. "I still don't like everything he does."

"Mhm.”

"But..." He paused. "I don't think he's a bad person."

Saparata's chest tightened. Fluixon continued quietly. "I think he's probably just trying to do what he thinks is right."

Saparata smiled. "Probably."

“It’s just that he doesn't know how to ask for help." He scoffed, but there was no malice in his tone.

Saparata's smile faded, even though he knew it was something light-hearted. That one hit closer than Fluixon knew. "Maybe," he whispered.

Fluixon looked down at him. "Anyway." He gently brushed a stray piece of hair away from Saparata's forehead. "You're not allowed to become Spiderman."

Saparata laughed at that, and he was hoping to every high being out there that Fluixon didn’t notice the sudden cold sweat that formed when he said that. "...Wasn't planning on it."

"Good." Fluixon hummed.

"I'd look terrible in the suit." Saparata added for more emphasis.

Fluixon smiled. "Definitely."

Saparata closed his eyes again. The irony was almost unbearable, because Fluixon was taking care of Spiderman—he was feeding him, bandaging him, scolding him, telling him to rest, and all the while, he was complaining about Spiderman to his face without realizing it.

Saparata almost laughed at the absurdity of it, Instead, he shifted closer. Fluixon let him. His hand found Saparata's hair and gently ran through it. "Get some sleep."

"Okay."

"Tomorrow, you're staying home." Fluixon decided for him.

Saparata opened one eye. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"But—"

Fluixon immediately interrupted him. "No."

"Flux." He whined, a visible pout forming on his lips.

Unfortunately, that no longer worked on Fluixon in situations like this. "No." He merely repeated.

Saparata sighed dramatically. "You're controlling."

"I'm caring." Fluixon corrected him.

"Same thing."

"It's not."

Saparata smiled. "Goodnight."

"...Goodnight." Fluixon leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Saparata felt something in his chest ache for an entirely different reason, because one day, Fluixon would know. One day, he'd put together all the little things—the unexplained bruises, the disappearances, the familiar mannerisms, the strange coincidences, and the way Spiderman always seemed to be around when Saparata wasn't.

One day, he'd know that every time he'd complained about Spiderman, Saparata had been sitting right there, listening. And when that day came, Saparata had a feeling Fluixon was going to be absolutely furious.

But tonight wasn't that day, tonight, Fluixon simply pulled the blanket a little higher around him, and Saparata, exhausted beyond words, let himself smile.

Because for all the lies he'd told that night, there was one thing he didn't have to lie about.

Saparata Theria loves Fluixon Aculon.

And somehow, even while hiding half his life from him, Fluixon still knew exactly how to make him feel safe, and that was enough, at least for tonight.

— [ 5/5 ] —

Fluixon had never considered himself particularly good at solving mysteries. 

He was good at finding information, he was good at asking questions until people became uncomfortable enough to answer them, and he was good at noticing when a story didn't make sense.

Mysteries were different, though. Mysteries implied that there was something hidden, and Fluixon had always preferred things that could be dragged into the light.

That was why the Spiderman situation had begun irritating him at first. There was still no evidence that Spiderman was affiliated with the government. Fluixon had gone through everything he could reasonably find, and the conclusion remained the same: Spiderman was acting independently. That should have been the end of it, especially after the interview he had with him personally.

Instead, Fluixon had found something much more annoying—Patterns, not enough to prove anything, or to even make a reasonable accusation, just enough to bother him.

The first one had been the injuries, the second had been the timing, and the third had been the mannerisms, and now, there were too many. 

Fluixon stared at his laptop, on the screen was footage from the fire. Spiderman was carrying one of the victims out of the building.

His left shoulder was slightly lower than the right. 

Fluixon paused the video as he frowned. He rewinded the video, played it again, and paused—There, the same movement was still there. The same slight hitch in the left shoulder.

Fluixon leaned back, he didn't like where his thoughts were going, not because the conclusion was impossible, but because it was ridiculous.

He closed the video, then opened another. A clip from the traffic incident outside the university, Spiderman landed on the pavement. His left foot touched down first, then his right followed, tilting his head after.

Fluixon froze—he did the same process earlier, he replayed it again—the action remained the same, then the same small movement of the shoulders. 

Fluixon stared at the screen. "...Huh."

 He opened another video—another incident, then he opened so many more he couldn’t even count it at this point, all with different circumstances, different locations, different days. 

The only thing they had in common was the same little habits; the head tilt, the slight shift in weight, the way Spiderman scratched the back of his neck whenever he was uncomfortable, the way he deflected serious questions with humor, the way he said right when he was thinking, the way he rubbed his thumb against his fingers when nervous, so on and so forth.

 Fluixon sat very still. He knew someone who did all of those things unfortunately—very, very unfortunately.

"...That's stupid." He closed the laptop as he talked to himself, but not even a second later, he opened it again

—

The Conspiracy office was unusually quiet that afternoon.

Thomas was working on a report, Gotoga was sorting through photographs, Snowbird was editing footage alongside him, Rotation was typing something at an alarming speed, Seraphim was sitting at the other end of the table next to Newkids who was eating, watching everyone with the resigned expression of someone who had already accepted that something was about to go wrong. 

