Archive of Our Own

The first hit lands clean, knuckles connecting with what feels less like flesh and more like hitting reinforced concrete, and the force of it travels straight back up Hanbin’s arm in a sharp, vibrating recoil. He exhales through it out of habit rather than pain, already pushing off and flipping backward before the man can retaliate. His feet hit the ground lightly, the impact barely audible despite the force behind the movement. His hand flexes once at his side, shaking out the lingering sting, and even though the mask hides it, there is a smirk already forming. “Right,” he mutters, voice low but edged with amusement, “you’re one of those.”

The man does not respond but the way he squares his shoulders, and the way the ground seems to brace itself beneath his weight, tells Hanbin enough. Strength over strategy. Force over precision. That's how the man fights. 

“Okay,” he adds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “We can work with that.” Then the man lunges without warning.

Hanbin’s body reacts before the thought fully forms, his knees bending as he drops low, the rush of air from the missed hit brushing past him close enough to feel. The impact of it against the ground cracks the pavement, a deep, jagged sound that echoes outward. Hanbin lets out a quiet breath that turns into a laugh, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and excitement. 

“Wow,” he says, pushing himself back up in one smooth motion. “You really put your whole heart into that, huh?” The response is immediate, another swing, faster this time. Hanbin moves with it instead of away from it, pivoting just enough for it to miss while his hand snaps forward, fingers pressing into the web shooter with practiced ease. The mechanism clicks sharply, the filament shooting out and catching onto the side of a nearby building. He lets it pull him upward, body lifting off the ground in a clean arc before he twists mid air, landing behind the man with perfect precision. 

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” he adds, the grin in his voice more obvious now. The man turns, frustration already bleeding into his movements, making them heavier, less controlled.

The exhaustion from earlier, the weight of the day that had been pressing down on him shifts. His focus narrows, every detail slotting into place. Then another swing comes, wide and aggressive.

Hanbin ducks under it, then steps in closer instead of retreating, his shoulder brushing past the man’s arm as he moves. He drives his fist into his side, quick and precise, then pivots out before the counter can land.

“See,” he says, breathing a little uneven now but still light, still edged with that same quiet confidence, “that’s your problem. You’re too predictable, man!”

Angry, the man snarls, turning again, faster now, angrier. Hanbin barely avoids the next hit, but it grazes him just enough, catching his shoulder and sending a sharp jolt through him. He exhales sharply, stumbling back half a step before catching himself. His head tilts slightly as he rolls his shoulder once, testing it, the smirk not quite leaving even as the pain settles in.

“Okay,” he admits, almost impressed. “That one was close. I’m proud of you.” It is condescending, the way he says it.

The next attack is reckless. Hanbin sees it coming before it fully happens, the shift in stance, the lack of control, and so he moves accordingly. His hand shoots forward again, webbing catching across the man’s face, obscuring his vision.

“Let’s slow that down,” he mutters.

He closes the distance immediately, using the second it buys him. A hit to the ribs, another to the shoulder, each one placed with intent more than force. He is not trying to overpower him. He is trying to wear him down. 

The man tears the webbing off with a growl, swinging blindly for a second before regaining his bearings. Hanbin steps back just out of reach, his chest rising and falling a little faster now, but his posture remains loose and relaxed. He tilts his head again, studying him curiously.

“You get mad really fast,” he observes. “Has anyone ever told you that? It’s not a good look.”

The man lunges again, and this time, the hit lands.

It catches Hanbin across his side, hard enough to knock the air out of him, a rough sound forced from his chest as he stumbles back, his foot slipping slightly against the uneven ground. Pain flares sharp and immediate, radiating outward, making it harder to breathe for a second. He knows that definitely cut his skin. 

Hanbin scoffs, “Okay,” he exhales, one hand pressing briefly against his side before dropping again. “That one I didn’t like.” The man advances, sensing the shift, pushing forward with more force now that he thinks he has the upper hand.

Hanbin straightens slowly, rolling his shoulders back despite the protest from his body. The smirk returns, “Come on then,” he says, voice lower now. “Let’s finish this.” There is a difference in the way he moves after that. 

The next swing comes, and Hanbin is already there, already inside the movement before it fully lands. He redirects it, using the man’s own strength against him, twisting just enough to throw him off balance.

“Not happening,” he mutters. His web shoots out again, this time layered, wrapping around the man’s legs, then his arms, anchoring him before he can fully recover. He moves quickly, not giving him the chance to break free immediately.

The man struggles, straining against it, the material stretching but holding. Hanbin steps back, watching him for a second, his breathing heavier now, the adrenaline still running through him in sharp waves.

“See,” he says, quieter this time, but the edge is still there, “that’s what we call progress.” The man glares at him, anger still burning, but his movements have slowed, the earlier force replaced with fatigue. 

Hanbin tilts his head, considering him for a moment longer before giving a small, almost satisfied nod. “Stay like that,” he adds lightly. “It suits you.”

The sirens are getting closer now and so Hanbin does not wait. He shoots a web upward, letting it pull him off the ground, his body lifting into the air as the city opens up beneath him again. The wind rushes past him, cool against the heat still lingering under his skin, carrying away the last remnants of the fight.

And even with the ache settling into his side, even with the exhaustion waiting just beneath the surface, he had enjoyed the fight.

— ౨ৎ —

The tap against the glass is quiet. Hanbin lets his hand fall back to his side after, his head tipping against the wall beside the window as he closes his eyes, the pain from the gash finally taking its toll. The cool surface presses against his skin, grounding him, but it does little to dull the ache spreading across his body. His side throbs in slow, steady pulses, each one more noticeable now that the adrenaline has worn off. His breathing is controlled, but heavier than usual, the rise and fall of his chest just enough to remind him that he pushed himself further than he should have.

Hao appears almost immediately, his expression already tightening the moment his eyes land on him. There is no hesitation in the way he reaches out, his hand finding Hanbin’s arm, steadying him with a grip that is firm. 

“You’re late,” Hao says, the words coming out quieter than they should, edged with what feels too close to relief to be just irritation alone.

Hanbin exhales softly, his head still tipped back, eyes opening just enough to look at him. “You were waiting,” he states, amused with a slight smirk under his mask, voice low and rougher than usual.

Hao does not answer that, but the way his grip tightens for just a second is enough of one. “Get inside,” he says instead, already pulling him forward, guiding him through the window. Hanbin steps in, his movements just slightly off, but enough for Hao to notice. His hand lingers at Hanbin’s arm even after he is fully inside. 

The mask is still on. Hao’s gaze flickers to it, and for a moment he just looks at him, taking in everything else first, the way he is standing, the way his shoulders are held just a little too carefully, the way his breathing does not slow down. Then, without saying anything, he reaches up, fingers brushing along the edge of the mask before sliding it up and off in one smooth motion.

Hanbin inhales, the cool air against his skin sharper now, and he barely has time to register it before Hao’s hand comes up to his face, holding him there with a steadiness that feels grounding in a way he had not realized he needed. 

The kiss is firm and Hanbin exhales into it, his body responding before his mind can catch up, his hand finding Hao’s waist and pulling him closer without hesitation. The movement shifts them, Hao’s balance tilting slightly before Hanbin adjusts, his grip tightening just enough to steady him as he bends him back slightly. 

For a second, nothing else exists. The ache in his side dulls, the exhaustion fades into the background, making it harder to pull away.

Hao does put a small inch of distance between them eventually. His breath hitting his lips in short spurts, his hand still resting against Hanbin’s face as his gaze searches his expression more carefully now. “You look exhausted,” Hao says, his voice lower now, concern threading through. 

“I’m fine,” Hanbin replies, the words slipping out before he has the chance to reconsider them.

Hao’s expression shifts immediately, the softness replaced with a furrow in his eyebrows. “Don’t say that.” he says quietly, his thumb brushing once against Hanbin’s cheek before his hand drops. “You always say that, and it’s never true.”

Hanbin does not respond to that. Instead, he leans in again, closing the space Hao had just created, his hand tightening slightly at his waist as he draws him back in. 

This time the kiss is slower, less urgent but deeper. Hao exhales softly against him, his hand moving again, sliding from Hanbin’s shoulder down toward the front of his suit.

He pulls it down slightly, the motion careful, but Hanbin inhales sharply. The sound is small, but it is enough to make Hao freeze instantly, his hand stilling where it is as his gaze drops, focusing on the exact place where the reaction came from. “What was that,” Hao asks, his voice quieter now, but steadier, leaving no room for deflection.

“It’s nothing,” Hanbin says, but Hao does not move, his hand still resting against him, his eyes not leaving his face. 

“Take it off,” he says, not raising his voice, but not softening it either.

Hanbin exhales, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Hao—”

“Take it off,” Hao repeats, and this time the way he says it makes it clear he is not going to let it go, and there is no point arguing with Hao so Hanbin steps back, the movement slower now, and lowers himself into the chair nearby. The motion pulls at his side, and he feels it immediately, a sharp reminder of what he had been trying to ignore. His hands move to the edge of his suit, fingers curling into the fabric as he lifts it carefully, inch by inch. 

The gash is deep. It cuts across his side, the skin uneven, the blood darker now where it has started to dry, though fresh streaks still trace downward where it had not been properly dealt with. The bruising around it has already begun to form, spreading outward in a way that makes it look worse than it had felt in the moment, the aftermath settling in now. 

Hao goes completely still. For a moment, he does not say anything, and that is worse than if he had reacted immediately. His gaze stays fixed on it, so when he finally speaks, his voice is lower, “You said it wasn’t that bad.”

Hanbin looks away briefly before answering. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Hao lets out a quiet breath in disbelief, “It looks like you got hit hard enough to tear through your suit, Hanbin” he says, his eyes lifting just enough to meet him again. “And you’re sitting here telling me it’s fine?” 

“It was handled, I stopped him” Hanbin replies, quieter now, his hands resting loosely against his knees. “That’s what matters.”

Hao’s expression tightens at that, sharpness slipping through the control he had been holding onto. He moves closer, crouching down in front of him, his attention returning to the wound, though his words do not lose their edge. “That’s not the only thing that matters,” he says, reaching for the supplies in the first aid box with movements that scream ‘I’ve done this before too many times to count.’

“You don’t get to act like you’re… separate from this, like what happens to you doesn’t count as long as everything else is taken care of.”

Hanbin exhales slowly, his head tilting back slightly as Hao begins to clean the wound, the sting immediate but expected. “…Fuck,” he curses at the excruciating pain that follows, despite how gentle Hao was being, “someone has to do it.”

“There are people whose job it is to do it,” Hao replies, his voice still controlled but no longer soft. “People who are trained for this, who are supposed to handle it without ending up like this. Police officers, Hanbin. That’s who should be handling it.” 

“They weren’t there.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be you every single time,” Hao says, his hands pausing for a second before continuing, more careful now, more deliberate. “You keep doing this as if you don’t have a limit, like you can just keep going and it won’t catch up to you eventually.”

Hanbin’s gaze drops to him, watching the way his focus stays on the wound even as his frustration lingers just beneath the surface. “I knew I could handle it,” he says, though the words are quieter now, less certain than before.

Hao lets out a soft breath, shaking his head slightly as he presses the cloth more firmly this time, enough to make Hanbin tense. “You always think that,” he says. “And maybe most of the time you’re right, but that doesn’t change the fact that one day you won’t be. And what? I’m just supposed to accept that? I know you, you’re going to keep pushing until that happens.”

The words settle between them, heavier than anything he has said so far. Hanbin does not respond immediately. He just watches him, taking in the way Hao’s hands move, steady despite everything, the way his shoulders hold tension even when he is trying to focus.

“I’m here now,” Hanbin says finally, his voice quieter. 

“That doesn’t make it better,” he replies, not looking up this time, his voice lower now, laced with frustration, but he does not pull away.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, quieter now, though the firmness does not leave his voice. Hanbin lets his head fall back slightly against the chair, eyes drifting to Hao for a second. He looks so concerned and focused that it makes his heart leap. It stings, sharper than before now that there is antiseptic on it, and his fingers tighten slightly against the edge of the seat. He does not move otherwise.

“You can react, you know,” Hao says, his tone softer but still edged with frustration. “I’m not going to think less of you for it.”

“I am reacting,” Hanbin replies, his voice low, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly despite everything.

Hao glances up at him then, unimpressed. “If this is you reacting, I don’t want to see what you think holding back looks like.”

— ౨ৎ —

It was ordinary, the way they met. There was no sense of inevitability, no quiet shift in the air that hinted at anything larger waiting to unfold. It was ordinary in the way most unimportant things tend to be, unassuming enough that it could have been forgotten if either of them had chosen to let it be. 

It started with a seat. Hao had been there first, tucked into the far corner of a small café just off campus. His laptop was open, untouched for the past ten minutes, a half finished paragraph staring back at him as he absentmindedly stirred his drink long after the ice had melted. 

“Is this seat taken?”

The voice immediately pulled him back. Hao glanced up, eyes landing on someone already standing beside the table, one hand resting lightly against the back of the empty chair across from him. There was nothing particularly striking about the situation itself, just a polite question, a casual interaction that could have ended with a simple yes or no.

Still, Hao found himself pausing for a second longer than necessary. “Go ahead,” he said finally, gesturing slightly.

Hanbin smiled before sitting down. “Thanks. Everywhere else is full.” Hao nodded, already looking back at his screen, expecting that to be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Because Hanbin did not stay quiet. A comment about the drink Hao had ordered, something about how it looked better than his own. A quiet remark about the music playing in the background. It built slowly, until Hao realized he was responding without thinking too much about it, his focus shifting away from his laptop entirely. 

It was easy. Talking to Hanbin felt easy in a way Hao was not used to, not something he had to navigate carefully or overthink. The conversation flowed without effort, stretching longer than it should have, longer than Hao had planned to stay.

And when they finally left, stepping out into the evening air with no real reason to continue walking in the same direction, they did anyway.

And then it kept happening. One meeting turned into another, then another after that, until Hanbin became a constant. He slipped into Hao’s routine without disrupting it, fitting into the spaces that had once been quiet. 

The first time something felt off, it was small. A missed call that went unanswered longer than it should have. A conversation cut short with a vague excuse. The way Hanbin would disappear at odd hours, only to return like nothing had happened, brushing it off with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

Hao noticed—he always noticed, he just didn’t push. 

Until he did.

“You’re lying.” The words came out sharper than he intended, cutting through the space between them as they stood on the roof of Hao’s building. It was late and the world seemed to pause, making things feel more intimate.

Hanbin blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You keep doing that,” Hao continued, his gaze steady, but voice leaking frustration. “You disappear, then come back, and then you act like nothing happened. And every time I ask, you give me some bullshit explanation that doesn’t make sense!” 

Hanbin’s expression shifted, something uncertain flickering across it before settling, more poised. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, huh?”

The question hung there, heavier than it should have been and for a moment, Hanbin said nothing. Then he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair like he was buying himself time, as if he was trying to decide something he had been avoiding.

“I can’t tell you,” he said finally.

Hao let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Then don’t expect me to just accept it and adjust to these blatant lies.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what are you doing? How do you expect this,” he angrily gestures between them, “to be something serious when all you do is lie? Do you not want this?” 

Hanbin hesitates, “Hao hyung—“.

Hao shook his head slightly, already stepping back. “You know what, it doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “If you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s actually going on, then I don’t see the point in this.”

“Hao—”

“I’m serious,” he cut in, already turning, putting distance between them. “I’m not going to stand here and let you feed me lies and expect me to play dumb.”

He takes another step back and that is when Hanbin moves. It happens fast. Too quick for Hao to process anything at first.

There is a sharp sound, a quick flick of Hanbin’s wrist, and then something thin and white shoots forward, catching Hao around the waist before he can fully walk away. The force is sudden, spinning him around to face Hanbin and then pulling him forward in one smooth motion, his breath catching as the distance between them disappears almost instantly.

He stumbles into Hanbin, hands instinctively coming up to steady himself against his shoulders, while Hanbins rests on his waist.

For a second, neither of them move. Hao’s mind struggles to catch up, the sequence of events not quite aligning with anything that makes sense. His grip tightens slightly, his gaze snapping up to meet Hanbin’s, searching for something, anything that explains what just happened.

“What—” Hao’s expression shifts, confusion giving way to disbelief as he takes a step back, the web loosening slightly as he does.

“Tell me that was a trick,” Hao says, his voice quieter now, but edged with something that demands an answer. “Tell me you didn’t just—”

“I’m Spider-Man.”

The words land between them and for a second, Hao stares at him. For a second, nothing registers. Then he lets out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking his head slightly as he steps back again, putting more space between them this time.

“No,” he says immediately. “No, you’re not doing this.”

“What? Hao—”

“No,” he repeats, sharper now. “You don’t get to mess with me like this!” 

“I’m not messing with you!” He states as desperately as he can. 

“Then what is this?” Hao gestures vaguely, his frustration bleeding into the motion. “I don’t know how you did that, but it isn’t funny.” 