Fluixon walked in carrying his laptop. "Guys."

Nobody looked up, still going through with their respective tasks like their literal Editor-in-Chief had not walked through their door.

Fluixon clicked his tongue, "Guys." He called a little louder.

Thomas glanced over. "What?"

"I have a question." Fluixon hummed, as he sat down on a vacant spot.

Gotoga immediately stopped what he was doing, that tone was never good. "What kind?"

"...Just a question." He said vaguely.

Thomas sighed, already having some sort of assumption. "What did you find?"

Fluixon set the laptop down. "I've been looking at Spiderman's footage."

Silence.

Newkids stopped chewing, Snowbird slowly turned around, Rotation's typing stopped, and Seraphim closed her eyes. Thomas stared at Fluixon. "Why?"

"Because I noticed something." Fluixon said, as he gathered all the videos he had watched earlier.

Thomas's face went blank. "What?"

"His mannerisms."

A beat, then another.

A domino effect occurred—Gotoga looked at Thomas, Thomas looked at Snowbird, Snowbird looked at Seraphim, Seraphim looked like she wanted to leave the country.

Fluixon noticed none of it. "Look."

He opened a video. Everyone leaned closer. Spiderman appeared on the screen. He was talking to a group of firefighters. Fluixon paused the footage. "See that?"

Thomas squinted. "What?"

"The way he moves his shoulder."

Thomas stared at the screen. "I don't see anything."

Fluixon played it again. "There."

Nothing.

At least, nothing Thomas could safely admit to seeing, because yes, he saw it, everyone saw it, and everyone in that room knew exactly who else moved like that.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Lots of people move like that."

"Exactly." Fluixon nodded. "That's what I thought."

Thomas visibly relaxed a little, but Fluixon continued before he could fully relax. "Until I saw this."

He opened another clip. Spiderman was standing on a rooftop, someone off-camera asked him a question, Spiderman scratched the back of his neck.

Fluixon paused. "He does that whenever he's uncomfortable."

Snowbird stared at the screen, then very slowly looked at Fluixon. "Okay."

Fluixon frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Snowbird immediately said.

Fluixon narrowed his eyes on all of them. "You guys are acting weird."

"We're not." The Conspiracy said simultaneously. 

"You all are."

Thomas immediately stood. "Coffee?"

Fluixon looked at him. "What?"

"Coffee." Thomas repeated.

"It's three in the afternoon, I don't want coffee." Fluixon deadpanned.

"No, I’m sure you do.” Thomas insisted, already walking to the personal coffee machine their office had—again, damn Fluixon’s richness. 

Fluixon frowned as he sighed in defeat. "Anyway," He turned back to the laptop. "There's something else."

Seraphim quietly whispered. "Oh, no." 

Fluixon looked up. "What?"

"Nothing." Seraphim immediately said, by this point, the word ‘nothing’ has been said more times than it should have been.

He continued anyway. "Spiderman's movements are similar to someone I know." 

Thomas's soul nearly left his body. "Who?"

Fluixon looked at him, then hesitated. "...Saparata."

Silence—absolute silence. Newkids slowly lowered his plate of food, Gotoga looked like he stopped breathing, Snowbird's eyes widened, Rotation stared at the ceiling, Seraphim put her face in her hands, Thomas looked like he'd just watched a car crash in slow motion.

Fluixon frowned, the fact they were all synchronized almost gave him the creeps. "What?"

Thomas recovered first. "Nothing."

"All of you keep saying that." Fluixon pointed out bristly. 

Thomas blinked, "...I've got nothing to say."

Fluixon narrowed his eyes. "That's suspicious."

Thomas smiled. "I'm an innocent man." He said as he raised his hands up

"You're terrible at lying."

"Thank you."

Fluixon looked around the room, Everyone had suddenly become extremely interested in whatever they were doing. "Why is everyone acting like this?"

"No reason." All of them said simultaneously once more.

Fluixon stared at them. He had known these people long enough to recognize when they were hiding something. The problem was that he had no idea what. 

He folded his arms. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"No," Newkids responded, everyone looked at her, but he merely shrugged. "I mean, not about this."

Fluixon raised an eyebrow. "That's reassuring." He said in a sarcastic tone. 

He smiled. "You're welcome."

—

Across campus, Saparata was about to have a very bad day. He was sitting with Jophiel and Micro when his phone buzzed. A message from Thomas.

Thomas: 

how much does flux know

Saparata frowned.

Saps: 

know about what

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Thomas: 

spiderman

Saparata stared at the screen. His stomach dropped.

Saps: 

why

Thomas didn't answer. Instead, another message appeared.

Thomas: 

call me

Saparata immediately stood.

Jophiel looked up. "Where are you going?” 

Saparata didn't answer, he walked several steps away before calling. Thomas answered immediately. "How much does he know?” His static voice immediately greeted.

Saparata's voice dropped. "What happened?" Is what he opted to answer instead.

Thoma sighed, "He noticed the shoulder."