Hanbin steps forward, but Hao takes another step back immediately. “Don’t,” Hao says, his voice lower now, hurt slipping through despite himself. “Just—don’t.”

For a moment, it looks like Hanbin might stop but then he doesn’t. Instead, he lifts his wrist again.

Hao barely has time to react before another web shoots out, this time attaching to his chest, and then he is pulled forward, faster than he can process. One second there is space between them, and the next Hanbin is right in front of him again, close enough that Hao can feel the shift in the air.

“I know how this sounds,” Hanbin says, his voice quieter now, more grounded. He gently cups Hao’s face, his thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. “I know it doesn’t make sense. But I’m not lying to you.”

Hao’s gaze flickers between him and the web still attached behind him, his thoughts catching, stalling, trying to piece together everything that refuses to settle into his brain.

“This isn’t funny, Sung Hanbin.” Hao says, though his voice has lost some of its earlier certainty.

“I’m not trying to be, baby.” Hanbin says, carefully leaning in, watching for any telltale sign that Hao might turn away. When he doesn’t see one, Hanbin closes the distance between them. It’s a small, simple touch of lips. Nothing too flashy, because Hanbin didn’t want to overwhelm Hao more than he already was. 

Hao pulls away, breathing a little uneven. “Then explain it properly.” Hanbin exhales, his shoulders dropping slightly. 

And then he does, trying to not skip out on any details. 

Hao listens. Even when he wants to interrupt. And when Hanbin is done, Hao looks at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhales. “This is insane,” he says quietly.

Hanbin lets out a small breath, something that almost resembles a laugh. “I know.” Hao shakes his head slightly, running a hand through Hanbin's hair before letting it fall back to his side.

“You could have just told me,” he says after a moment, his voice softer now, but still carrying something unresolved. “You didn’t have to wait until I was about to walk away.”

Hanbin’s gaze lingers on him. “I wasn’t sure you’d stay if I did.” He admits, his head dropping in shame and insecurity. 

Then, quietly, Hao says, “I almost didn’t anyway.” but he made no movement to leave, and that mattered more than anything else.

Hao does not say anything for a long time after that. He just stands there, arms crossed loosely over his chest, gaze fixed somewhere slightly past Hanbin like he is still trying to decide whether to believe any of it or walk away and pretend this conversation never happened. 

The city hums around them, distant traffic bleeding into the quiet, the kind of noise that usually fades into the background but now feels too present, too real. 

When he finally looks back at Hanbin, there is something different in his expression. Not disbelief anymore, not entirely. “Fine,” Hao says, his voice measured, but there is a slight tilt to it, teasing beneath the surface. “If you’re actually serious about this, then prove it, Sung Hanbin.” 

Hanbin blinks. “Were the webs not enough proof?” 

“Which, by the way, so—do they only come out of your wrist? Or…y’know… do they come out of anywhere el—“ 

Hao is interrupted with a pointed stare from Hanbin. “Hao.” he deadpans. 

“Ok fine whatever! That—that web fluid,” Hao gestures vaguely, “could have been anything. I don’t know what you did, but it’s not enough.” His lips press together briefly, holding back a smile he does not want to fully show. “Take me with you.”

Hanbin stares at him for a second. “Take you where.”

Hao tilts his head slightly, his gaze steady now, the earlier hesitation gone completely. “Swinging,” he says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “You do that, right? Or is that part fake too?” he eggs Hanbin on. 

There is no demand in the way he says it, no force behind it, but there is a quiet insistence, wrapped neatly in curiosity and just enough defiance to make it feel like a challenge rather than a request.

“No,” Hanbin says, clenching his jaw, expression serious. “Absolutely not.”

Hao blinks, caught off guard for half a second, not because of the refusal itself but because of how…hot Hanbin looks. There is no teasing in his voice, no room for negotiation in the way he stands there, shoulders squared, jaw set just enough to make it clear that this is not something he is saying lightly.

And it would be easier to accept if it wasn’t for Hanbin looking like that while saying it. Because something about the way he holds himself right now, the way his voice drops just slightly, does something entirely unhelpful to Hao’s train of thought. His eyes need to see more of where that came from, so naturally, he persists. 

Hao presses his lips together, dragging his gaze away for a second like that will somehow reset his thoughts, but when he looks back, Hanbin is still there, still watching him, too composed. “That’s it?” Hao asks, folding his arms, his tone shifting into something sharper, edged with just enough irritation to mask everything else. “That’s your answer? No explanation why, just no?”

Hanbin exhales slowly, like he expected this reaction. “No. You wouldn’t like it.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I’m not deciding,” Hanbin replies, his voice still calm, still controlled. “I’m telling you what’s going to happen. You’re going to panic, you’re going to hate it, and then you’re going to blame me for it after.”

Hao stares at him. Then he scoffs, the sound light. “You’re acting like I can’t handle it,” Then he scoffs, rolling his eyes, and says in a quiet whisper, “as if you know me.”

“I do know you,” Hanbin says, “which is why I’m saying no.” 

Hao narrows his eyes slightly, the irritation settling in properly now, “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on me.”

Hanbin does not respond to that and Hao’s jaw tightens slightly. “Fine,” he says, his voice shifting, the irritation sharpening into something more exaggerated now, performative. “Don’t take me. It’s not like I actually wanted to see it or anything. I was just asking for fun.”

With no reaction from Hanbin, he continued his theatrical act. Hao huffs, turning away slightly, his arms still crossed as he takes a step back. “Forget it,” he mutters, the words quieter now but no less pointed. “It’s not like you’re the only one who can do interesting things.”

Still nothing.

Hao glances back at him, just enough to see if he is reacting, and when he doesn’t get what he wants, the irritation deepens into something that borders on childish.

“You’re so annoying,” Hao adds, more forcefully this time, like he is trying to provoke something, anything. “Why even tell me if you’re just going to—”

“Remember,” Hanbin cuts in, his voice quieter now, but carrying something different, “You wanted this.”

Hao barely has time to process that before Hanbin moves. His hand catches Hao by the waist, firm and sudden, pulling him in before he can step back, before he can react properly. The motion knocks the breath from his lungs for half a second, his hands coming up instinctively to grab onto Hanbin’s shoulders as the world shifts beneath him.

“What are you—” The rest of the sentence never comes out, because Hanbin shoots the web, and the ground disappears. Suddenly they are moving, fast enough that Hao’s thoughts can’t keep up, the city dropping away beneath them as the momentum carries them forward in a smooth, terrifying arc. The air rushes past them, cold and sharp, tugging at his clothes, pulling at his hair, filling his ears with the sound of wind that is too loud, too overwhelming.

Hao screams.

It tears out of him without warning, loud and unfiltered, his grip tightens immediately, arms locking around Hanbin’s shoulders as his legs wrap around his waist without hesitation.

“SUNG HANBIN—LET ME GO RIGHT NOW!” he all but yells, at the top of his lungs. 

He buries his face into Hanbin’s neck instantly, eyes squeezed shut so tightly it almost hurts, his entire body tensing as he presses as close as possible. Hanbin exhales sharply, the sound almost lost under Hao’s yelling, but there is a laugh there, barely contained as he adjusts his hold, keeping him steady as they swing again, higher this time, the city lights blurring beneath them.

“I told you,” Hanbin says, his voice warm with something that sounds a little too much like amusement.

“THIS IS NOT FUNNY!” Hao snaps, his voice muffled against his neck. “WHY ARE YOU STILL SWINING—WHY ARE WE GOING HIGHER—”

Hanbin does not answer that. Instead, he swings them again, the motion fluid, the wind rushing past them stronger now, curling around them in sharp bursts that make Hao cling even tighter.

At some point, Hao makes the mistake of lifting his head, just slightly enough to look. And it is more than enough because the second he sees how high they are, how small everything below looks, how far the ground actually is, his breath catches so sharply it almost hurts. And in doing so, he shifts directly into Hanbin’s line of sight. 

Hanbin exhales. “Hao, baby, I’m gonna need you to put your head down, I can’t see.”

There is a pause. A split second where Hao processes that.

And then he lets out another startled, high pitched noise, immediately dropping his head back into Hanbin’s neck, his grip tightening impossibly further. “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT,” he snaps, panic lacing every word. “DON’T SAY THAT WHEN WE ARE THIS HIGH—”

Hanbin laughs, fully this time, the sound carried away by the wind as he swings them higher, faster, like he is enjoying this far more than he should be.

The city stretches endlessly beneath them, lights scattered like constellations, buildings rising and falling in a rhythm that only makes sense from above. The air is colder now, rushing past them in sharp currents that press against Hanbin’s skin, but his movements remain precise, effortless, like this is where he belongs.

Hao notices none of it. He stays exactly where he is, clinging to him like letting go would mean falling—which it technically would but nevermind that, his face still buried, his eyes still shut.

“Are we done,” Hao mutters after a while, his voice quieter now, strained. “Can we go back now?”

“Not yet,” Hanbin replies easily.

“What do you mean not yet—”

Hanbin releases the web at just the right moment, their momentum carrying them upward before he lands smoothly at the top of the Empire State Building, the motion controlled, steady, as if the height and Hao’s weight means nothing to him.

The wind softens, the movement gone, leaving only the quiet hum of the city far below. Hao does not react. He stays wrapped around Hanbin, unmoving, like he has not realized they have stopped.

“We’re not moving anymore,” Hanbin says after a moment, his voice quieter now.

No response.

“We’re at the top.”

A pause.

Then, slowly, Hao lifts his head, just enough to pull back slightly, his eyes still closed. “Are you lying,” he asks, softer now, a pout on his lips. 

“No, baby.” Hanbin says as he kisses the pout away. 

Another pause.

Then Hao opens his eyes.

The city stretches endlessly beneath them, lights glowing against the darkness, the skyline rising in a way that feels almost unreal from this height. The wind brushes past them gently now, steady, carrying the distant sounds of everything below.

Hao’s breath catches.

His grip loosens slowly, his body shifting as he finally pulls back just enough to take it in properly, his gaze fixed on the view in front of him, expression now unguarded as he leans forward slightly, in disbelief. 

“It’s…” he starts, his voice softer now, trailing off like he cannot quite find the word. 

Hanbin does not look at the view. He looks at him. The way the light reflects in his eyes, the way his expression softens. 

He falls in love with him right then and there. 

— ౨ৎ —

By the time Hao steps out of the store, his arms are already starting to ache from the weight of the grocery bags cutting into his fingers. The automatic doors slide shut behind him with a quiet hiss, the artificial brightness of the store giving way to the dimmer glow of the streetlights outside. It is late enough that the rush has died down, the sidewalks no longer crowded, just a few scattered people passing by, conversations low and indistinct, cars moving steadily along. Hao exhales softly, shifting the bags in his grip, mentally running through everything he bought, checking off items in his head out of habit even though he already knows he didn’t forget anything.

He barely makes it halfway down the block before something snaps tight around his waist.

The force of it is immediate and unrelenting, yanking him sideways so abruptly that the world tilts before he can react. The bags slip from his hands, crashing to the ground as he stumbles, a sharp, startled sound tearing out of him. The pavement scrapes under his shoes as he’s dragged into the narrow mouth of an alley, the noise of the street cutting off just enough to make the sudden quiet feel wrong.

“What the—”

A hand covers his mouth before he can finish. Hao’s entire body goes rigid for a fraction of a second, his heart still racing from the sudden movement, adrenaline spiking in his chest before recognition settles in just as quickly. His brows pull together immediately, irritation replacing shock, his hand coming up without hesitation to smack against the wrist holding him.

Hard.

The grip loosens just enough for him to wrench himself free, his breathing uneven as he takes a step back, eyes snapping upward to see him, hanging upside down. 

One hand is braced against the wall above, fingers splayed easily against the brick, the other still holding onto the web tightly. The mask hides most of his expression, but it does not hide the energy of it, the way his head tilts slightly, the way his body language practically radiates amusement like he thinks this is the funniest thing he has done all day.

Hao stares at him, completely unimpressed. Then he steps forward again just to smack his arm a second time. “How many times,” Hao says, his voice sharp but still a little breathless from the adrenaline, “have I told you not to web me in public.”

Hanbin shifts slightly where he hangs, the movement effortless. “You were alone,” he replies, his tone far too casual for the situation. “I made sure.”

“That is not the point,” Hao snaps immediately, running a hand through his hair in frustration before gesturing vaguely toward the street behind him. “I was walking with actual people around. You cannot just drag me into an alley like that.”

Hanbin hums in a way that makes it obvious he is not taking this nearly as seriously as he should.

“Why did you scream?” he adds after a second, like that is the takeaway here.

Hao’s eyes narrow instantly. “You grabbed me out of nowhere! What reaction were you expecting!”

“Maybe not a scream.”

Hao lets out a short, disbelieving breath, the sound bordering on a scoff as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You try not to scream when you’re being pulled into a dark alley.”

There is a pause after that. It stretches and the irritation does not disappear, instead it softens, something Hao has become far too used to when it comes to his beloved superhero boyfriend. Because now that the shock has worn off, now that his heartbeat has started to even out, Hao becomes aware of other things.

Like how close they are. Like how Hanbin has not moved at all, still suspended right in front of him, close enough that if Hao leans forward even slightly, there would be no space left between them. The alley is quiet, the noise of the city muted just enough to make everything feel contained. Hao’s gaze flickers to the mask. Then back to his eyes.

Hanbin doesn’t say anything so Hao exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction, stepping closer. Hanbin stills, just slightly, his fingers pressing a little more firmly against the wall as Hao closes the distance between them. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The air feels different now, heavier. 

Then Hao lifts his hand, hooks his fingers into the edge of the mask. Hanbin’s breath catches, his lips parting slightly under the fabric as Hao tugs it down just enough to expose his mouth. Not all the way, not enough to fully reveal him, just enough that the lower half of his face is visible, his lips slightly flushed, parted in anticipation. 

“Baby,” Hanbin starts, his voice quieter now but Hao does not let him, instead he leans in and kisses him.

His hand stays fisted in the mask, holding it in place as he presses closer, adjusting instinctively to the angle, tilting his head so it fits despite the inversion.

Hanbin makes a quiet, startled sound into the kiss, something that dissolves almost instantly as instinct takes over. His grip tightens without him realizing, fingers pressing into Hao’s side as he pulls him closer, his body reacting before his mind can catch up. Usually when this happens, all they do is a quick peck and then it's over before they know it. 

But Hao deepens the kiss, slowly at first, like he is testing the reaction, then with more intent when Hanbin responds, when his lips part slightly, when his breathing shifts in a way that gives him away immediately. Hao takes advantage of it, dragging the kiss out. The angle makes everything more intense, the unfamiliarity of it adding to the way Hanbin falters, the way his usual composure slips. Hao tilts his head just enough to catch his lower lip, which now sits higher because of the position, and pulls it between his teeth. 

Hanbin exhales sharply, his fingers flexing against Hao’s side as he instinctively tries to pull him closer and Hao can feel it. The way Hanbin leans into it without thinking, his grip tightening, breathing uneven. 

And that is exactly what he wanted, so he stops.

He pulls back before Hanbin can follow, before he can deepen it further, before he can turn it into something else entirely. The distance between them returns too quickly, leaving behind the faint warmth of it, the lingering feeling of wanting more.

Hanbin’s eyes open immediately, unfocused for a second, like he is trying to reorient himself. Hao releases the mask, letting it slide back into place, covering him again like nothing happened.

He takes a step back, Hanbin blinks, once, then again, his chest rising a little too quickly. “…Hao,” he starts, his voice rougher now, Hao raises an eyebrow, like he has no idea what he’s talking about. “What.”

Hanbin stares at him through the mask, the look sharper now, more focused. “You can’t just do that,” he says, the words coming out slower. 

“Do what.”

“Kiss me like that,” Hanbin repeats, a little more firmly this time, though there is no real irritation behind it, just pure desperation “And then just stop.” Hanbin’s gaze lingers on him for a second longer, the unsteadiness pulls tight. Instead of stepping forward and chasing what Hao just pulled away from him, Hanbin exhales slowly and straightens himself.

He drops lightly to the ground and without a word, he turns toward the mouth of the alley. The grocery bags Hao dropped earlier are still scattered across the pavement so Hanbin crouches, gathering them one by one, his movements efficient. 

Hao watches him, brows lifting just slightly. That’s… not what he expected. Hanbin stands again, the bags now hooked securely in his hand, the plastic rustling softly as he adjusts his grip. When he turns back, he is composed again. Hao narrows his eyes a fraction.

“Okay,” he says slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve as he shifts his weight. “Thank you. Drop them off at mine.”

Hanbin doesn’t respond immediately, just watching him and Hao lets the silence stretch on purpose. Then, as if it’s nothing, he adds, almost lazily, “Bye, Hanbin. I’m gonna go out with Soobin.”

The name lands exactly how he wants it to. Hao doesn’t wait to see the reaction. He turns on his heel, already stepping out of the alley, already walking away as if he didn’t just light a match and toss it over his shoulder.

He makes it maybe about three steps when suddenly there’s a sharp snap in the air. Something catches around his waist again, but this time he doesn’t even gasp, doesn’t flinch the way he did before. He barely has time to register the familiar pull before the ground disappears beneath him entirely. 

“Hanbin-ah! You cannot do this everytime!” Hao whines but there's no bite behind it, because he wanted this to happen, afterall. 

One second, he’s standing and the next, he’s lifted clean off his feet, the city tilting as he’s pulled backward straight into Hanbin’s arms. The motion is seamless, and Hao’s body reacts on instinct, his hand coming up to brace against Hanbin’s shoulder, his other still loosely holding onto the last grocery bag as the rest hang from Hanbin’s grip.

A web shoots upward, anchoring somewhere above them, and then they’re moving, the alley vanishing beneath them as Hanbin swings them up into the open air. The wind hits immediately, sharp and cool against Hao’s skin, tugging at his clothes, threading through his hair. The city stretches out around them in a blur of lights and motion, the rhythm of it fast and familiar, but there is something different about the way Hanbin holds him now. Closer and tighter.

Hao exhales softly, not even bothering to protest this time, his grip steady as he leans into him just slightly, already used to the movement, already used to him.

Hanbin doesn’t say anything at first. Not until they’re mid-swing, suspended for half a second in the air before the next web catches, the city glowing beneath them. 

Then he leans in, close enough that Hao can feel the warmth of his breath even through the mask, close enough that the words don’t have to be loud to be heard over the rush of wind.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Hanbin murmurs, his voice low, steady in a way that makes something in Hao’s chest tighten. Hanbin’s grip shifts just slightly, his arm firm around Hao’s waist as he pulls him closer, making sure there’s no space left to argue.

“And when we get home,” he continues, quieter now, but somehow more certain, “You’re going to finish what you started.” Hao swallows, his fingers tightening just a fraction where they rest against Hanbin’s suit, his pulse picking up. 

— ౨ৎ —

Hanbin has always liked scaring Hao. Sue him, he likes the way Hao’s eyes go wide and his composure cracks for just a second before snapping back into place with irritation. It’s addictive, besides, it's always said to limit your reactions with people who like to tease you, otherwise they just do it more. Hao is usually so controlled, so aware of everything around him, always a step ahead in conversation, in reactions, in the way he carries himself, so for Hanbin, catching him off guard feels like winning.

Hanbin had discovered early on that his abilities gave him an unfair advantage, and he had absolutely no intention of using that advantage responsibly.

Hao is in the living room, sprawled across the couch with one leg tucked under him, his attention split between his phone and the muted show playing in the background. The apartment is calm, filled with the low hum of the city filtering in through the windows.

Hanbin watches him for a moment from the doorway. Then, without a word, he places his hand flat against the wall and lifts himself up effortlessly. He's trying to be as quiet as the noise from the show will let him.  

His body adjusts to the vertical plane, fingers and feet finding hold with ease as he climbs. He moves slowly on purpose, positioning himself above Hao, just out of his line of sight. He shifts slightly, crouching against the wall near the ceiling, head tilted as he watches Hao scroll mindlessly, completely unaware of what’s above him. A smug grin spreads across his face, and then it's a waiting game. 

Then he lets himself drop. Not fully, but fast, impossible to ignore as he descends halfway down the wall in one smooth movement. Hao looks up at the exact wrong moment and his reaction is immediate.

He flinches hard, a sharp gasp tearing out of him as his entire body jerks, phone nearly slipping from his hand as he scrambles backward against the couch.

“Yah—Sung Hanbin!”

The name comes out as a loud accusation, his chest rising quickly as he stares up at him, eyes wide with shock that quickly twists into irritation.

Hanbin is already laughing obnoxiously, then he is pushing himself off the wall and lands lightly on his feet, completely unbothered, like he didn’t just nearly send Hao into cardiac arrest.

“Are you insane! ” Hao snaps immediately, glaring at him, still trying to steady his breathing. “What is wrong with you!” 

Hanbin steps closer, still laughing, completely and utterly unapologetic. “You should’ve seen your face.”

“I am going to kill you,” Hao says flatly, making a move to get up and take a couple fast paced steps towards Hanbin, who looks behind him, sees a wall and realizes there is nowhere he can run. He is still laughing as Hao pulls on his ear. “You cannot just crawl on walls like some kind of—of—” he pauses, trying to find the word. 

“Spider?” Hanbin offers, entirely unhelpful.

Hao glares at him harder. “You’re not funny.” Hanbin yelps in mock pain as his ear is pulled harder.

“Remind me again why I’m dating you.”

“You love me.” Hanbin says, too smug for someone who is completely at the mercy of someone half his build. 

“Dont make me regret that.” Hao says, as if he would ever regret loving him. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

Hanbin leans in slightly, lowering his voice just enough “Scared-y cat.” 

That’s it. Today is the day spiderman dies at the hands of his beloved boyfriend. 

Hao’s eyes narrow immediately, the irritation settling deeper into his expression as his grip tightens in the fabric of Hanbin’s shirt, “You are so annoying!” he says, voice tight, “One day I am actually going to push you off a building and see how you like it.”

Hanbin hums like he’s genuinely weighing the possibility, his gaze dropping for a brief second as if picturing it, then lifting again with that same easy confidence that makes Hao want to throttle him. “I’d survive,” he replies, his tone way too cocky. 

Hanbin leans in just slightly closer then, the space between them shrinks. When he speaks, his voice softens, the words brushing against Hao’s lips more than reaching his ears. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

His hands come up slowly this time as they settle at Hao’s waist. He doesn’t grip or pull him in, just lets his palms rest there. Then, without warning, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to Hao’s lips. It’s brief, gone before it can fully register.

Hao freezes for half a second, the surprise catching him off guard, before he pulls back, his brows knitting together again as he tries to gather his irritation back into place. “That does not fix anything,” he says, though it lacks the force it had before.

Hanbin tilts his head slightly, studying him, “No?” he asks, voice softer.

“No,” Hao repeats. 

Hanbin hums again under his breath, quieter this time, then leans in once more. His lips brush against Hao’s and Hao exhales through his nose, trying to hold onto his annoyance, trying not to give in so quickly, but his grip on Hanbin’s collar loosens, fingers relaxing where they had been tight.

“You think you can kiss your way out of this,” Hao mutters, though he doesn’t move away, doesn’t create any distance between them.

“Not think, I know I can,” Hanbin murmurs, his lips still close enough that Hao can feel the smirk on his lips. Hao almost rolls his eyes but before he can respond, Hanbin kisses him again, and this time it isn’t quick or teasing. It’s slow. 

Then, against his better judgment, Hao kisses him back. It isn’t gentle. There’s still frustration threaded through it, still that lingering irritation, his fingers tightening again in Hanbin’s shirt, reminding him that he’s still annoyed even as he leans in.

The tension melts gradually. The tightness in Hao’s shoulders eases first, then the way his grip softens, then his breathing changes, evening out as the frustration fades and by the time Hao pulls back, his breathing is uneven for a completely different reason, his lips slightly parted, his expression softer despite the faint frown he’s still trying to hold onto. Hanbin smiles, softer now, the earlier mischief settling into something warmer, more fond. “Is my baby still mad?”

Hao glares at him, but it lacks any real force, his eyes giving him away almost immediately. “I am still mad,” he insists, though even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Mm,” Hanbin hums, clearly unconvinced as well.

Hao opens his mouth to argue again, to defend whatever is left of his pride, but Hanbin doesn’t give him the chance. He leans in again, this time pressing a kiss to the corner of Hao’s mouth, then another to his cheek, then just barely at the edge of his jaw.

He keeps peppering kisses everywhere, until he hears a giggle followed by, “Hanbin-ah” Hao's hands coming to grip the hair on the back of his neck to pull him away.

Hao’s hand shifts from holding Hanbin’s hair to his shoulder instead, fingers curling there, not pushing him away. The last of the tension drains out of him. “…You’re so annoying,” Hao mutters under his breath, though there’s no heat left behind it.

“But I’m your annoying,” Hanbin replies. Hao exhales, long and resigned, his shoulders finally dropping as he rolls his eyes “Hanbin that doesn’t even make any sense.” he says, and now it's Hanbin’s turn to giggle, causing Hao to giggle and suddenly they're both laughing. 

Hao leans in and presses a slow, lingering kiss to Hanbin’s lips. Spider-Man is going absolutely nowhere.

— ౨ৎ —

The apartment is quiet, the city outside reduced to a distant hum that barely reaches through the windows. Evening has already slipped into night, the lights inside kept low, casting a soft glow across the living room. Hao is sitting out on the couch, one leg bent under him, the other draped across Hanbin’s lap. There is a book open in his hands, though he hasn’t turned a page in several minutes, his focus drifting more toward the steady warmth beneath his calf than the words in front of him.

Hanbin sits sideways, one arm resting along the back of the couch behind Hao, the other tracing slow patterns along Hao’s ankle, then higher, then back again. It isn’t distracting enough to pull Hao away from his book entirely, but it keeps tugging at him. Every now and then, Hao shifts his foot just slightly, pressing it more firmly into Hanbin’s thigh in quiet acknowledgement.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for the past five minutes. If you’re going to pretend you’re still reading, at least make it believable,” Hanbin says after a while, his voice low, threaded with quiet amusement as his hand slides from Hao’s ankle to his calf.

Hao doesn’t look up immediately, though his fingers pause against the page, betraying him anyway. “If you’re going to keep touching me like that and expect me to focus on anything else, then you’re the one being unrealistic, not me,” he replies.

Hanbin hums, unconvinced, his thumb brushing along the same path again, slower this time. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re easily distracted… seems like a you problem.”

Hao finally lowers the book, turning his head just enough to fix him with a look that should feel more intimidating than it actually does. “What you should be hearing is that I am trying very hard to read, and you are making that difficult on purpose!” 

“But,” Hanbin replies, his voice dipping slightly as his hand shifts higher, settling above Hao’s knee, “you haven’t moved away.” 

Hao exhales quietly and closes the book without marking the page and sets it aside, shifting closer, his body sliding further, now on Hanbin’s lap until there’s no space left between them.

“If I move away, you’ll just follow me.” Hao says, his hand coming up to clasp behind Hanbin’s neck, fingers running through his hair. 

Hanbin’s breath hitches at that, his hand stilling for a fraction of a second before resuming. “That is because I’m obsessed with you. I should handcuff you to my wrists, take you with me everywhere I go.” he murmurs, his gaze dropping briefly to Hao's lips.

Hao tilts his head, studying him in return. He leans forward, grazing his lips against Hanbins, not kissing, just slightly touching, “I’m already at your beck and call, aren't I? You don’t even have to ask me to do anything twice.” he says teasingly, his voice low. 

Hanbin groans at that, “Fuck, baby. You’re such a good boy to me, aren’t you.” he says, his hands sliding from Hao’s leg to under his shirt, gripping his waist. He rubs his hands up and down, and pulls him impossibly closer. 

Hao lets himself be pulled in without resistance this time, “yes, ‘m your baby.” Hao murmurs, his voice mumbled, courtesy to the pout on his face. He hides his face in the juncture of Hanbin’s neck. 

“Is my baby shy?” Hanbin chuckles, his tone soft, his hands now leave Hao's waist, right hand now cradling his head, left hand rubbing his back up and down. 

He gets a quiet whine in return, and then Hanbin is lifting Hao's head from where he is trying to borrow further into his neck. 

Now face to face, he coos at Haos pout, “There you are.” He closes the remaining distance, pressing a slow kiss to Hao’s lips. Hao responds just as easily, his grip tightening slightly at Hanbin’s shoulders as he leans into it.

When they part, it isn’t by much. Hao lingers close, his breath warm, his fingers shifting from Hanbin’s shoulders to the back of his neck, holding him there. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to assume you’re about to start something again, and I haven’t decided if I’m encouraging that or not,” he murmurs, his voice softer, seeming to be more coherent and less shy. Hanbin grips his waist again. 

His lips curve slightly, his hands tightening just a fraction at Hao’s waist. “You say that like you’ve ever stopped me,” he replies, his voice low, fond, as he leans in again, brushing another slow kiss against his lips.

Hao exhales quietly into it, his earlier resolve nowhere to be found now, his body relaxing fully against him. “Hmm ‘m hungry.” he mumbles against Hanbin's lips, though he doesn’t pull away. 

Hanbin lets out a soft laugh under his breath, “So all of this affection is conditional and entirely dependent on whether or not I keep you fed.”

“You’re only realizing that now? I’ve been far too subtle then” Hao replies. 

Hanbin smiles, before carefully shifting them both so Hao can slide off his lap. “Stay here,” he says, though he already knows Hao won’t listen, his hand brushing lightly against Hao’s side as he stands.

Hao watches him for half a second, then follows anyway.

By the time Hanbin reaches the kitchen, Hao is already there, hopping up onto the counter without hesitation, settling himself comfortably. His legs swing slightly where they hang off the edge, his gaze fixed entirely on Hanbin as he starts moving around the space with quiet familiarity, pulling out ingredients, setting things in place, every movement practiced. 

Hao just watches. There’s a rhythm to the way Hanbin moves, a quiet confidence in every action with his sleeves pushed up. The kitchen fills with the soft clink of utensils, the low hum of the stove. 

It's so domestic. The word lingers in his mind as he watches Hanbin move around the kitchen and thinks, not for the first time, how natural this feels. How easy it is to imagine this stretching, days folding into weeks, into years, into the rest of their lives. 

A different space, maybe wider.. A house, with a fence. A garden that Hao insists on even if he doesn’t fully know how to take care of it, a reading nook tucked into a corner with soft cushions and too many books. And then in the beck of his mind, he imagines more.

There are voices, smaller, louder, filling the space with chaos. Three girls, running through the house without a single thought, laughter spilling into every room as Hanbin chases after them, letting them win. Hao can see himself standing somewhere nearby, phone in hand, filming it all, capturing every second because he knows he’ll want to keep it forever.

“I want a house,” Hao says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. 

Hanbin pauses mid-motion, glancing up at him.

“A house with a fence, and a garden that I will absolutely neglect until you take over, and a reading nook by a window where I can sit for hours, ” Hao continues, his voice gaining momentum as the thoughts unravel, one after the other. “And I want a swing in the yard, because I know the girls would love it.”

Hanbin doesn’t interrupt so Hao keeps going, his hands moving slightly as he talks, his thoughts spilling faster now. “And the kitchen has to be bigger than this one because I’m not dealing with limited counter space if we’re going to be cooking for more than just ourselves, and there needs to be enough room for—”

“Hao.”

Hao looks at him then, properly, and realizes Hanbin has been staring at him the entire time, his expression softer than Hao has ever seen it. 

“What,” Hao says, a little quieter now, suddenly aware of how much he just said. Hanbin steps closer, resting his hands lightly against the counter on either side of Hao.

“I think,” he starts slowly, his voice low, “that I would give you all of that and more, if it meant I got to see you talk about it like that again.”

Hao blinks, caught off guard by the sheer sincerity. 

“One day, baby. I will give you everything you deserve,” Hanbin continues, his gaze steady, unwavering. 

Hao’s lips part slightly, then press together, his brows drawing in just a fraction as he processes that. Then he huffs softly, looking away for a second before glancing back at him. 

“You’re a superhero, you’re spider-man” he says, quieter now, more careful with his words. “Wouldn’t you be the one sacrificing me to save everyone else if it ever came down to it? That’s what superheroes do.” 

The shift is immediate. Hanbin stills completely, whatever softness had been there sharpening. He doesn’t answer right away. 

“If it ever came down to that,” Hanbin says slowly, his voice steady, “I would burn this entire city down without a second thought and hand you its ashes just to make sure you’re okay.”

Hao’s breath catches. The words don’t feel exaggerated, don’t feel like a joke.

“That is a terrible answer,” Hao says after a moment, his voice quieter now, though it wavers just slightly.

“It’s an honest one,” Hanbin replies, his gaze not leaving him for a second. 

“…You’re supposed to save the world,” he murmurs. 

Hanbin shakes his head faintly. “You are my world, and what’s true is that the only reason I fight for any of it in the first place is because you’re in it.”

Hao exhales slowly, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting again, reaching out, his hand finding Hanbin’s wrist, holding it there against the counter between them.

“…If you ever burn the city down,” Hao murmurs, glancing at him through his lashes, “you’re rebuilding it exactly the way I want it, okay?” 

Hanbin’s lips curve slightly, warmth returning to his expression. “Deal,” he says, without hesitation.

Hao studies him for a second longer, then leans forward just enough to close the distance, pressing a quiet kiss to his lips. 

— ౨ৎ —

Hao learns to measure his days in sirens.