Saparata furrowed his eyebrows in utter confusion. "...Which shoulder?"

"The one you injured a few days ago." Thomas specified. 

"Oh."

He continued, "That's not all."

Saparata's stomach twisted. "What else?"

"Your mannerisms." He added.

Saparata stared into the distance. "No."

"Yes."

"Which ones?"

Thomas hesitated for a bit. "Neck scratching."

Saparata groaned. "Oh, come on." He didn’t even realize his hand abruptly raised to do the action that was stated, and when he did realize, he lowered it so fast it felt like whiplash.

"And the head tilt."

“Really?”

"Yeah."

"That’s so hard to even figure out! Almost everyone tilts his head.”

"Exactly."

Saparata rubbed his face. "Does he know?"

Thomas was silent.

"Thomas." Saparata called his name a little too firmly.

"...No." Thomas eventually answered.

Saparata exhaled. "Okay."

"But..." Thomas's hesitation returned. "He said your name."

Silence.

Saparata stopped breathing. "What?"

"He thinks Spiderman moves like you." Thomas finally admitted.

Saparata closed his eyes. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then: "...How close?"

"Close enough that we're all terrified, dude.” Thomas hissed.

Saparata looked toward Jophiel and Micro. They were watching him. Jophiel had already understood from his expression. "What happened?" she mouthed.

Saparata didn't answer, instead looking back at the scenery in front of him. Thomas continued. "Listen, I don’t think he actually knows or concluded anything—at least, not yet."

"Yet." Saparata groaned. "That's worse."

"Probably."

"What am I supposed to do?" Saparata said exasperatedly.

"I don't know." Thomas replied honestly, his voice just as tired.

Saparata narrowed his eyes at absolutely nothing. "Are you not Fluixon’s right-hand man in the Conspiracy?”

"That doesn't qualify me for this!" Thomas exclaimed so hard it made his audio crack a little.

"You're supposed to know things!” Saparata fired back.

"I know you're screwed." Thomas retorted.

Saparata groaned loudly as he ruffled his hair with his free hand. "Thomas."

"Okay, sorry." Thomas sighed as he realized that was kinda shitty of him to say. “I need to go now, though, Fluixon’s back.”

“...Okay, bye.” Saparata hung up, he stared at his phone for a long while. Jophiel walked over. "What happened?"

Saparata looked at her. "He knows." He said dramatically.

Micro immediately looked alarmed. "He knows?"

"No."

Micro blinked, his mouth slightly agape. "Then why did you say he knows?"

"Because he's close." Saparata grumbled. 

"How close?" Jophiel decided to ask. 

Saparata swallowed. "Close enough to notice things."

Jophiel's expression fell. "What things?"

"The shoulder."

Micro winced. "The injury?"

"Yeah."

"That's bad." Micro scrunched up his face in worry.

“He also noticed my mannerisms.”  Saparata continued.

Jophiel stared at him. "That’s bad.” She parroted his twin brother.

“Wow.” Saparata glared. "Your observations are so incredibly helpful."

"I'm serious." The two said at the same time.

"So am I." He paced across the room—he couldn't think properly, every possible solution seemed terrible. 

He couldn't suddenly stop moving like himself, he couldn't avoid Fluixon without making it suspicious, he couldn't stop being Spiderman, and he definitely couldn't confess—not yet. Not when Fluixon was finally beginning to see Spiderman as a person rather than an enemy.

Saparata stopped, that thought hurt more than the rest, because if Fluixon found out now, he wouldn't just discover that his boyfriend had lied to him. He'd discover that the person he'd spent months criticizing had been sitting beside him the entire time—listening, agreeing, lying while loving him.

Saparata rubbed both hands over his face. "I'm doomed."

Micro patted his shoulder. "Probably."

—

Back in the Conspiracy office, Fluixon had begun connecting things he hadn't intended to connect.

He didn't tell anyone, he didn't even admit it to himself, but once the possibility had entered his head, it refused to leave.

Saparata Theria disappeared strangely often; Spiderman appeared strangely often.

Saparata Theria got injured strangely often; Spiderman got injured strangely often.

Saparata Theria was terrible at lying; Spiderman was terrible at lying.

They both tilted their heads when confused. They both scratched the back of their necks when nervous. They both favored their left side when injured. They both had the same tendency to make jokes when uncomfortable. And, perhaps most irritatingly, both of them had the exact same habit of saying: "I'm fine."

Fluixon stared at his screen, typing out his boyfriend’s name and Spiderman together, he looked at the both of them, and because of it, his stomach felt like it twisted. "No."

He leaned back—That couldn't be right. It was too absurd, too convenient, too impossible. There were millions of people in the city.

Spiderman couldn't possibly be—His phone buzzed.

A message from Saparata.

Saps: 

hi love

Saps: 

sorry, I got caught up with something. 

Saps: 

you home yet?

Fluixon stared at the message. His heart gave a strange little jump, he typed back.

Fluixon: 

Not yet.

The reply came almost immediately.

Saps: 

okay. be careful.

Saps: 

im omw home, ill wait for u

Saps: 

I love you always :)

Fluixon stared, a smile forming on his face, but it immediately turned into a frown as he looked back at the laptop—at the paused image of Spiderman, at the way his head was tilted, at the familiar curve of his shoulders, and at the little things he'd never paid attention to before.

He thought about the interview, about the way Spiderman had answered his questions, about the jokes, the pauses, the gestures. 

Then he thought about Saparata, the way he answered questions, the jokes, the pauses, the gestures.

Fluixon's fingers went still against the keyboard. For the first time, the thought didn't feel ridiculous. It felt possible, terrifyingly possible.

—

That evening, Fluixon sat beside Saparata on the couch. Saparata was scrolling through his phone. Fluixon watched him, Saparata looked up. "What?"

"Nothing." Fluixon murmured.

Saparata smiled. "You've been staring at me."

Fluixon didn’t stop staring as he said, "Have I?"

"Yeah." Saparata nodded slowly.

Fluixon finally looked away after that. "Sorry."

Saparata went back to his phone, but soon after, Fluixon kept watching—then he caught it. The thumb rubbing against his finger, the same nervous habit.

Fluixon's eyes narrowed, Saparata noticed. "What?"

"Nothing." Fluixon repeated once more.

Saparata was not buying it. "You're being weird."

"So are you." Fluixon answered before he realized what he had just said.

Saparata gulped, sweat forming on his forehead. "How?"

Fluixon almost answered. Instead, he smiled. "Forget it."

Saparata relaxed, and that was when Fluixon saw it. Saparata shifted his weight—just slightly—favoring the left side. The same way Spiderman had.

Fluixon's heart stopped, as he kept on staring. Saparata looked at him. "What?"

Fluixon opened his mouth, this time, othing came out. Saparata smiled uncertainly. "You okay?"

Fluixon looked at him—really looked at him—and suddenly, every little coincidence he'd dismissed over the past few weeks lined up in his head.

The injuries, the disappearances, the timing, the mannerisms, the jokes, the government conversation, the interview, the fire, the shoulder, the way Saparata had defended Spiderman without even realizing he'd done it.

Fluixon's heartbeat became loud in his ears, he didn't say anything, though, he simply smiled. "Yeah."

Saparata nodded. "Okay."

Fluixon looked away, his mind was racing. He needed to be certain, and he needed proof, because if he was wrong, it would look absolutely ridiculous on his part, but if he was right…

…Unfortunately, Fluixon wouldn’t know what he’d do if he was.

—

Saparata didn't think much of it, or at least, not at first. He went to bed that night thinking he'd gotten away with it.

Fluixon hadn't asked anything, he hadn't accused him, or even looked particularly suspicious.

Maybe Thomas had exaggerated—maybe he'd overreacted, maybe Fluixon hadn't connected anything at all.

Saparata lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He exhaled. "Okay."

Maybe he wasn't doomed, maybe everything was fine. Beside him, Fluixon shifted. Saparata closed his eyes. 

He didn't see the way Fluixon looked at him, or the quiet realization settling behind his boyfriend's eyes. 

He didn't see Fluixon's gaze drift toward the bruising still faintly visible beneath his shirt, he didn't hear him whisper something so quietly that it was almost lost in the dark. "...I wish you’d just tell me.” 

Saparata fell asleep, but Fluixon didn't, and somewhere in the quiet space between suspicion and certainty, a single possibility had finally taken root.

Fluixon Aculon finally drew to a conclusion.

— [ 5/5 + 1 ] —

In the many years he had lived through as Spiderman, Saparata had learned that fear came in different shapes.

There was the sharp kind—the kind that struck all at once, usually accompanied by a fist coming toward his face, a collapsing building, a vehicle losing control, or the sickening realization that someone was about to fall and he was the only person close enough to catch them.

That kind of fear was easy. It had somewhere to go, it made his body move, it sharpened his senses until everything became simple: reach, swing, catch, pull, breathe.

Then there was the other kind, the quiet kind—the kind that waited, the kind that followed him home, the kind that sat at the back of his mind every time he took off the Spiderman mask and stepped through the apartment door to find Fluixon sitting on the couch, waiting for him with a tired smile and a question about where he'd been.

That fear had a name specifically for Saparata Theria, and it was simply called, ‘Fluixon finding out.’

Saparata had imagined it more times than he wanted to admit; Sometimes Fluixon was furious, sometimes he was hurt, sometimes he didn't say anything at all, which was somehow worse. Sometimes he looked at Saparata as though he were trying to recognize someone he'd thought he knew.

And, in the worst versions, Fluixon simply walked away.

Saparata never imagined the actual moment—He couldn't, because if he did, then the secret would stop being a secret. So he had spent years living around it.  

He had learned how to leave before Fluixon woke up, how to hide bruises beneath shirts, how to invent excuses for missing calls, how to laugh whenever Fluixon complained about Spiderman, how to sit beside the person he loved while listening to him criticize a masked version of himself.

How to say, ‘Yeah, that guy's an idiot’, while knowing exactly how many times that idiot had almost died that week.

It had become normal, or, as normal as anything could be, not until tonight.