It starts unconsciously at first, but eventually one day he realizes that every distant wail of an ambulance, every sharp echo of police sirens cutting through the city, every flicker of red and blue reflecting against glass buildings makes something in his chest tighten before he can stop it. New York is loud like that, alive in a way that never quiets, and most people that live here learn to tune it out, let it become background noise, including himself at one point in his life, before Hanbin. 

Hao does not have that luxury anymore.

Because every time something happens, every time the city stirs, there is only one thought that follows, immediately. 

Is he there?

Is he the one standing in the middle of it, throwing himself into something that will leave him bruised? Bleeding? 

Hao hates that thought.

He hates how instinctive it has become, how it slips into his mind before anything positive, how it refuses to leave until he knows, until he sees something, anything that confirms Hanbin is fine. A headline, a blurry video, a passing mention on the news. His eyes always linger a second too long on anything that even remotely resembles a red and blue figure caught mid motion.

And when there is nothing, when the city quiets again and the moment passes without answers, the silence that follows is worse, because not knowing leaves too much space for imagination, for every possible outcome Hao does not want to consider, for every version of a scenario where things do not end well. It settles into his chest, heavy and persistent, something he cannot shake no matter how much he tries to distract himself with anything else.

He does not talk about it. Not to Hanbin.

Because every time he looks at him, sees the way he carries himself so easily, like the weight of it all does not press down on him the way it should, Hao swallows the words before they can form. He knows what Hanbin would say. He knows the quiet certainty in his voice when he talks about responsibility, about doing what needs to be done, about the people who would get hurt if he didn’t show up.

Hao knows the city needs him. He just does not know how to exist with the fact that he needs him too, so he bottles it up. Pushes it down, tucks it away in the same place he keeps everything else he does not want to deal with. Usually It works. Until it doesn’t

The night had unraveled slowly, every touch lingering, the room filled with the sounds of Hao whimpering. 

Hanbin had learned the map of Hao’s reactions by heart, the way his breath would hitch, the way his composure would slip. Hao had always been controlled in every other part of his life, but here—here he let go in a way that only Hanbin ever saw. 

By the time it was over, Hao had been left quiet and overwhelmed, his body loose against the sheets, his fingers still curled faintly in the fabric. Hanbin had stayed close through all of it, grounding him without words, pressing slow kisses along his shoulder, his temple, anywhere he could reach without disturbing him too much.

Like always, Hao had drifted toward him after. Shifting closer until there was no space left between them, his leg sliding over Hanbin’s waist, his arm tucked tight against him, his face pressed into the curve of his neck.

Hanbin had smiled faintly at that, brushing his fingers through Hao’s hair. 

Getting him up afterwards was always the real task. Hao had barely wanted to move, his grip tightening every time Hanbin tried to shift away, voice low and half-slurred with exhaustion. Hanbin had coaxed him gently, promising it would only take a minute, his hands steady as he helped him sit up, then stand, keeping him close when his balance wavered.

The shower had been warm, steam curling around them as Hao leaned into him the entire time, his forehead resting against Hanbin’s shoulder while the water ran over them. Hanbin had done most of the work, guiding him carefully, washing away the remnants of earlier. Hao had barely spoken, only shifting when Hanbin moved him. 

After, wrapped in a towel, Hao had looked smaller somehow, sitting where Hanbin placed him while he dried his hair. His eyes had stayed on Hanbin the entire time, unfocused. 

He even brushed his teeth. Hao had muttered a weak complaint, something about being capable of doing it himself, but he hadn’t actually tried to stop him. By the time they made it back to bed, Hao had already been leaning into him again, his body seeking him. 

Hanbin’s hand moves through his hair in slow passes, and Hao exhales softly against his chest, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Hanbin’s shirt, his entire body pliant. 

For a while, neither of them speak. The silence stretches, but it’s comfortable. 

It’s broken by Hao, “You know how—,” he murmurs, his voice low, still softened by exhaustion, “how you said you would burn this city down and give me the ashes if I asked for it.”

He hums in response.

Hao shifts just enough to tilt his head, his cheek brushing against Hanbin’s chest as he looks up at him. “Then why don’t you give up being Spider-Man for me.”

Hanbin stills. The change is immediate, his hand pausing for just a second before continuing again. “…Hao,” he starts carefully, “you know it doesn’t work like that.”

Hao’s brows draw together slightly, “Why doesn’t it,” he replies, his voice quiet but edged now, his fingers curling on Hanbin’s chest. “Because earlier you made it sound like I could ask for anything and you would hand it to me without question, and now suddenly there are limitations?”

Hanbin exhales slowly, his hand sliding from Hao’s hair to the back of his neck, holding him there gently. 

“It’s not about limitations,” he says, his tone still calm, “It’s about the fact that walking away from this doesn’t just affect me, it affects everyone who depends on me being there when things go wrong.”

Hao pushes himself up slightly, creating space between them, his body still angled toward Hanbin even as tension creeps in.

“So you can burn the entire city down for me,” Hao says, his voice tightening, “but you can’t listen to one small request.”

Hanbin’s gaze sharpens, his hand falling away from Hao’s neck.

“Small?” he repeats, air heavy. 

Hao doesn’t back down. “Yes, small,” he insists, letting frustration slip through. “I am asking you to choose yourself for once, to choose a life where you come home without injuries that I have to pretend not to panic over, where I don’t have to sit there listening to ambulance sirens and wondering if one of them is for you.”

His words start to come faster, less controlled, each one carrying more weight than the last.

“I am so tired of it,” Hao continues, his voice wavering despite his effort to keep it steady, “tired of pretending that I’m okay with all this, tired of acting like I’m not unconsciously waiting for the moment everything falls apart.”

Hanbin sits up fully now, the distance between them growing, his expression no longer soft. 

“And what happens if I stop,” he counters, his voice steady but strained, “when something happens and I’m not there to stop it. When someone gets hurt because I decided I was done.”

Hao’s jaw tightens.

“What about me,” he shoots back desperately, his voice quivering. “What happens to me if something happens to you, because that is not a possibility, Hanbin, that is a reality I live with every single day.”

Hanbin doesn’t interrupt, so Hao keeps going.

“What happens when you don’t come back one night,” he continues, quieter now, but heavier, every word pressing deeper. “What exactly am I supposed to do then, because you don’t get to talk about consequences as if I’m not one of them.”

That—That makes Hanbin go silent.

The air shifts, “You don’t get to ask me to accept losing you before it even happens,” Hao says finally, his voice softer. 

Hanbin’s hands rest uselessly at his sides, his gaze dropping for a moment before lifting again. 

“I’m not asking you to accept it,” he says quietly, the strain in his voice more visible now. “I’m asking you to understand that I don’t know how to be the person you’re asking me to be without becoming someone I can’t live with.”

Hao exhales sharply, shaking his head. “And I don’t know how to keep loving you like this without it destroying me,” he admits. 

The silence stretches as Hanbin drags a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. He’s trying to stop himself before he says something he knows neither of them wants to hear. But he says it anyway. “If being with me feels like this,” he starts, “if it’s going to destroy you…then maybe—maybe you shouldn’t be with me.”

The words land wrong in a way that makes Hao freeze completely. Hanbin doesn’t look at him when he says it, his gaze fixed somewhere else. 

“Because I can’t promise you that it’s going to change,” he continues, the honesty in it almost cruel. “I can’t promise you that one day I’ll wake up and decide I’m done, that I’ll suddenly become someone who can walk away from all of it just because it would make things easier for us. And if staying with me means you’re going to keep feeling like this—”

“No.” Hao’s voice cuts through him immediately and Hanbin finally looks at him.

Hao is already shaking his head, his expression tight, his breathing uneven, because the mere suggestion alone has knocked the air out of him.

“No,” he repeats, more force this time, pushing himself up fully despite the way his body protests, despite the lingering exhaustion, “You don’t get to say that, as if that wouldn’t ruin me in an entirely different way.”

Hanbin’s brows pull together slightly, conflicted, “Hao—”

“I don’t have that luxury,” Hao cuts in, his voice breaking despite how hard he tries to keep it steady, his hands tightening in the sheets, “I don’t have the luxury of choosing not to love you just because it’s hard, or—or because it hurts, or b-because I’m scared of what might happen.”

His breath stutters, but he keeps going anyway. 

“I love you,” he says, the words coming out more desperate than he intended, more raw, stripped of all control. “I love you so much, Sung Hanbin, that the idea of not being with you doesn’t even feel like a real option, it just feels like… like losing everything all at once.”

Hanbin stills and Hao’s voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its intensity. If anything, it feels more vulnerable in a way that makes it harder to hear.

“I can deal with fear,” he continues, quieter now, his gaze locked onto Hanbin like he needs him to understand this fully. “I can deal with uncertainty, with waiting, with nights where I don’t sleep because I don’t know if you’re okay, I can deal with all of that if it means I still get to have you at the end of it.”

His fingers loosen slightly in the sheets, his shoulders dropping just a fraction, “But don’t sit here and tell me the solution is to walk away from you,” Hao adds, “Because that’s not a solution…and I don’t think I would survive.”

The room goes quiet again. It’s full of everything Hao just laid bare, everything Hanbin now has to carry whether he wants to or not.

Hanbin swallows hard, his chest rising slowly as he processes it, caught somewhere between guilt and responsibility.

“But you make it sound like I’m asking you to choose between two kinds of pain,” he says after a moment, his voice more unsteady than before.

Hao lets out a weak, humorless breath. “That’s because you are.”

Hanbin looks at him then, and realizes that Hao is still there despite everything, still choosing him even when it hurts.

And that—that makes it worse, because now it isn’t just about responsibility. It isn’t just about the city. It’s about the fact that no matter what choice Hanbin makes, he is going to hurt the person he loves most.

Hanbin’s jaw tightens at that, the words settling somewhere deep, somewhere uncomfortable, because there’s no easy way to argue against it without making it worse. He drags a hand down his face slowly, like he’s trying to buy himself time, trying to gather thoughts that refuse to come together neatly.

“That’s not fair,” he says finally, though there’s no real bite to it, just strain. 

Hao lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head as he shifts back slightly, though he doesn’t move far, still refusing to put too much distance between them. “You think any of this feels fair to me?” he asks, “You think I enjoy feeling like this?”

Hanbin doesn’t answer and Hao watches him for a moment, his gaze searching his face, trying to find a hint of anything that will tell him there’s a version of this where neither of them ends up hurting.

“You talk about responsibility,” Hao continues, “About people depending on you, about what happens if you’re not there when things go wrong, and I understand that, I do, I’m not pretending I don’t, but you don’t get to act like I’m not part of that, Hanbin.”

Hanbin’s eyes flicker, his expression shifting, but he stays quiet, letting Hao finish. 

“Because I depend on you too,” Hao says, voice softer now, “Maybe not in the same way, but you don’t get to dismiss that as less important just because it doesn’t involve the entire city.”

“I’m not saying it’s less important,” Hanbin replies quickly, the words coming out sharper than he intends, trying to correct the assumption before it settles.

“Then stop treating it like it is,” Hao shoots back immediately. 

Hanbin exhales slowly, the fight in him faltering for a moment as he looks at Hao properly, at the way his eyes are glassy. 

“I don’t know how to split myself in half,” Hanbin admits, quieter now, words raw. “I don’t know how to be what everyone needs and still give you the version of me that doesn’t come with all of this.”

Hao’s expression flickers at that, softness breaking through the frustration, but it doesn’t erase it completely.

“I’m not asking you to split yourself in half,” he says, his voice gentler now, “I’m asking you to acknowledge that I exist somewhere between the people of this city and spider-man.” 

“And what if acknowledging that doesn’t change anything,” he asks quietly. 

Hao stills.nHis lips part slightly, but no words come out at first, “…Then at least I know you see me,” Hao says finally, his voice softer now, stripped of the sharpness it had before. “At least I know I’m not the only one carrying this.”

Hanbin looks at him again, his expression tightening, that answer hurting more than anything else Hao has said so far because it means Hao has been carrying it alone. For longer than he realized.

Hanbin shifts slightly, his hand moving almost instinctively before he stops himself halfway, like he’s not sure if he still has the right to reach for him. 

His gaze drops briefly to Hanbin’s hand, then back up to his face, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

“…You can still touch me,” Hao murmurs and that's all it takes. Hanbin closes the distance without hesitation this time, his hand settling at Hao’s waist, pulling him closer in a way that feels familiar. 

Their foreheads rest together for a moment, both of them breathing the same air, neither speaking, because there’s nothing left to say. 

“…I don’t want to lose you,” Hanbin admits eventually, his voice low. Hao’s eyes close briefly at that, his hand coming up to rest against Hanbin’s wrist, holding it there.

“You won’t.” he whispers back, though the words aren’t as simple as they sound.

Because they both know—It’s not that easy and that’s the part that scares them the most.

— ౨ৎ —

The first light of morning came in lazily through the half open curtains, spilling over the bed, making the room feel suspended in quiet anticipation. 

Hao was awake before Hanbin. He didn’t shift immediately because he felt the air pressing down on him, an invisible weight that settled across his chest. 

He tilted his head slightly, letting his cheek press against the pillow, aware of Hanbin’s steady breathing just inches away, and for a second, he considered reaching over and brushing along Hanbin’s arm. Instead Hao remained perfectly still, letting his fingers curl against the sheets in restraint, his mind aware of how close they were, 

Hanbin had opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of the moment, but he could not ignore Hao’s presence. 

There was a careful shift in the curve of his shoulders, and Hao felt his pulse quicken in response. There was hesitation in every movement, tension in every breath, an awareness of how much they both wanted to close the space between them but also fearing what that closeness might demand. 

When Hanbin finally spoke, his voice was rough with sleep. “You’re awake,” Hanbin murmured, and it wasn’t a question. 

Hao didn’t respond immediately. Instead he tilted his head, tracing the curve of Hanbin’s jaw with his eyes, memorizing the subtle lines of his face, the way the morning light caught the edge of his long lashes.  

“I couldn’t sleep.” Hao admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Hmm, me too.” and the words carried a quiet weight that made the air between them feel charged.  The silence stretched longer than it should, punctuated only by the slow, steady rise and fall of their chests, the faint rustle of the sheets, the distant hum of the city outside the window. 

Hao’s fingers twitched against the fabric again, a quiet, hesitant movement, and Hanbin’s gaze followed, his lips pressing together. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hanbin shifted slightly on the bed, just enough to close a fraction of the distance, his hand brushing the edge of Hao’s arm with a feather light touch that sent a shiver through him. Hao’s breath hitched, fingers brushing over Hanbin’s in return. 

“Are we okay?” Hanbin asked, though his voice betrayed him, coming out more desperate than he intended it to. 

“Of course, Hanbin-ah.” Hao said, leaning over to press a quick peck on Hanbin's lips. 

Even breakfast felt different.

Hao sits at the counter again, the same place he had been the night before, but the ease of it is gone. Hanbin cooks in near silence, the absence of their usual back and forth has stripped the moment down to its bare bones.

The thought comes uninvited, unwelcome in how sharply it lands and makes his ears ring. 

How many mornings do we get like this before one of them is the last.

He swallows it down, he has gotten good at that. Breakfast goes smoothly after that, just light conversation and the usual feeding one another. 

Halfway through breakfast, Hao notices the slight shift in the air. The clinking of forks stops and Hanbin's posture changes, movements slowing for half a second before stopping entirely.

“Hanbin, what is it? Just say it.” he asks, his voice already tightening. 

Hanbin doesn’t answer right away, but then it comes, louder this time, unmistakable even to Hao now. Sirens. Distant, but approaching. 

Right, Hanbin and his ‘Hanbin tingle’ as Hao likes to call it. He sensed the danger before Hao heard it. Hanbin exhales slowly, his shoulders rising and falling once before he turns to face Hao fully.

“I have to go,” he says, and Hao just looks at him.

And for a second, it feels like the argument hasn’t ended at all, it’s just been waiting for this moment to prove its point.

“…Of course you do,” Hao says finally, his voice quieter now, but strained beneath it. 

Hanbin’s jaw tightens slightly, but he nods, because there’s nothing else he can do.

He moves quickly after that, muscle memory taking over as he disappears briefly to grab what he needs. When he comes back, the suit is already half on, the familiar red and blue. 

For a moment, neither of them move, they just stand there, looking at each other. There are a hundred things Hao could say.

Don’t go.

Stay.

Choose me.

But none of them leave his mouth.

Instead, what comes out is quieter, “Just…please be careful,” Hao says. Hanbin’s expression softens at that. 

“I will,” he replies, stepping closer, his hand lifting instinctively before pausing for just a second. Hao notices and closes the distance himself.

Hanbin’s hand settles at his waist, pulling him in, his forehead pressing briefly against Hao’s. 

“I’ll come back,” he repeats, quieter this time.

And then—Hanbin is gone.

The window is open and Hao stands there for a long moment after, unmoving, staring at the place where he had been, like if he waits long enough, he might reappear.

Except he doesn’t. He never does. 

The TV flickers to life at some point. The news runs in the background, voices blending together, words passing. 