Tonight, Saparata swung toward home expecting nothing more complicated than a shower, food, and Fluixon complaining that he'd stayed out too late again.

He had finished his patrol late.

There had been an armed robbery near the edge of campus, followed by a chase that had ended three blocks away. Nobody had died, or even seriously injured. He has handled so much worse than the incident today, honestly.

Still, his shoulder hurt, his ribs hurt, his knee hurt, and it felt like his entire body had reached the point where it was politely requesting that he stop being Spiderman for the evening.

So he did what he always did after a long night, he swung toward his apartment to go home. The familiar apartment building came into view, Saparata adjusted his trajectory, released the web, and landed on the rooftop.

His shoes struck the concrete, he stumbled slightly. "Ow.” He grumbled as he straightened up.

Then he froze, someone was sitting on the ledge—Fluixon.

Saparata's heart stopped. For one horrible second, he genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Fluixon was sitting with his back against one of the concrete structures, his knees drawn slightly upward. His phone rested in his hand, scrolling mindlessly like he did it just to kill time, or because he was waiting for someone.

Saparata's stomach genuinely felt like it dropped to a pit— No. No, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Fluixon rarely came up here at the rooftop. He hated the stairs, he hated the wind, he hated the fact that there was nowhere comfortable to sit.

There was no reason for him to be here.

Unless—Before he could think about it, Fluixon looked up, and their eyes met through the lenses of Saparata's mask.

Neither moved, the city continued humming below them. Saparata's first instinct was to run, his second was to swing away, and his third was to remind himself that both of those would probably make things considerably worse.

So he stood there, Fluixon broke the silence. "You sure took your time, huh."

Saparata swallowed as he looked around, like he was expecting someone else to be there, and Fluixon directed his voice to that random stranger.

His voice felt trapped somewhere in his throat, he forced himself to speak anyway. "...Sorry?” His tone was so similar to the one he always used as Saparata when he was nervous.

Fluixon's eyebrows lifted, like he also realized it too. Only then did Saparata realize his mistake as well.

He tried to recover. "I mean—sorry, uh..." What was he even saying sorry for? He shook his head as he realized his stupidity, then simply gestured vaguely to himself. "I’m just here for… Spiderman business, y’know."

Fluixon stared at him, Saparata wanted the ground to swallow him.

"...Okay." Fluixon said plainly.

That tone made his stomach twist, Saparata knew that tone. He knew it intimately, it was the tone Fluixon used when he'd just heard something that didn't make sense.

Saparata tried to laugh. "Anyway." He tried to brush it off, searching for a new topic, but he eventually trailed off into awkward silence when he couldn’t think of any.

Fluixon didn't laugh, he simply looked at him. "Can I ask you something?"

Saparata hesitated. "Sure."

"Why are you here?"

"...Patrolling." Saparata answered plainly. 

Fluixon squinted as he analyzed the masked hero. "...On this roof?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Saparata shrugged. "Good view."

Fluixon looked around, there were at least fifteen rooftops with better views.

Saparata knew that, Fluixon knew that, but fortunately enough for Saparata, neither of them actually said anything about it. 

Finally, Fluixon nodded. "Okay." It was said in that twisted tone again.

Saparata's shoulders stiffened—something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones—not anger, it was something quieter; something more deliberate.

Fluixon stood, he brushed dust from his pants, then he walked toward Saparata.

Saparata didn't move. The closer Fluixon got, the more Saparata became aware of every detail around him—the cold night air, the ache in his ribs, the tightness of his gloves, the mask against his skin.

Fluixon stopped a few feet away, he didn't look angry, but Saparata didn’t know why he was still scared. "Do you remember our interview?" Fluixon asked.

Saparata's heart sank. "Yeah."

"The one where I asked you about the government?"

Saparata simply nodded in confirmation.

"Do you remember what you said?"

Saparata nodded again. "I remember."

"You told me you didn't trust them."

"I don't."

"You said Spiderman wasn't working for them."

"I'm not."

Fluixon's eyes narrowed slightly, his eyes held that glint of analysis again, but ultimately, he said nothing. 

Saparata felt sweat gather beneath the mask—this was it, this was the beginning—Maybe Fluixon had found something, maybe someone had seen him, maybe there was footage that framed him wrongly again so Fluixon went back to loathing Spiderman.

Maybe—"I believe you." Fluixon suddenly said, cutting Saparata’s train of thoughts.

He blinked. "What?"

"I believe you." Fluixon's voice was quiet. "I went back through the interview afterward—more than once." He admitted.

Saparata didn't know what to say.

"I thought I was looking for evidence that you were working with the government." Fluixon smiled faintly. "I was very convinced of that."

Saparata gave a nervous little laugh. "I remember."

"But then I realized I was looking for the wrong thing."

Fluixon looked around, every line he said felt rehearsed, honestly, but Saparata knew it wasn’t. "I was looking for proof that Spiderman was lying."

Saparata's throat tightened.

"And I couldn't find it..." Fluixon looked at him. "...Because you weren't."

Saparata felt warmth and hope flood his senses, he thought that this was it, Fluixon was finally admitting he didn’t hate Spiderman anymore—that he saw him in a new light.