“…reports of—”

“…unidentified—”

“…Spider-Man seen engaging—”

Hao sits on the couch, his body angled toward the screen, but his eyes unfocused, his mind elsewhere entirely.

Every sound feels louder now, every mention feels sharper. His fingers curl into the fabric of the cushion beneath him, his foot bouncing faintly against the floor, a restless energy settling into his body that he can’t shake.

He said he’ll come back. The thought loops, over and over as if repetition alone might make it true.

But it’s never been about whether Hanbin means it. It’s about whether the world will let him.

A sharp noise from the TV pulls his attention back for just a second—a blurry clip, movement too fast to follow clearly, but enough to recognize the colors, the shape, the figure moving through chaos. His breath catches. He leans forward without realizing it, his entire body going still.

The footage cuts and the anchor keeps talking but Hao doesn’t hear a word.

Because all he can think—all he can feel is the same question that never leaves him.

What if this is the moment he doesn’t come back.

And this time, there’s nothing to distract him from it.

— ౨ৎ —

It catches him off guard no matter how many times he does this—one moment he is so close to the love of his life, and the next, open air is rushing past him as he moves through the city, the cold replacing what he had just held onto.

The suit settles into place like a second skin, every movement instinctive as he swings forward, wrist flicking with practiced ease, the web catching, pulling, launching him into the next flick. 

Usually, the moment he leaves, whatever exists inside those four walls gets tucked away, sealed off until he comes back. Hao’s voice, Hao’s touch, it all gets set aside in favor of focus, of responsibility. 

But today, it follows him.

Not Hao, but the argument. The way his name had sounded in Hao’s mouth when it wasn’t laced with affection. Hanbin exhales through his nose, pushing himself higher, faster. It doesn’t work.

And then—

He feels goosebumps all over, his hair rising, a shiver running through his body, heart rate picking up. His body reacts before his mind catches up, his grip tightens instinctively, the webline going taut as he redirects himself mid-swing. He lands against the side of a building instead of continuing forward, one hand bracing against the glass, feet finding their hold. 

The sensation creeps in slowly, Hanbin’s head tilts slightly, gaze flickering as fast as it can across the surrounding buildings, every window, every ledge, every shadow. He listens harder, filtering through the noise, searching for anything that doesn’t belong, anything that might justify the way his body has gone tense.

Nothing. No threat. No movement. No disruption in the pattern of the city, but for some reason the feeling doesn’t fade.

Hanbin swallows, his fingers pressing more firmly against the glass before he forces them to relax, pushing himself upright again. 

He’s never felt misfires before. His tingle has always worked. His jaw tightens slightly as he pushes off the building again, swinging forward with more force this time. The wind rushes past him, loud in his ears, the city blurring beneath him as he moves.

It almost works for a moment and then it comes back more intense than ever. 

— ౨ৎ —

Hao is still seated on the couch, the faint hum of the city outside filling the apartment. He’s been staring at the window, imagining Hanbin moving through it, and his chest tightens with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. 

Then, a shadow shifts just outside, a familiar figure landing lightly on the fire escape. Hao’s heart skips. The sound makes his stomach twist, the tension he’s held all morning finally snapping just enough for him to push himself off the couch.

“Hanbin!” he calls, his voice breaking slightly. 

Before Hanbin can even respond, Hao is already moving, racing across the room, and he reaches him as Hanbin steps through the window. Instinctively, Hao throws his arms around him, burying his face against Hanbin’s chest, pressing into the warmth. Hanbin freezes for a heartbeat, startled, then wraps his arms around Hao, holding him close, letting the tension in Hao’s body release into his own. 

Hao’s voice is muffled, urgent, a mixture of relief and lingering panic spilling out. “I was—God, I was worried—you didn’t get hurt, right? You’re really okay, aren’t you?” The words tumble out too quickly. He buries his hands into the fabric of Hanbin’s suit, gripping lightly, 

Hanbin chuckles softly, the sound low and teasing, with a smile that only makes Hao lean harder into him. “Hao,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to press a gentle kiss to the top of Hao’s head. “I’m fine. I told you—I’ll be careful.”

Hao slowly wraps his arms fully around Hanbin again, pressing closer, letting himself cling to the warmth and the safety that only Hanbin provides. Hanbin hums, deep and satisfied, one hand threading through Hao’s hair, fingers gentle and soothing, the other resting on his back, drawing him even closer. “Stay here with me,” Hao murmurs, voice muffled against Hanbin’s chest. 

Hanbin smiles, leaning his head against Hao’s, “I’m not going anywhere, Hao. I’m not going anywhere, ever.” and Hao can feel it, the promise vibrating through every fiber of him. He exhales, letting his forehead rest against Hanbin’s, the last traces of tension melting as they stay wrapped together, bodies entwined in quiet intimacy. 

— ౨ৎ —

Everyone in the hidden corners of the superhero world had always whispered about how the multiverse was real. 

It wasn’t a theory, it was a living, breathing network of realities stacked atop each other, parallel timelines bleeding into one another at points where fate allowed. 

In some worlds, Spider-Men swung across New York but in others, heroes with entirely different names carried the weight of the city. Hanbin was unique. While the spell that Doctor Strange had cast for Peter Parker in another universe was meant to erase memories of Spider-Man's real identity, the ripples had skipped over Hanbin. Somehow his name had made him the exception. He wasn’t one of the many variations of Peter Parker, he was Sung Hanbin, and for that reason, he was no longer invisible to those who lurked between worlds. But Hanbin did not know that. 

What he did know is that whatever he had felt the moment he left the apartment that morning—was that something had shifted. A presence that did not strike, but lingered instead, watching, waiting.

It was the one thing he couldn’t explain and because he couldn’t explain it, he didn’t tell Hao.

He had studied the multiverse enough to know that the villains, the ones who had been defeated by other Spider-Mans in countless realities, had no memory of defeat in his reality. That knowledge gnawed at him. He knew, as he left the apartment that morning, that each patrol was no longer just about keeping his city safe—it was about keeping every reality’s mistakes from bleeding into this one, about ensuring that the multiverse’s failures didn’t find their way into his world.

And yet, the reality that made his blood run cold was simple: everyone in those other universes knew Spider-Man as Peter Parker. They had fought him, hated him, remembered him. 

But here, he was Hanbin. Different name, same power, same sense of responsibility. 

It was all okay, until Hao began to feel it.

It started fleetingly. Hao would glance toward the window and sense movement that wasn’t there. Objects slightly out of place, a flicker of motion too fast, the lingering sound of footsteps, faint enough that he could almost convince himself it was his imagination. 

And yet, every time Hanbin left for patrol, the presence grew sharper. He felt like a prey, his predator studying him, learning his rhythm, testing the boundaries of his home and his life. 

Hao sat at the counter, hands wrapped around the mug, staring at the rain slicked streets below. Hanbin would come back from patrol as he always did, smiling, brushing off the adrenaline and the danger, but Hao knew the truth. He could feel the way the air had shifted 

What Hanbin didn’t know was the one person he loved and trusted had already been marked.

— ౨ৎ —

The apartment feels the same. The rain continues to trace quiet patterns down the glass, but the air has shifted in a way he can’t unfeel. It presses in around him, subtle so he tells himself to ignore it.

He has always been good at grounding himself in what is real, what is tangible. The mug in his hands is still warm, the ceramic solid beneath his fingers, the faint bitterness of coffee lingering on his tongue. These are things he can feel so he focuses on that.

The window catches his reflection first, the shape of himself sitting, shoulders slightly tense. But behind it, layered faintly, there's a flicker near the doorway. Too fast. 

Hao turns immediately.

Nothing.

The apartment sits in perfect stillness.His breath catches slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the mug 

After a while, the lock clicks. The sound cuts through, loud enough to make him flinch before recognition settles in, relief following so quickly it almost feels disorienting.

Hanbin.

The door opens, and he steps. The suit is not on, so he must’ve changed outside. 

Hao crosses the room before he can think about it, his hands finding Hanbin’s arms, then his shoulders, like he needs to confirm he’s real, that he’s here. 

“You’re late,” Hao says, the words coming out tighter than intended, relief coming out. “You said you’d be back before it got dark.”

Hanbin’s brows lift slightly, softening almost immediately as he takes in the tension lingering in Hao’s posture. “Got held up,” he replies, voice calm, “Nothing serious.”

“I was worried,” he murmurs, 

Hanbin's hand comes up, settling over Hao’s waist, “I’m here, aren’t I?” he says gently, the words simple but weighted, his thumb brushing lightly against Hao’s skin. “If it was bad, you’d know.”

Hao nods slowly, and for a second, it looks like he’s about to say something else, like the words are sitting right there, ready to spill over if he lets them.

“I—” he starts, then stops.

Hanbin tilts his head like a puppy, “What?”

Hao hesitates. The image flashes in his mind—the reflection, the movement, the eerie feeling. 

He could say it. He could just tell him. But then what?

Hanbin already carries enough. so adding this would only weigh him down more.

So Hao shakes his head instead, forcing a small, unconvincing smile. “Nothing,” he says, softer now. “Just…got in my head, I guess.”

Hanbin studies him for a moment longer than necessary, he doesn’t quite believe that, but he’s deciding whether to push. He decides not to in the end, instead, his hand slides from Hao’s waist to his face, pulling him in just slightly, enough to close the distance, pecking him again and again. 

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Hanbin murmurs against his lips, “Letting things sit in your head instead of telling me.”

Hao huffs out a quiet breath, his forehead dipping briefly against Hanbin’s shoulder, “Maybe I learned it from you,” he mutters, just under his breath.

Hanbin lets out a soft exhale, almost like a laugh but without any real humor in it, “That’s not a habit you should pick up,” he replies. 

Hao hums faintly in response, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets himself lean in properly this time, letting the familiarity of Hanbin’s presence settle around him, 

But when Hao pulls back just slightly, just enough to glance past Hanbin toward the door—he freezes.

Only for a second. Only long enough for shivers to run down his spine. Because the reflection staring back at him moves away just a fraction too slow.

Hanbin feels it too. His hand tightens instinctively where it rests against Hao’s side, fingers pressing just a little harder. 

His gaze shifts, flickering past Hao’s shoulder, scanning the apartment. When he doesn’t see anything off, Hanbin swallows, forcing his hand to relax where it grips Hao’s side, even as his thumb keeps moving, slow and absent against the fabric, grounding himself through touch.

For a brief, disorienting second, his mind goes somewhere he hates, already mapping possibilities. Entry points. The fact that Hao had been here alone, unprotected.

His hand comes up without thinking, fingers brushing against Hao’s jaw, turning his face just enough to properly look at him this time. There’s nothing visibly wrong, no injury, but Hanbin searches anyway, his gaze sharp. 

“You’re okay, right?” he asks, and there’s a weight behind it “Nothing happened while I was gone?”

Hao shakes his head too quickly. “No. Why would anything happen?”

Because I can feel it.

Because something is wrong.

Because my instincts don’t lie.

Hanbin doesn’t say any of that. He can’t. Instead, he exhales slowly, forcing his expression to soften. If Hao didn’t notice anything, if nothing actually happened, then bringing this up would only do one thing. It would scare him and Hanbin has spent too long trying to keep that from happening.

“It’s nothing,” he says instead, his thumb brushing lightly against Hao’s cheek. “Just—I thought I felt something earlier. Probably nothing.”

Hao nods anyway, accepting it, or at least choosing not to question it.

Hanbin knows one thing, that staying here, pretending everything is fine, is not the right move. Not when his instincts are telling him this is the one place that should be safe, but doesn’t feel like it anymore.

His jaw tightens slightly because he knows he needs to check, needs to make sure no one is here, but he can’t do that with Hao here. Can’t risk putting him in danger. 

“Hao,” he starts, voice gentler, “didn’t you say Soobin wanted to see you this week?”

Hao glances up at him, confused, “What?”

Hanbin gives a small smile, “You mentioned it the other day,” he continues, “You’ve been stuck here with me for days. You should go out a bit.”

Hao’s brows pull together slightly. “That’s random.”

His hand slides from Hao’s face back to his waist, “You’ve barely been outside unless it’s with me, and I…”

He pauses because the truth is sitting right there. 

I need to make sure our home is safe. 

But he can’t say that. Not without explaining why or without putting that same fear into Hao’s chest.

“I’ve got something to take care of tonight,” he says instead, deliberately vague. “It might take a while. I don’t want you waiting around for me.”

There’s a flicker of frustration, “You always have something to take care of,” Hao says, “It’s always ‘just one thing’ or ‘I’ll be back soon’ or ‘it won’t take long.”

Hanbin exhales slowly, steadying himself. “Hao, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” Hao presses, his gaze locking onto him now. “It feels like there’s always something more important than being here.”

Hanbin knows exactly why that’s not true, and also exactly why it looks like it is. “You know that’s not what this is,” he says quietly, “You know I wouldn’t choose anything over you.”

Hao lets out a short, humorless breath. Hanbin takes a step forward, instinctively trying to close the distance as his hands curl slightly at his sides.

He wants to explain. He wants to tell him why. “Just go to Soobin’s,” he says instead, “Please. For me.”

Hao exhales sharply, grabbing his jacket. “Fine,” he mutters, not looking at him. “If you’re so busy, I’ll stop getting in the way.”

“Hao—” But he’s already moving, the door opens and then closes. Just like that, the apartment is empty.

The silence that follows is immediate and Hanbin doesn’t hesitate this time. The suit is on in seconds, urgency bleeding through now that there’s no one there to hide it from. His mask slides into place. Hao is outside. 

Exposed, so Hanbin moves fast. Out the window, into the open air, the city rushing up to meet him as he swings forward, his focus narrowing immediately onto one thing and one thing only.

Hao.

He finds him quickly. He stays above, out of sight, keeping just enough distance that Hao wouldn’t notice even if he looked up.

Hao walks faster than usual. There’s tension in it, in the way his hands stay tucked into his sleeves. For a long while, nothing happens. No attack. No movement. No sign of anything out of place and by the time Hao reaches Soobin, slowing as he spots him, Hanbin's tension shifts slightly, easing at the edges. 

Hanbin stays where he is, perched high above, watching just long enough to confirm it. Hao is safe, he is with someone. Only then does he allow himself to pull back, disappearing into the city again.

He knows exactly where to go.

Gunwook’s place is dimly lit and Hanbin lands silently by the window, slipping inside. Gunwook doesn’t look surprised. “Hello Hanbin hyung.” he says, eyes still on the cards splayed on the table, “Whatever it is you came for, it’s been bothering you for a while.”

Hanbin pulls the mask off slowly, exhaling as he does, running a hand through his hair. “You know why I’m here?” he asks, surprised. 

“I don’t,” Gunwook replies, finally turning to look at him. “But you don’t show up like this unless it’s something you can’t punch your way out of.”

“Something’s wrong,” he says, “Not just…wrong, but—” He exhales, frustrated, trying to find the right words. “It’s not danger the way it usually is. It’s like—”

“Like you’re being watched,” Gunwook finishes quietly.

“…Yeah.”

Gunwook studies him now, properly, “When did it start?”

“This morning. No—” Hanbin shakes his head slightly. “Before that. I just didn’t register it properly until today. It’s there and then it disappears. There’s nothing there when I look, no movement, no sound, no physical presence I can track.”

He pauses, jaw tightening slightly. “But it’s strongest in one place.”

Gunwook’s gaze sharpens. “Where?”

“My apartment.” Gunwook goes still. “Not outside,” Hanbin continues, stepping forward now, the restlessness in his body finally surfacing now that he’s saying it out loud. “Not when I’m on patrol. Inside. Where he is.”

He doesn’t say Hao’s name because he doesn’t need to.

Gunwook exhales slowly, turning fully toward him now, arms crossing as he leans back slightly against the desk. “And you’re sure it’s not just your baseline response escalating?” he asks. “You’ve been under pressure lately. Lack of sleep, heightened exposure to—”

“No.”

“This isn’t me being paranoid,” he says, “I know what my instincts feel like when they’re overreacting. This isn’t that. This is—” he hesitates, searching again, “—different, I don’t know.”

Gunwook turns back to the table, putting the cards aside and pulling out his computer, typing something quickly, pulling up data Hanbin doesn’t fully understand but recognizes. 

“You said it's different,” Gunwook says after a moment. “What triggers it?”

Hanbin thinks about it. “…Him,” he says finally. “Or—no. Not him directly. It’s worse when I’m with him.”

Gunwook’s hands still on the keyboard.

Slowly, he turns his head. “That’s not good,” he says. 

Hanbin’s stomach drops slightly. “Define ‘not good.’” and Gunwook exhales through his nose, organizing how to say this in a way that won’t immediately escalate or freak Hanbin out. 

“Alright,” he starts, voice slower now, more deliberate. “You remember what we talked about before? The idea that timelines aren’t isolated? That they overlap, influence each other at weak points?”

Hanbin nods slightly. “Yeah.”