Unfortunately, he celebrated too early. “At least, you weren’t lying about the government part.” He added quietly, then, he walked closer, until they were only inches apart from each other.

“...You were lying about something else.” 

Saparata felt his heart stop, he couldn't breathe—this was it, the end of his life—because Fluixon knew, or at least, he is so close to knowing.

 His mind raced through every possible lie; he could still deny it, he could laugh, he could say Fluixon was crazy, he could make some ridiculous joke and swing away, he could—"Your voice," Fluixon interrupted his thoughts once more.

Saparata stopped thinking. "What about it?"

Fluixon didn’t answer him directly. "I didn't realize it during the interview." His eyes softened. "But I remembered it afterward."

Saparata's hands curled into fists. "...Remembered what?”

Fluixon tilted his head as he crossed his arms. "You have the same pauses as he does."

Saparata looked away, despite having his mask, Fluixon’s stare was too intense for him to handle tonight.

"The same way of laughing." Fluixon continued. "And the same habit of saying 'right' as he does whenever you're trying to think of what to say."

He swallowed, he didn’t realize it, but his hand started trembling out of habit.

“But it wasn’t just his voice,” Fluixon added more, and by this point, Saparata wished he’d just suddenly evaporate into thin air.

Saparata's eyes closed. "You also scratch the back of your neck when you're nervous."

His hand immediately moved, he stopped it before it could actually happen, but it was too late, because Fluixon saw it anyway.

Saparata's chest tightened—He couldn't do this, he couldn't stand here and watch Fluixon slowly take apart the life they'd built together.

Not when he'd spent so long trying to protect it.

"I think you should go," Saparata said quietly.

Fluixon didn't move. "Saps—" He called out.

The name nearly broke him—there it was, the final confirmation, Fluixon really did know.

Saparata doesn’t know why he’s still so upset and scared about it, at the back of his mind, he always had a feeling that Fluixon would’ve figured it out anyway, because his boyfriend is ridiculously smart, and the moment he set his eyes on Spiderman a few months ago, he already knew that he was doomed.

But if he were more honest with himself, maybe he was scared because for a single moment, he wanted Fluixon to find out from Saparata himself—not from investigations, or crazy theories, but from the words of his own boyfriend—because Fluixon deserved that, it was simply the bare minimum.

Unfortunately, Saparata Theria is a coward, and a simple action as that was already too late to do now. Because of his own lies, their carefully built relationship will surely fall apart. 

Saparata stepped backward. "Don't." He said, then he shook his head. "...You shouldn't be here."

Fluixon wasn’t angry at the sudden outburst. "I know." He said gently, like if he raised his voice any higher, then Spiderman—no, his boyfriend, Saparata, would suddenly flee. 

"You shouldn't be talking to me." Saparata whispered.

"I know."

"You don't understand."

"I think I do."

"No." Saparata's voice cracked—he hated that, he hated how quickly the fear was turning his throat tight. "You don't."

Fluixon remained still, Saparata looked away. "It wasn’t supposed to happen like… this.” He wanted to say more, but he couldn't finish.

“I’m sorry." Saparata said again, quieter, "I’m sorry I lied to you."

Fluixon's expression softened, but he didn’t say anything yet.

Saparata laughed bitterly as he continued. "Actually, that's putting it lightly." He looked down at his hands. "I've lied to you for years."

The words felt heavier once spoken—years, not days, not weeks, but years of secrets, years of excuses, years of coming home late and kissing Fluixon's forehead as though nothing had happened, years of listening to Fluixon talk about Spiderman while knowing exactly who he was talking about.

"I let you think I was someone else." His voice shook. "I listened to you hate him."

Fluixon's eyes softened further.

"I listened to you call him reckless. Stupid. Dangerous." Saparata swallowed. "And every time, I just..." He laughed weakly. "I just sat there."

Fluixon took another step, Saparata didn't move away this time. "I didn't want you to know."

"I know." Fluixon merely repeated what he said earlier.

"I was scared." Saparata kept continuing, it felt so foreign to him to be able to let out the pent-up fears he had for years in just a single night. "I thought you'd hate me."

Fluixon's face changed, Saparata finally looked at him, the look he had was the part he'd been most afraid of—it wasn’t filled with anger, or disappointment, instead, it held the feeling of utter disbelief.

Fluixon's voice was barely above a whisper. "You really thought I'd hate you?"

Saparata looked down. "It’s hard to assume you wouldn’t."

"You've known me for years."

"I know."

"Then you should know me better than that."

Saparata laughed once, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe."

Fluixon stood close enough that Saparata could see the faint crease between his eyebrows, the one he always got when he was worried. The one Saparata had memorized without realizing it.

"Look at me." Fluixon requested.

Saparata hesitated, but eventually he did.

Fluixon stared into the lenses of the mask. "I don't care that you're Spiderman."

Saparata's breath caught.

"I care that you were scared to tell me." Fluixon's voice softened. "You've been carrying this alone, after all."

Saparata couldn't answer.