“This—” Gunwook gestures vaguely to the screens, to the data, “—this timeline has been stable. No major fractures, no cross universal interference strong enough to disrupt anything.”

“Until now,” Hanbin realizes.

Gunwook meets his gaze. “Until now,” he confirms. “I started noticing a deviation,” Gunwook continues. “Small at first. But it’s been increasing in frequency over the last few days.”

“What kind of deviation?”

Gunwook doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he taps a few keys, turning the screen towards Hanbin. “Think of a timeline like a script,” Gunwook says, “Events follow a sequence. When something changes, it usually has a clear source, like someone making a different choice, something that interrupts the flow. But this?” He taps the screen lightly. “This isn’t a change within, it’s interference outside.”

Hanbin’s jaw tightens. “…Multiverse,” he says.

Gunwook nods once. “Not just in theory. It’s active interference.” he continues after a long pause, “And it’s centered.”

“Centered where?”

“On you.”

Hanbin lets out a quiet breath, “That doesn’t make sense,” he says. “If it was centered on me, I’d be feeling it everywhere, not just—”

“Not just around him,” Gunwook finishes.

“Hanbin hyung,” he says carefully, “whatever this is, it’s not just observing you as Spider-Man. It’s observing your circle.” he pauses, “They’re not looking for a fight,” Gunwook continues. “Not yet. If they were, you’d already know. This, what you’re describing, it’s reconnaissance. Pattern analysis. Behavioral tracking.” Gunwook says, “They’re learning you, your habits, your…priorities.”

“Your weaknesses.”

Hanbin’s hands curl slightly at his sides. 

“Hao,” he says, barely above a whisper.

It was the one crack in his armor, and Hao, his constant, his heartbeat outside the mask, was the target. Hanbin had trained himself to notice the signs, to anticipate the danger, but even he could not anticipate the subtleties of multiversal attention. Not until Hao began to feel it.

“Yes.” 

Hanbin exhales slowly, trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling into something reckless, something immediate. “So what—what does that mean?” he asks. 

“It means,” he says, each word precise, “that something, or someone, from outside this universe has already found you.” he pauses, “And instead of attacking, they’re waiting.” Another beat. 

Hanbin’s chest tightens. “Why?”

Gunwook’s answer is quiet. “Because,” he says, “you’re already exposed.”

And for the first time since this started, Hanbin doesn’t feel like he’s ahead of the danger. He feels like he’s already inside it.

— ౨ৎ —

Hao doesn’t realize how tense he is until Soobin opens the door and says his name like nothing in the world has shifted. “Finally,” Soobin sighs, stepping aside to let him in, “Do you know how hard it is to get you out of that apartment these days, or has Hanbin completely kidnapped you?”

“Yeah,” Hao mutters, taking his shoes off near the door, “he’s terrible. Doesn’t let me see my friends, locks me inside.”

Soobin snorts behind him. “Blink twice if you need help.”

Hao huffs, a faint smile pulling at his lips. They settle in the kitchen without much thought. Soobin moves around talking about nothing in particular, something about work, something about a mutual friend and Hao nods along, responding where he should. 

But it doesn’t take long for it to come back. That feeling. Hao’s fingers tighten slightly around the glass in his hand as his gaze drifts, just for a second, toward the window.

“So,” Soobin says, glancing at him over his shoulder, “you’re been weird.”

Hao blinks, pulled back in. “What?”

“Weird,” Soobin repeats, “Distant. You’re zoning out in the middle of conversation, you cancel plans at the last minute, and when you do show up, you look like you haven’t slept in days.” He pauses, studying him more carefully now. “Did something happen?”

Hao opens his mouth automatically—no—but the word doesn’t come out. Because something is happening.

“It’s nothing,” he says finally, quieter, setting the glass down. 

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Hao lets out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m not lying, I just—” he hesitates, “I’ve just been…feeling off.”

Soobin leans back against the counter, arms crossing loosely, “Define ‘off,’ ”

Hao’s lips part slightly. “…I don’t know,” he admits instead, his gaze dropping briefly to the counter. He exhales, frustrated, shaking his head slightly. “Do you ever get that feeling? Like…you’re not alone, even when you know you are?”

Soobin’s expression shifts, not alarmed, but more attentive now. “You mean like paranoia?”

“No,” Hao says quickly, too quickly. “Not like that. It’s not in my head—It’s like…something is just…watching.”

He studies Hao for a moment, “Okay…” he says slowly, 

“I know how it sounds,” Hao mutters.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Soobin exhales softly, pushing himself off the counter, stepping a little closer. “Hey,” he says, gentler now, “I’m not dismissing you. I’m just trying to…” 

The rest of Soobin's words feel like liquid in his ear, he doesn’t hear what he says after, because the feeling returns. If anything, it’s worse.

Hao’s gaze shifts again, toward the far side of the room.

“Soobin,” he says suddenly, “have you—” He stops himself, recalibrates. “Have you noticed anything…weird today?”

Soobin frowns slightly. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know, just things out of place, or sounds, or,” Hao exhales, shaking his head again. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Hao.” the way Soobin says his name is grounding, “You’re not crazy,” Soobin says. “But you’re definitely overthinking something. If something was actually there, you wouldn’t be the only one noticing it.”

Hao refrains from telling him about how Hanbin had felt it too. He forces himself to focus back on Soobin. 

When Soobin turns away for just a second, reaching for something on the counter Hao’s gaze drifts to the reflection in the darkened window. He blinks and it's gone. Soobin turns back completely unaware. Hao doesn’t say anything.

— ౨ৎ —

Hanbin had texted Hao to tell him whenever he was free, and Hao, despite how mad he was, did so. Hanbin took Hao to an ice cream shop. It smelled faintly of sugar and waffle cones. He sat across from Hanbin, hands clasped tightly around the paper cup. Hanbin’s presence at the table was calm, but Hao could feel the weight behind his eyes, the way his jaw flexed every time he tried to speak. 

Hanbin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Hao,” he said, “about this morning…” He swallowed hard, “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just…need you to know that I am sorry for making you worry. For every time I acted like my duty was more important than you.”

Hao looked up, but he didn’t speak. He wanted to say something sharp and accusing, but the sight of Hanbin, stripped of bravado, unraveling in front of him, kept the words lodged in his throat.

“I’ve always believed I could carry this,” Hanbin continued, voice breaking, “but in doing so, I risked the one person I cannot lose.”

Hanbin reaches forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from Hao’s temple, thumb lingering at the edge of his jaw. He leans in slowly, giving Hao every moment to pull back, and presses his lips to Hao’s forehead. 

“I don’t want to argue anymore,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “I just…let me make it right. Please.”

Hao’s breath hitches as Hanbin presses another kiss, this one lingering at the corner of Hao’s lips. 

“I—” Hao started, voice trembling, but no words came. Hanbin took that as permission, sliding one hand from Hao’s waist up to cradle his neck, pulling him gently closer. Their lips met in a kiss that was slow, filled with the weight of apologies unsaid and fears unspoken. 

Hanbin exhales against Hao’s lips, then pulls back just slightly, forehead resting against his, “Thank you,” Hanbin murmured, voice low, reverent, “for staying. For letting me try, even if I fail half the time. I will never stop trying.”

Hao closes his eyes as Hanbin presses a final, lingering kiss to the tip of Hao’s nose, making Hao cutely scrunch it. They stayed like that for a long moment, close enough to feel each heartbeat, each exhale, each unspoken promise, before the world intruded again, the tension and fear waiting just beyond the doorway.

— ౨ৎ —

The kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and sizzling vegetables, the steam curling around Hanbin as he stirred the pot. 

It had been a while since their argument and since everything started feeling off. Since then, things had died down. Hanbin wasn’t feeling the unease anymore, nor was Hao constantly on edge because Hanbin truly did make an effort to change things. He left less now, letting NYPD handle everything he took upon himself to, only going out and helping when things got out of their control. 

Their bedroom door opened and Hao stepped out, freshly dried hair, skin still glowing from the shower. Hao’s arms looped around his waist from behind, pressing light kisses along the nape of his neck, his breath warm against Hanbin’s skin. 

Hanbin let out a low hum, smirking, tilting his head just enough to murmur over his shoulder, “You’re not planning on a third round, are you? Cuz’ you know I won’t say no.”

Hao laughed softly against his skin and swatted at his shoulder, “You think I’ve got energy left for that? You drained me!” causing Hanbin to chuckle. 

As Hanbin went back to stirring the soup, Hao hopped onto the counter beside him, legs crossed and arms draped lazily over his knees, eyes gleaming with mischief. Every so often, he’d reach for a piece of vegetable, “Yah, Zhang Hao! There won’t be enough for the soup,” Hanbin called, amused. 

Hao just stuck his tongue out at him, eyes locked on Hanbin’s, and grabbed another piece. Hanbin sighed, shaking his head with a smile, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Hao’s temple. 

The pot began to bubble, and Hanbin set the spoon down before moving toward Hao. He lifted Hao’s legs, bare because of the shorts and oversized shirt, wrapping them around his waist with ease, letting his hands trail up and down the smooth skin of Hao’s thighs. 

The touch lingered a little too close to his crotch, causing Hao’s to take a sharp intake of breath. “Sung Hanbin, don’t get any funny ideas,” he murmured, eyes narrowing in mock reprimand. 

Hanbin leaned closer, brushing his nose against Hao’s jaw, voice low and teasing, “Get your mind out of the gutter, baby. I just like touching you.” His hands roamed upward again, and when he nipped lightly at the curve of Hao’s neck, a moan slipped out. 

Another press of Hanbin’s lips, another teasing suck, and Hao whimpered, head tilting back as he clutched at Hanbin’s shoulders, “Hanbin—”

He doesn’t slow down, his teeth grazing gently along the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. “You taste so good.” he groans right into his ear. 

Hanbin’s hands trailed down, settling back on his waist, squeezing gently. Hao pressed forward instinctively, lips finding Hanbin’s in a deep, slow kiss. The pot of soup boiled over quietly in the background. 

Eventually, Hanbin lifted Hao with ease, wrapping his arms around him, legs curling around Hanbin’s waist, and carried him to the living room. The oversized shirt slipped slightly, revealing more skin, and Hanbin couldn’t help but touch along every exposed curve, murmuring teasing comments about how soft and warm Hao was under his hands. Hao responded, pressing back, fingers threading into Hanbin’s hair, lips capturing his, small moans spilling out whenever Hanbin’s hands found particularly sensitive spots. He sits them down on the couch, Hao on his lap. 

“God, you drive me insane, baby,” Hanbin murmured against his lips, hands tracing over Hao’s thighs and hips, Hao’s legs tightening around him instinctively, hips tilting, voice trembling slightly. “Hanbin… you’ll burn dinner again.”

“Then I’ll have no choice but to eat you.” Hanbin countered, teasing, pressing another kiss to the hollow of Hao’s neck, teeth grazing lightly, drawing a soft moan from him. Hao gasped, tilting his head, trying to escape, but only drawing Hanbin closer. 

— ౨ৎ —

The hallway light flickered as Hao stepped out, the plastic of the trash bag crinkling. He hadn’t even bothered putting his shoes on properly, just slid his feet into them halfway, the backs crushed under his heels, because he was only going downstairs to throw the trash. 

He didn’t think he needed to text Hanbin about something so mundane. “Hao, just… text me before you go anywhere, okay? Even if it’s small. I need to know where you are.” Hao had laughed back then dismissively, nudging Hanbin’s shoulder. 

“What, you’re going to start tracking my every move now?” he had joked, not noticing the way Hanbin’s expression hadn’t softened in return.

“I’m serious.” His voice had been quieter, “Just tell me. Please.”

And Hao, still smiling, had waved it off, “Fine, fine. I will.”

The thing is, Hao did text Hanbin before he left to go anywhere. Everytime without fail he would send Hanbin a short text, but this time, he thought throwing trash didn't require bothering him with a text. 

The stairwell door creaked faintly as he pushed it open, stepping into the dimmer space, the faint scent of concrete and dust settling around him as he moved inward. The shift in temperature brushed against his skin as he adjusted his grip on the trash bag and reached to tighten the loose knot at the top. 

The door shut behind him as he opened it again to leave. This time the sound didn’t echo. It should have. Hao knew it should have. Every other time he had come through here, the sound would bounce along the walls, filling the space with a hollow resonance. But this time, it didn’t. 

Hao slowed, his fingers stilling mid motion as a faint unease crept up his spine. 

“…You didn’t tell him.”

The voice slid through the space impossible to ignore. Hao’s entire body went rigid.

“…What?” he tried to say, but the word came out thin, barely more than a breath.

A soft chuckle followed, too close, as if it was brushing against the inside of his skull. 

“Every time you leave. A message. A call. Sometimes even both. You and your boyfriend have made it hard to get to you.”

The overhead lights flickered once, then twice, casting shadows that stretched far along the walls. Hao’s breath hitched sharply as he turned, his eyes darting across the stairwell, scanning every corner, every angle, searching desperately for something he could make sense of. But there was nothing there. Just the growing, suffocating sense that he wasn’t alone.

“I was wondering when you would slip.”

The shadows began to gather. They deepened pooling at the edges of the stairwell. Hao stumbled back a step without thinking, his pulse spiking violently, each heartbeat slamming against his ribs, loud enough that he could hear it, feel it. 

Hao’s throat tightened instinctively as he opened his mouth, ready to scream, to call for help, to say anything that might break the suffocating stillness but nothing came out. Not even air.

It was as if his voice had been stripped away mid breath. His chest constricted sharply as crushing pressure wrapped around his lungs as his hands flew to his throat, fingers pressing in desperately, searching for something, anything, that he could fight against. But there was nothing there. No hands. No obstruction. Just an invisible force that silenced him completely.

Panic surged through him all at once, his breathing breaking into short, uneven gasps. His vision blurred at the edges as fear set in fully, locking his body in place even as every instinct screamed at him to run.

A figure emerged from the shadows. It didn’t appear in any normal sense. It formed, as though the darkness itself was folding inward, shaping itself into something almost human but not quite right. It was tall, too tall, and unnaturally still, its edges blurred and unstable, almost as if reality itself couldn’t fully define it.

Its face was obscured, but Hao could feel its gaze locked onto him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.

“I’ve been watching you, Zhang Hao.”

The way it said his name sent something cold and sharp through his chest. Hao shook his head instinctively, backing up until his shoulders hit the wall behind him, the impact barely registering over the overwhelming rush of fear flooding his system.

“You wake at 8:15 on weekdays,” the figure continued, tilting its head slightly, its voice calm, almost clinical. “You leave your tea unfinished more often than you realize, always forgetting it by the window. And every night you watch the skyline waiting for him to return.”

Hao’s breathing was unraveling now, each exhale shaky and uneven, his chest tightening further as the words sank in. There was something viscerally wrong about hearing his own habits spoken back to him like that by something that shouldn’t know them at all.

“No need to be afraid,” the figure murmured, though its tone carried no real comfort, “If anything, you should feel honored. Not many are given such careful attention.”

The shadows at Hao’s feet shifted again, this time unmistakably curling around his ankles with deliberate intent. They felt wrong and he stumbled as they tightened, his hands scraping against the wall as he tried to steady himself, his entire body trembling. 

“Do you know how many versions of him I’ve seen?” the figure continued, its voice lowering slightly as it drew closer. “How many times he fails? How many times he loses everything he tries to protect?”

A cold, unseen force tilted Hao’s chin upward, forcing him to meet that shifting gaze. He couldn’t resist. His body refused to respond, locked in place as the pressure around him grew heavier, more suffocating.

“You may call me the Spider-Man killer,” it said at last, “It is not the name I was given, nor the one I chose… but it is the one I have earned.”

The shadows shifted rising higher along Hao’s legs, tightening enough to remind him that he was not free, that he had never been free from the moment the door had closed behind him.

“I do not belong to one world,” it continued, tone clinical now,  “I move between them. Through them. I follow the fractures in reality itself.”

“And in every universe,” it murmured, “there is a version of him.” Hao’s chest tightened sharply at that, his pulse spiking again, panic clawing its way up his throat. His fingers twitched uselessly against the invisible hold, his body trembling as the implications began to settle in, piece by piece. “So many Spider-Mans. But one by one, universe by universe, I hunt them, until there is nothing left of them but echoes.”

“Your Hanbin is… different,” it admitted, almost reluctantly. “An anomaly. Untouched by the spell that binds the others.” The shadows around Hao tightened further “And so,” the figure continued, “I removed the distractions.” Hao stilled. “Every other threat that might have reached him before me,” It said, “Every villain drawn to him, every rival, every force that might have challenged him in my absence… I erased them.”

“I ensured,” it went on, “that when the time came…” It leaned closer. “…he would have no one left to fight but me.”

Hao’s heart pounded violently against his ribs, the sound deafening in his ears. This wasn’t random. This wasn't a coincidence. This had been planned meticulously, across worlds he couldn’t even comprehend.