"You've been coming home hurt, you've been terrified that I'd find out, and all this time..." Fluixon reached up, his fingers touching the side of Saparata's mask. "...you were afraid I'd stop loving you."

Saparata's eyes burned, he tried to look away, but Fluixon gently turned his face back. "I won't."

That was it—that was the sentence that finally broke through.

Saparata exhaled shakily, his shoulders dropped as he did so. For years, he'd been holding himself together around this secret, and suddenly, he didn't have to.

Fluixon reached for the mask—his fingers didn’t tremble like Saparata’s was right now, but it did hesitate, like he was silently asking his boyfriend if it was okay for him to lift it up.

Saparata didn’t stop him, so Fluixon took it as cue that he didn’t mind. He pulled it up gently—not completely—just enough to reveal his mouth, as he stopped it right above his cheeks.

Fluixon looked at him, there was no shock, no disbelief, just plain recognition. In fact, he looked like he only fully accepted the truth now, especially as his eyes stared at the mole on each cheek that Saparata had.

"Hi," Saparata whispered, his voice much more clearer now that there was no mask to muffle it.

Fluixon smiled. "Hi."

Saparata laughed shakily. "You're really not angry?"

"I'm angry." Saparata's heart dropped, he couldn’t even hide the way his smile dropped because he forgot Fluixon could see half of his expression now.

Fluixon noticed, then immediately added, "Not at you.”

"Oh." Saparata said dumbly.

"I'm angry that you were so scared."

Saparata smiled weakly. "That's fair."

Fluixon brushed his thumb across Saparata's cheek, faintly touching the mole he always kissed whenever Saparata came home after a long day. "But I'm also a little offended."

Saparata blinked.

"Why?"

"You let me spend months writing about you like you were some mysterious government experiment." Fluixon huffed. 

Saparata laughed. "I was trying not to reveal myself." He reasoned.

"You were terrible at it." Fluixon said bluntly.

Saparata shrugged at that, "I thought I was doing pretty well."

"You weren't." Fluixon deadpanned.

Saparata smiled. "Apparently."

Fluixon looked at him for a long moment, then his smile became smaller. "Can I?" He asked softly.

Saparata knew what he meant, he nodded.

Fluixon then pulled him closer, Saparata instinctively rested his hands on Fluixon’s waist. Then, Fluixon leaned in, capturing Saparata’s lips.

The kiss was gentle. It wasn't dramatic, nor was it rushed, it was just impossibly tender, like a gesture you’ve constantly done for years that it felt like pure muscle memory to do it by this point. It was also like a quiet acknowledgment of everything that had just been said without words.

Saparata's hands held Fluixon's waist tighter. For the first time in years, he didn't feel like he had to be careful.

He didn't have to hide, he didn't have to wonder whether Fluixon would recognize him if he stayed too close.

Because now, Fluixon Aculon knew—he knew of his boyfriend wholly now, both as Saparata Theria, and as Spiderman.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads remained together, Saparata breathed out slowly.

Fluixon smiled. "Wow, I just kissed Spiderman.”

Saparata snorted, "Unironically, you’ve been doing that for years."

Fluixon stared at him, as he rolled his eyes, “No, I’ve been kissing Saparata Theria for years, get your facts straight.” 

Before Saparata could even form a retort, he started laughing. "I can't believe it."

"What?"

"I've spent so much time thinking about this."

Saparata smiled. "And?"

"And all this time, it's just you."

Saparata laughed. "Sorry."

"No, I'm just..." Fluixon looked at him again, then suddenly frowned. "Wait."

Saparata immediately became nervous. "What?"

"You said you've been doing this for years."

"...Yes?” Saparata suddenly felt the fear come crawling back to him again.

"Years." Fluixon narrowed his eyes.

"...Yes."

"You mean before we started dating?"

Saparata hesitated. “...No.”

Fluixon stared. "You've been Spiderman since after we got together?"

"...Kind of?” Saparata shrugged, “It actually happened during our… first date.” 

"Our first date happened like—seven years ago.” Fluixon’s mouth went agape in confusion.

“Yeah, it did.” Saparata said sheepishly.

“How did I never notice?” 

"You were too busy loathing Spiderman, dude, I don’t know what to say." Saparata shrugged. 

Fluixon almost squawked out of total offense. "That's insulting—also don’t call me dude, I’m your boyfriend.”

"I'm sorry." Saparata laughed brightly. 

Fluixon sighed dramatically, but he eventually let out a soft chuckle after. "Okay, but seriously." Fluixon huffed. "I guess that's fair."

Saparata smiled, then Fluixon's expression changed again. "There's one thing I still don't understand."

"What?"

"Why did you keep coming home injured and telling me you were fine?"

Saparata looked away. "...Habit."

Fluixon stared. "Saps."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"You idiot."

"I know."

"You could've trusted me."

Saparata swallowed. "I do trust you."

"Then why?"

Saparata looked at him. "Because I love you."

Fluixon went quiet, Saparata continued. "And because I was scared that if you knew..." He paused. "...I'd lose this."

Fluixon's expression softened. "You won't."

Saparata nodded. "I know."