“To hunt him is not enough,” the figure whispered, its presence suffocating now. “To defeat him is not enough.” The shadows climbed higher, constricting, “I want him to break,” and for the first time, he sounded eager. “I want him to understand, in the final moment, that everything he fought for… everything he tried to protect…” Its unseen grip tightened just slightly around Hao.

“…was never his to keep.”

Hao’s vision trembled, tears spilling freely now, his mind spiraling as one thought repeated itself over and over, louder than anything else—

Hanbin.

“I have seen countless versions of him fall,” the figure said, “But yours…” It paused, as if savoring what came next.

“…will be the one I enjoy the most.”

Tears blurred Hao’s vision, his lips trembling as they parted in a silent, desperate attempt to speak, to plead, to do anything that might change what was happening. But no sound came. His thoughts spiraled, chaotic and frantic.

Hanbin doesn’t know.

“I chose you carefully,” the figure said, its voice softening, almost gentle, “The one thing he cannot afford to lose, his…kryptonite.”

The shadows tightened further, wrapping around Hao’s arms, pinning them in place with an unyielding grip that made even the smallest movement impossible. His body jerked instinctively against it, a useless, desperate struggle that only made the hold stronger.

“I suppose,” the figure added quietly, leaning closer, “I should thank you.” Its voice dropped lower, “So careless… stepping out alone like this. Breaking such a simple promise.”

‘Just tell me. Please.’ Hanbin's words echoed in his head. 

Hao’s chest heaved with a silent sob, his entire body shaking as the weight of it settled in. If he had just sent a message. If he had just—“I am Null Vespera,” the figure finally said, as the darkness began to close in fully, swallowing the edges of Hao’s vision, pulling him deeper, “And you, Zhang Hao…”

The last flicker of light above dimmed, fading slowly as the shadows consumed everything around him.

“…are how I break him.”

And Hao couldn’t even scream as the world disappeared.

— ౨ৎ —

The lock clicked open with a soft sound, and Hanbin stepped inside. The faint warmth of the apartment wrapped around him, carrying traces of something distinctly Hao. The lingering scent of tea, the subtle sweetness of the detergent he always used. 

“Hao?” he called, already smiling, his voice light and warm as he nudged the door shut behind him with his foot. The takeout bag in his hand rustled softly as he lifted it slightly, “I got gopchang, from the place you like, not the one downstairs. Don’t say I never do anything for you.” There was always that small pause before he appeared, but this time, the pause stretched.

The smile on Hanbin’s lips didn’t fall immediately as he stepped further inside, setting the takeout bag down on the counter with a quiet thud. “Hao?” he called again, a little louder this time, glancing toward the hallway as he kicked his shoes off properly.

Still nothing.

A faint crease formed between his brows. “Did you fall asleep or something?” he muttered under his breath, already moving toward the bedroom, which opened easily under his hand.

Empty.

The bed was untouched, the sheets still slightly rumpled from earlier, the faint dip of where Hao had been in the morning still visible. Hanbin paused in the doorway, his smile fading, “…Hao?” he called again as his gaze flicked to the bathroom door.

Closed. Relief came too quickly. He’s in there.

Hanbin exhaled, a short breath leaving him as he walked forward, reaching for the handle without thinking, “You could at least answer me, you know,” he added, the faintest hint of a laugh in his voice as he pushed the door open, but the light was off, empty.

The breath left his lungs in a sharp, abrupt exhale. For a second everything went still. Then his heart started racing.

Fast. Too fast.

“No…” The word slipped out under his breath, disbelieving as he stepped back into the bedroom, his eyes moving quicker scanning everything like he might suddenly appear. He turned, moving back into the living room, faster this time, his chest tightening with every step. 

“Hao?” His voice cracked slightly. He rushed to call his phone, hands moving on autopilot. 

The sound was unmistakable, Hao’s ringtone, in the apartment.

“No, no, no—” Hanbin moved immediately, the panic hitting all at once as he followed the sound, his steps quick, almost stumbling as he reached the couch, his hands already searching.

There it was, face down, vibrating against the cushion. Hanbin grabbed the phone, his fingers tightening around it, his pulse hammering in his ears so loudly it drowned out everything else. 

“Why is it here!” he yelled, his mind already racing ahead, already imagining worst case scenarios. Hao never went anywhere without his phone.

His hands were shaking now as he called again, even though the phone was in his hand. The ringtone started up again, vibrating against his palm. Then he hung up abruptly, like he couldn’t fathom his reality. “No,” he said, louder this time, “No, he’s—he’s here, he has to be—”

He moved again, checking everywhere—kitchen, bathroom, closet, even places that made no sense. His movements grew more frantic with each second, until he was practically tearing through the apartment, opening doors too forcefully, knocking things over. 

Nothing.

Hanbin stood in the middle of the living room for half a second, his chest heaving and then he moved. The suit went on in a blur, his hands clumsy and shaking as he pulled it on, forcing it into place without the usual precision. The mask snapped into position last, his breathing loud inside it, uneven and frantic. 

Hanbin was out the window in seconds.

The city rushed up to meet him, lights blurring into streaks as he swung forward, faster than he ever had before, reckless, which would have terrified him under any other circumstance. 

His movements lacked their usual fluidity. There was urgency in them, desperation. He pulled out his phone mid swing, nearly dropping it as he dialed, pressing it hard against his ear.

“Soobin—have you seen Hao?” The words came out too fast, his voice strained. 

“No, I haven’t—”The call ended before Soobin could finish.

Another number. Gunwook this time.

“Did he call you? Text you? Anything—please, just tell me if you’ve seen him—He’s not home, he’s not answering, his phone’s here, I—he wouldn’t just leave without it, he wouldn’t—”

Another call. His parents. Hao’s friends. Anyone.

“Please,” Hanbin said at one point, his voice breaking fully now, “If he contacted you—if you know where he is—I just need to find him, I just—”

He swung lower now, closer to the streets, his eyes scanning frantically, every face, every alley, every place Hao had ever mentioned in passing. The café he liked. The park he walked through. The convenience store where he always bought the same snacks.

Nothing.

He landed hard on a rooftop at one point, the impact jarring up his legs, but he barely felt it, his chest heaving as he bent forward slightly, his hands braced against his knees as he tried to breathe.

Think.

Where would he go?

Why would he leave without his phone?

Why wouldn’t he tell me?

“I told you to tell me…” Hanbin whispered, his voice breaking apart under the weight of it, guilt cutting through the panic. “I told you—” His hands clenched into fists.

He pushed himself up again almost immediately and launched forward recklessly, his movements bordering on unstable as he tore through the city again.

“Hao!” he shouted once, the name ripped from his chest without restraint, echoing uselessly into the night.

No answer came back. And for the first time, Hanbin felt the terrifying, suffocating possibility that he was already too late.

— ౨ৎ —

Hanbin didn’t remember how long he had been moving.

The city had long since blurred, buildings losing shape, streets folding into one another until nothing felt distinct anymore. Time had slipped somewhere between minutes and hours, and he stopped trying to make sense of anything. He kept telling himself one thing over and over again. 

Find him.

Every swing was too fast, every landing too hard, every breath too shallow. His muscles burned, his throat ached from shouting his name, and still—he didn’t stop.

He landed on a rooftop eventually, his feet hitting the concrete unevenly, his balance faltering for half a second before he caught himself. His mask felt suffocating.

“Hao…” The name slipped out again as the wind rushed past him, cold against the thin fabric of his suit. 

Think.

He needed to think. Where hadn’t he checked? Where else could he—

A sharp, sudden pulse shot through him, his head snapping up instantly.

Spider-sense. Something was off. Hanbin straightened slowly, his entire body going rigid. Then his phone vibrated. For a split second, he just stared at it, but then his hands were already moving, fumbling slightly as he pulled it out, his fingers trembling. It was an Unknown number. No caller ID. 

“…Hello?” Hanbin’s grip tightened around the phone, “Who is this?” he demanded, his voice rough, “If this is some kind of—”

A sound cut him off. “…Han—” Hanbin froze. His entire body locked up so suddenly, every muscle going rigid at once, his breath catching painfully in his chest.

“…Hao?” The name came out in a whisper. The line crackled faintly, unstable like a bad connection. Then he heard a breath. Shaky, but familiar. “Hao, I’m here,” he said immediately, voice breaking, “Where are you? Can you hear me? Say something—please, just say something—”

He heard another sound, like he was trying to speak, but failing. Heaving heavily instead.  Hanbin’s chest constricted violently. “Hao?” His voice cracked fully this time, panic surging all over again, “I can’t hear you, Hao. Listen to me, just—just breathe, okay? Just—I’m here, I’m right here, I—”

The line glitched. Then a voice. Not Hao’s.

“You sound… distressed.”

His jaw clenched so hard it hurt, “…Who are you?” he asked, his voice low. 

A soft chuckle echoed through the line. “You may call me many things,” the voice replied, “But I believe your… boyfriend here has already been introduced to me as Null Vespera.”

“Where is he?” The words came out immediately, his voice tightening with every syllable. “What did you do to him?” Another soft sound played through the phone, a recording.

“Stop—stop, don’t—” Hao. A broken, silent gasp. Hanbin’s entire body reacted before his mind could catch up. 

“You hear that?” Null Vespera murmured, “That is what remains when fear strips someone of everything else. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Don’t touch him.” The words came out sharp, “If you hurt him—”

“If I hurt him?” the voice interrupted, amused. The line crackled again. Hao struggling, breathing too fast, trying to speak—

Hanbin’s vision blurred and something inside him snapped. “I said don’t touch him!” he shouted, his voice raw, “You want me? Fine. I’m right here. You don’t need him—just tell me where you are and I’ll come to you, just—just leave him out of this—”

“No,” 

Hanbin’s breath stuttered, his mind racing, trying to process, trying to understand, but nothing was making sense fast enough.

“You see,” the voice went on, “I have seen countless versions of you. Different worlds. Different lives, and yet you always break the same way.”

He heard another sound. A choked, silent sob. Hanbin’s knees nearly gave out.

“I swear to God—” His voice cracked again, barely holding together. “If you touch him again—”

“I already have,” Null Vespera replied. “Oh and I also removed every obstacle that might have stood between us,” it continued, “Every threat. Every distraction. Every other person who might have reached you first.”

Hanbin stilled. That's why things had been so calm these past couple weeks. They were living in the comfort of the very person—being, whatever it was, who wanted to ruin it. 

“…Why?” he managed, “Why him?”

A soft hum came through the line, almost thoughtful.

“Because,” Null Vespera said slowly, “he is the only thing in this world you care most about.” Cruel. He was so cruel. “And I do not want to simply defeat you,” it continued, “I want to break you.”

The line glitched again, and then he received coordinates, a location.

Hanbin didn’t hesitate. “Hao,” he whispered, his voice breaking completely as he stared at the screen, memorizing every number just in case it disappeared. “I’m coming. Just—just hold on, okay? I’m coming, I promise—”

The call ended and the silence that followed was deafening.

Faster than he ever had before, Hanbin moved. There was nothing left in him except the need to get there. No matter what it cost.

— ౨ৎ —

The city didn’t exist anymore, not in the way it used to. There were no lights, no people, no structure. There was only distance, only space between him and that location. His muscles screamed, his shoulders strained under the force of each web, his palm raw from gripping them, but he didn’t slow down. If anything, he pushed harder. 

Images kept flashing through his mind, uninvited. Hao at the window, waiting. Hao laughing, soft and warm, Hao’s voice earlier. Hanbin’s grip tightened mid swing, the web snapping forward harder than intended as something twisted painfully in his chest.

He couldn’t even call for help.

The moment his feet hit the ground, the world felt off, the air didn’t move right, even his breathing felt too loud. Hanbin straightened slowly, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his eyes scanned the area. 

There, at the center of the rooftop, something waited. The space itself seemed to warp inward, shadows folding into each other in unnatural ways. It pulsed faintly, almost like it was alive. 

“Hao!” The name tore from him immediately, “I’m here! I’m right here—just let him go!”

The shadows shifted slowly. Then a figure emerged. It was as if darkness itself was being pulled together. Tall, unmoving, its edges unstable, flickering as though their reality itself struggled to contain it.

Null Vespera.

“You came quickly,” it observed, its voice layered and distorted, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once. “Faster than most versions of you.”

Hanbin’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body tense, every muscle ready to move, to do something—anything that would get Hao back.

“Where is he?” The question came out sharp, “If you touch him again, I swear I’ll—”

“You will what?” the figure interrupted as it tilted its head slightly, curious.

The space behind it shifted, and then Hao appeared. He was suspended in something that wasn’t quite solid and wasn’t quite a shadow, his body held in place by those same dark, shifting restraints that coiled around his arms, his legs, his torso. His head was tilted slightly forward, his breathing uneven, his entire frame trembling faintly like he was trying to fight it 

“Hao—” The name broke out from Hanbin immediately, everything else disappearing the moment he saw him. He was alive. Relief hit immediately, almost enough to bring him to his knees. 

“I would advise against sudden movements,” Null Vespera said calmly, “The structure holding him in place is… delicate.”

Every instinct screamed at him to move, to attack, to get to him—but the words stopped him, locked him in place. “What did you do to him?” he demanded as Hao stirred slightly at the sound of his voice.

“Hao,” he spoke, softer, his voice breaking, “I’m here… I’ve got you, okay? I’m here—”

Hao’s lips parted but nothing came out. “Why can’t he talk?” The question came out harsher, “What did you do to him?!”

Null Vespera was quiet for a moment, then, “I removed what was unnecessary,” it said at last. “His voice serves no purpose here. It would only distract you.”

Hanbin took a step forward before he could stop himself, and the shadows tightened instantly.

Hao’s body jerked faintly, his breath hitching sharply.

Hanbin stopped immediately.

“No—no, okay,” he said quickly, his voice rushing out, frantic. His hands lifted slightly like he could physically hold himself back. “I won’t move. I won’t—just don’t—don’t hurt him, okay? Please—”

Null Vespera tilted its head again. “…Fascinating,” it murmured.

Hanbin’s jaw tightened, his entire body shaking now, not from fear, but from the effort of holding himself back. “Let him go,” he said again, quieter, “I’m here. So just—just take me instead, do whatever you want, just let him go—”

“No.” Then Null continued, “I have seen you fight,” It takes a step, “I have seen you win. Again and again and again, across countless variations. Strength alone will not end you.” Another step closer. “But this—” it gestured slightly toward Hao, “—this is where you fail.”

Hanbin’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his gaze locked entirely on Hao now, he was barely holding himself upright, still trying to look at him, even like this.

“I am going to give you a choice,” Null Vespera said. “You will fight me and, probably—no, definitely—die. But he gets to live,” it continued, its voice lowering slightly, “or you can choose to run away, give me him instead,” then he added in a whisper, “which will eventually kill you anyway.” with a chuckle. 

Hanbin’s breath stuttered. “The structure holding him will collapse and let him go the moment you engage me fully,” the figure explained calmly. “You may attempt to reach him, to free him… but in doing so, you will leave yourself open.”

“And I will not hesitate.”

Hanbin’s heart pounded violently against his ribs.

His gaze flicked between them. Hao, barely conscious, trapped, and he knew what to do. He knew the second the words left Null Vespera. 

“I’m saving him.”

The answer came immediately, with a clarity that left no room for doubt. There was no weighing of outcomes or consequences. His body had already shifted forward before the last word left his mouth, every instinct aligned in a single direction.

Hao.

There had never been another choice. Null Vespera went still, its form flickering faintly at the edges as if something about that response had disrupted whatever pattern it had been expecting. For the first time, there was a pause. 

“…I see,” it murmured, and then the pressure around Hao’s throat vanished.

Hao’s body jerked violently as air rushed back into his lungs all at once, broken sound tearing free from him. He doubled forward as much as the restraints allowed, coughing harshly, his breathing collapsing, uneven as his chest struggled to catch up.

“Ha—Han—”

His voice cracked immediately, raw. Every part of him stilled at once, his eyes locking onto Hao like nothing else existed, the world had narrowed down to just Hao. 

“Don’t!” Hao’s voice broke over his, desperate, the word tearing out of him with such a force that it didn’t match how weak he looked. His head lifted fully now, his eyes wide and shining, panic spilling over. “Don’t do this—don’t—don’t choose me, Hanbin, you can’t—”

The words came fast, tripping over each other, barely coherent. Hao choked out, his voice trembling violently, “You have to—this is what it wants, you can’t just give it what it wants, please—”

Hanbin shook his head immediately, “Hao, it’s okay,” he said, his voice softer now, steadier despite the way his chest was tightening with every second. “I’ve got you, I’m right here, I’m going to come to you once this all over, I’ll be fine—”

“No!” Hao’s voice cracked again, louder, more desperate. 