Fluixon leaned forward and kissed him again, this one lasted longer, it was warmer, more familiar, and simply safe. When they separated, Fluixon rested his head against Saparata's shoulder. "You know what's funny?"

Saparata smiled. "What?"

"I spent all this time thinking Spiderman was impossible to understand."

"That's rude."

"I still think you're impossible to understand."

"Even ruder."

"But..." Fluixon's fingers intertwined with his. "...I think I understand you better now."

Saparata looked down at their hands. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The city glittered around them. For a while, they simply stood there, then Fluixon broke the silence. "You're still reckless."

Saparata groaned. "Here we go."

Fluixon frowned, "I'm serious."

"I know."

"You still need to stop throwing yourself into situations without thinking."

"I do think!” Saparata defended himself.

"Yeah, you think like an idiot would." Fluixon retorted. 

Saparata stuttered like he wanted to argue, but instead he laughed.

Fluixon smiled. "And you're still causing property damage—like a walking occupational hazard.”

"Yeah, yeah. You can put it in the paper while you’re at it.”

"I absolutely will."

Saparata grimaced, "Please don't, I was joking.”

Fluixon laughed, then he looked toward the edge of the roof. "Can I remove your mask fully?"

Saparata blinked. "Sure.”

Fluixon smiled, carefully taking off the entirety of Saparata’s mask, and loe and behold, golden eyes finally stares at purple ones for the first time tonight. "Wow, you really are my boyfriend."

Saparata stared, something warm spread through his chest. "Yeah."

Fluixon squeezed his hand. "My boyfriend." He repeated, pushing a loose strand of hair away from Saparata’s face, tucking it in his ear.

Saparata melted at the action. "Yours." He merely whispered in affirmation.

There was something different about hearing Fluixon call him his boyfriend now, he had called him that proudly on different occasions, but tonight, it would be the very first time Saparata heard it while his secret was finally out.

He looked down at the mask in his other hand, then back at Fluixon. "You know, this is probably the weirdest way anyone has ever found out."

Fluixon blinked at that out of total surprise. “Others knew before me?”

Oops, Saparata forgot he didn’t know about that. “...Yeah.”

“Who?” Fluixon asked it so sharply Saparata almost winced.

"Jophiel and Micro, for starters.”

"Oh, that’s not so bad—starters?” Fluixon squawked. “Who else knows? The Conspiracy?” 

Saparata simply smiled nervously at that, he suddenly stared at the scenery behind Fluixon like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Fluixon was in genuine shock at that. “I can’t believe you.” He suddenly started shifting to walk away.

Saparata immediately caught him, pulling him in a half-hug. “Hey! It’s not like I told them! They just found out about it on their own like you did!”

"How the hell did they figure it out before me?” Fluixon huffed, and if anyone listened closely enough, it was almost like he was sulking.

"I don’t know!” Saparata said honestly, “Maybe because they just connected the dots about my disappearances faster instead of connecting Spiderman to the government.” 

"Wow, that is so rude.” Fluixon clicked his tongue, getting more sulky by the second. “You can just say you hate me and you want to break up—”

Saparata almost let out a scream just to get Fluixon to stop talking. “Absolutely not—I love you so much, baby, and it doesn’t matter if the Conspiracy figured it out first because at the end of the day, I still believe you’re the smartest person in the whole wide world—”

Fluixon shut him up with a chaste kiss, it ended too quickly that Saparata wanted to sulk about it now too. "Your flattery won’t get you anywhere." Fluixon rolled his eyes at him.

Saparata simply smiled like a lovesick idiot as he stared at his boyfriend’s face like he came out of a romantic renaissance painting.

For years, the rooftop had been a place where Saparata went to become Spiderman.

Tonight, it became something else—a place where he could finally stop being afraid of bringing Spiderman home.

And when Fluixon finally asked, “Let’s go home, Saps.”

Saparata realized something he'd never let himself imagine this moment before, and he’s glad he hadn’t, because no amount of imagination could ever come close to the actual feeling he’s experiencing right now.

The secret was gone, and by some absolute miracle, he hadn't lost anything. He'd only gained the freedom to finally be both versions of himself in front of the love of his life.

And, as Saparata intertwined his hands with Fluixon and followed him to go to the staircase that’ll lead to their shared apartment, Fluixon laughed as he moved closer to the point their shoulders constantly bumped. "One day, you should tell me all the Spiderman adventures you’ve had.”

Saparata laughed. "Absolutely not."

Fluixon frowned as he looked at his boyfriend, "Why not?"

"Because you'll write an article about it."

“...No I won’t.” Fluixon denied, but he looked away and avoided Saparata’s gaze as he did so.

"You definitely will." Saparata smiled as he tried to capture Fluixon’s gaze.

"...Maybe."

"Fluixon.” Saparata drawled.

"Okay, okay." Fluixon finally admitted, “You’d let me, though.”

Saparata smiled, as he shifted his hand to drape it on Fluixon’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “Yeah, I would.”

After seven whole years, Saparata no longer had to wonder whether the person in his arms would still love him when he landed, because now, Saparata Theria already knew Fluixon Aculon would, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything else in the world.