He struggled against the restraints instinctively, his body jerking forward even though they held him firmly in place, his hands trembling where they were pinned. “Hanbin, listen to me—listen to me, please—”

Tears spilled freely down his face now, his breathing uneven, hitching with every word. “You don’t understand,” he said, the words rushing out in a panic, “It’s not just—if you do this— Hanbin I can’t live without you, I—I can’t live without you—Please!”

His voice faltered, full on sobbing as he struggled to breathe through it. 

Hanbin just watched, trying to keep his own tears at bay, he couldn’t show how scared he was to Hao, he simply couldn’t. He needed to be strong for both of them. 

Hao’s entire body was trembling, his voice kept breaking no matter how hard he tried to steady it. He was still trying to push him away, to protect him, even like this.

“Please…” Hao said again, weaker, but no less desperate, “Please, Hanbin, just—just go. You can still leave, you can still—”

“I’m not leaving you.” Hanbin took another step forward, slow this time, not because he was hesitating, but because he refused to trigger anything that might hurt him again. 

“There’s no version of this,” Hanbin continued, “where I walk away and you’re not with me.”

Hao shook his head immediately, panic flaring again, sharper this time.

“You have to—” he tried, his voice breaking again. “You don’t get it, you can’t just—just throw everything away for me, you can’t—”

“I should’ve, baby. You—you told me to quit and I should’ve listened. If I had—If I just listened to you then you wouldn’t be here.” Hanbin said, his voice shaky. 

Hanbin’s expression didn’t change much, if anything, it softened slightly, “You think this is a choice for me?” he asked, “You think I’m standing here deciding between you and anything else?” Another step. “There is no ‘anything else,’ Hao. There’s only you.” 

Hao’s vision blurred again, his chest tightening, “Please…” he tried again, weaker now, the fight in his voice cracking, “Just—just this once, please listen to me, just— choose yourself, Hanbin, please—”

“I am choosing myself,” he said quietly, then softer, “by choosing you.”

Hao broke. The sound that left him wasn’t nothing short of unveiled desperation. It was raw, pulled straight from somewhere deep in his chest as his head dipped forward, his shoulders trembling. He knew there was no convincing Hanbin. 

Then slowly he lifted his head. This time, he wasn’t looking at Hanbin. “…Please,” Hao’s voice cracked as his gaze shifted past him, locking onto the figure standing just beyond. “Take me instead.” The words were weak at first as Hao swallowed hard, his throat raw, “You said it yourself,” he continued, his voice trembling but pushing forward anyway, “I’m the weakness. I’m the part that makes him fight harder.” His hands clenched weakly, “So take me out of it,” he pleaded. “Take me, and he won’t have anything left to fight for.”

“Hao—” Hanbin’s voice broke immediately, warning, but Hao shook his head, his gaze fixed on Null Vespera. “You don’t need him,” Hao said, “I’ve seen him—he’ll fight, he’ll resist, he won’t break the way you want him to.” he pauses, “But I will.”

The admission hung there, “I’m not like him,” Hao continued, “I can’t do what he does. I can’t survive what he survives.” His lips trembled, “Take me. I’ll make it easier.”

Hanbin took a step forward without thinking and stopped just as quickly when the shadows around Hao twitched.

“No—no, wait—” Hao rushed out, panic flaring as he felt it, his eyes flicking toward Hanbin for a second, enough for everything he was trying to hide to break through. Fear. Love. Apology. “I’m okay,” he lied, breath shaking. “I’m okay, just—just stay there.”

Then he turned back again, more urgently this time. “Please,” Hao said, “You said he always wins, right? That nothing you’ve tried has worked.” His chest rose unevenly, “Then change the conditions. You don’t need to fight him,” Hao continued, softer now, almost pleading in a different way, “You just need to take away the reason he keeps getting back up.”

Hanbin’s hands were shaking now, his entire body rigid with the effort of not moving, not interfering. “Hao… stop,” he said, his voice barely holding together. “Don’t do this.” 

But Hao didn’t listen, “I’ll go with you willingly.” Null Vespera tilted its head, its form flickering in a way that felt like consideration. “…Willingly,” it repeated. 

Hao nodded immediately, afraid the offer would disappear if he didn’t. “Yes. Let—let him go. He won’t interfere if I’m gone.”

“That’s not true—” Hanbin’s voice cracked, stepping forward again despite himself, “I will tear this entire—”

“Hanbin, please!” Hao’s voice snapped this time and silence dropped between them. Hao’s expression crumpled almost immediately after, regret flashing across his face, “…Please,” he said again, softer, “Just this once… let me protect you. I can’t lose you,” Hao whispered, barely audible now, tears slipping down, “I can’t watch you die knowing I could’ve stopped it.”

His gaze shifted back again, locking onto Null Vespera with what little strength he had left, “Take me instead.” he said even as his voice trembled. 

Null Vespera was quiet for a long moment. Then, “No.” Hao’s breath caught. “I have no use for you,” Null continued, “You are not the outcome I want, you are the method.”

The shadows around Hao tightened instantly. He gasped as the restraints constricted, forcing his arms back, pinning him harder in place. The air around his throat compressed again, though not enough to silence him completely this time, “No—wait—!” Hao struggled immediately, panic surging, his body jerking forward against the hold. “No, that’s—please, you said—!”

“I said you are how he breaks,” Null corrected calmly. “Not why I end him.”

Its form shifted and then it moved. Hanbin barely had time to react as something slammed into him from the side and suddenly he was airborne, his back hitting the rooftop hard enough to knock the breath straight out of his lungs.

“Hanbin—!” Hao’s voice tore through the space, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but watch.

Hanbin rolled immediately, instinct overriding the pain, pushing himself up, vision swimming for half a second before it snapped back into focus.

Null Vespera wasn’t standing where it had been. It was everywhere. The shadows along the rooftop stretched unnaturally, folding into themselves, pulling apart, reforming. Edges of buildings, cracks in the ground, even the space behind him—everywhere. 

Hanbin ducked just as something sliced past his head. A sharp sting tore across his cheek and the warmth of blood followed instantly.

He fired a web upward, yanking himself into the air just as the ground beneath him ruptured again, shadows bursting through. The line went taut, and he swung trying to create distance, trying to see where the next attack would come from.

“Running?” the voice echoed, closer, then farther, then right beside him. “You chose this.”

“I chose him,” Hanbin shot back, breathing sharp as he twisted midair when suddenly something caught his leg, causing the web to snap.

He hit the ground shoulder first, excruciating pain exploding through his arm as it took the worst of the impact. He barely had time to push himself up before something slammed into his ribs and there was a sickening crack.

The force sent him skidding across the rooftop, scraping harshly against concrete before he crashed into the low wall at the edge. Then breath came back all at once, jagged and broken, his chest tightening violently as pain flared through his side.

“…Hanbin—!” Hao’s voice was barely coherent now, restrained tighter than before, his body shaking as he fought against it with everything he had left. “Stop—please—stop—!” he yelled as Vespera took his ability to speak completely away. 

Hanbin forced himself up anyway, one hand pressed briefly to his side. “Takes more…than that to take me out,” he managed, voice rough. This caused the shadows to shift and then surge, but this time he moved first. A web shot out, latched onto nothing as he pulled hard, launching himself forward instead of away, cutting straight through the space where Vesperas’s form was beginning to coalesce.

His fist connected—or it should have. Instead, it passed through like smoke. He realized a second too late as a hit came from behind. Null drove into his neck, sharp and crushing, slamming him face first into the ground. The impact knocked the air out of him again, his palms scraping raw as he tried to catch himself.

Before he could recover, the shadows wrapped around his arm. Hanbin gritted his teeth as pressure built, constricting, pain spiking up his limb as the darkness coiled tighter. Then he reacted on instinct. The other hand fired a web point blank at the ground and the force snapped him sideways, ripping his arm free. He didn’t stop moving as another strike came. He twisted, barely avoiding it, but not quick enough as something tore across his side this time, sharper than before as his footing faltered. He dropped to one knee, breath stuttering as the world tilted slightly.

There was nothing to hit. Nothing to predict. It was everywhere, but nowhere. Every movement felt half a second off. “Your body is failing,” Vespera observed. 

Hanbin spat some blood out, and wiped his mouth clean. “Yeah?” he muttered with a smirk, forcing himself back up despite the way his legs threatened to give. “You talk a lot for something that can’t land a clean hit.”

At that the shadows stilled, and collapsed inward as a shape formed. Clearer than before. 

Hanbin saw it but moved too late.

The impact hit head on this time. A fist drove straight into his chest. The sound didn’t fully register, but the pain did. White hot searing pain. He couldn’t get up right away. His lungs refused to work, his body locked in place as the pain spread. 

Somewhere, distant he heard an extremely muffled, “Hanbin—!” The restraints around him tightened further, forcing him still as he struggled uselessly, tears falling freely now.  Hanbin dragged in a breath. It hurt. Everything hurt.

Which was good. Meant that he was still alive.

He rolled onto his side, coughing harshly, blood spotting the ground beneath him as his fingers curled weakly against the concrete.

Across from him, the shadows were already reforming as Hanbin let out a shaky breath. Then, slowly, he pushed himself back up. His breathing stuttered, vision blurring for half a second as he forced himself to stay upright.

Think.

Behind him, Hao struggled again, weak, but still fighting it.

Think for him.

That—That was it.

Hanbin’s gaze flicked towards him and then he quickly looked away at Vespera. 

The shadows shifted again, gathering, “You are deteriorating,” Null Vespera observed, its voice echoing from every direction at once. “Are you sure you are strong enough to fight me?”

Hanbin exhaled slowly, forcing the air out through clenched teeth. “…Yeah,” he muttered, 

“Guess I’ll have to weaken you more...” Vespera replied. 

The shadows lunged but this time, Hanbin didn’t meet Vespera. Instead, he moved away, but not to escape. His hand snapped up as a web shot out, anchoring to the far edge of the rooftop.

Then another. And another. Not at Null, but around it, across the space. Webs stretched from wall to wall, floor to ledge, intersecting, layering—one after another in rapid succession.

Null stilled, just for a fraction of a second. “What are you doing?” Hanbin didn’t answer, he kept moving. Web after web snapped into place, his arms burning with the repetition, his injured side screaming every time he twisted but he didn’t stop.

The space began to change, what had been open, wasn’t anymore. Webs cut through the air at every angle, crossing, overlapping, tightening the space. 

The shadows moved again, but Hanbin saw just for a second, hesitation. So he moved, again. More webs. Lower, then higher, then diagonal.

Every possible path was interrupted. “You cannot confine me,” Null said. 

“Not trying to,” Hanbin shot back, breath uneven as he yanked one of the main lines tighter, pulling the entire structure with it. “Just… taking away your options.”

The shadows surged, faster this time, but now they dragged. Pulled in directions they hadn’t intended. Edges caught where they should’ve slipped clean through. It’s movement wasn’t smooth anymore. It was fragmented.

Hanbin moved with it. Adjusting, adding, tightening. Turning the entire rooftop into a webbed lattice, still not enough to hold it, but enough to slow it, to force it in front of him—of Hao.

The restraints reacted immediately, the shadows coiling around him flickered, their tightness faltering as Hao’s chest rose sharply. “Hanbin—” His voice was weak but clear, they gave each other a knowing look, as Hanbin’s head snapped up. Hao’s gaze was locked onto him, certain. “Now.” 

Null moved trying to disperse, to vanish, but the webbing pulled. Every web tightened at once as Hanbin yanked with everything he had left, arms shaking, muscles screaming as the entire structure constricted inward. The shadows jerked, dragged from too many directions at once.

And for the first time, they failed to separate, collapsing inward instead. Form folding into form, edges snapping into place as the instability turned against. Null Vespera flickered violently, its shape breaking and reforming in rapid succession, voice distorting as he spoke with static difficulty, “What—have—you—done—”

Hanbin didn’t answer because he was already moving. Every step hurt. His side burned, his vision swam, but he didn’t stop nor hesitate. He closed the distance as Null lashed out. A strike, slower now, predictable. Hanbin twisted, avoiding it, feeling it graze past him instead of through him as he stepped in.

And for the first time—his hand didn’t pass through. His fingers caught something real so immediately Hanbin’s grip tightened.

“You were right,” he breathed, voice shaking with exhaustion and pain, “He is my weakness.”

The shadows convulsed, trying to tear free, but they couldn’t. Hanbin pulled his arm back, ignoring the way it trembled and drove it forward with every single ounce of force he had left. 

“…which means I have something worth fighting like hell for.”

The punch landed, final. Then—Null Vespera shattered, collapsing in on itself, its form breaking apart into fragments of shadows that dissolved before they could even hit the ground.

Then his legs gave out. He hit the ground hard, catching himself on his hands before collapsing fully, his strength draining out all at once. His vision blurred.

The restraints unraveled as Hao dropped, barely catching himself, stumbling forward immediately, his legs unsteady as he forced himself across the rooftop. “Hanbin—!” His voice broke completely as he reached him, dropping to his knees beside him, hands hovering for a second like he didn’t know where to touch without hurting him more. “Hey—hey, look at me—” Hao’s voice trembled, frantic as tears already fell as he gently cupped his face. “Stay with me, okay? Stay—stay with me—”

Hanbin’s eyes fluttered, barely focused, “…told you…” he murmured, voice weak, breath uneven. A faint, exhausted smile tugged at his lips. “I’d get to you…”

“Hey, no, no, you—” Hao choked out, shaking his head quickly, his hands trembling where they held him. “You’re okay, you’re fine, you’re—stay awake, please—”

Hanbin tried to respond but couldn’t quite manage it as his eyes slipped shut. “Hanbin—?” Panic surged instantly. “No—stay with me—please—!” Hao’s voice cracked, breaking completely as he leaned closer, his forehead pressing against his, “Please!”

— ౨ৎ —

Sirens blared outside the hospital, The doctors moved quickly, “Extensive trauma,” one said, not looking at him. “He’s in a coma. Could be days, could be months, prognosis is uncertain.  He has internal injuries—ribs, lung contusions, minor fractures, dehydration.”

Hao didn’t respond. He didn’t hear much of what they said after the word coma.

He followed mechanically behind the gurney. 

The hospital smelled too clean. Everything about it feels wrong.

My Hanbinie is hurt, why is the world moving like everything is okay? 

Hao moves quickly and when he finally sees him, it does not feel real. Hanbin is lying there, too still, too quiet, the usual ease in his posture gone completely, as he lays against stark white sheets that make the bruises more visible, spreading across his skin in ways that Hao has never seen before. There are cuts, deeper than anything Hao has had to treat before and For a second, Hao cannot move. He steps closer as his hand lifts without thinking, hovering for a moment before settling carefully against Hanbin’s arm. 

“You’re an idiot,” Hao says quietly. This time, Hanbin does not respond, the machines do.

— ౨ৎ —

Hao somehow perseveres through the hours that stretch too long, through the quiet conversations with doctors that feel detached and distant. For the next two months, he existed like a shadow in the hospital.

Days blurred together. The world outside continued, but for Hao, nothing existed beyond the sterile white walls, the constant beeping of monitors, and the faint, shallow rise and fall of Hanbin’s chest.

He barely ate, food stayed untouched on the bedside table, cold and unappetizing. Only when friends dragged him to the cafeteria, coaxed him into taking a few bites, did he eat at all. He lost weight. His eyes sank deeper. Shadows hung under them. Conversations reached him in fragments, nothing left in him to express.

Every day, he sat there. Every day, he watched. Every day, he imagines a future with Hanbin laughing over coffee on a lazy Sunday, kids running around a warm sunlit apartment, growing old together, fighting over nothing.

But then his thoughts also travel north, imagining a world stripped of him, stripped of them.

A future where there was nothing left of Hanbin. A future where Hao opened his eyes, searched for the warmth he had always taken for granted, and found only absence.

Hao didn’t cry every day, but he felt the weight of it pressing in.His reason for existing had narrowed down to a single hospital bed, suspended somewhere between life and death, between hope and inevitability.

Time became meaningless. Every mechanical beep was a reminder of what could disappear in a heartbeat. Every moment he imagined Hanbin waking up, he realized the extent of the emptiness he had been living in for two months.

Because without Hanbin, even being alive felt like nothing.

— ౨ৎ —

The doctor doesn’t say it immediately. It comes after weeks of the same words.

He is table

We’re still monitoring

We’ll keep observing

They had once sounded like hope but had slowly hollowed out. Hao had learned to cling to them anyway, to treat them like proof that Hanbin was still here, still fighting. 

But today—today, the tone is different.

“We need to talk.” Hao doesn’t like the way those words settle in the air. They don’t feel like the others he has heard countless times. They don’t carry that same careful neutrality. There’s something heavier beneath them. He stands just outside the room, his fingers still curled loosely around the doorframe not fully stepping out yet, like some part of him refuses to put distance between himself and Hanbin even for a moment.

The doctor exhales slowly before continuing. “It’s been two months,” he says not unkind, “We haven’t seen any neurological response. His body is… holding on, but—” Hao’s throat tightens. 

“We’re reaching a point,” the doctor continues, “where we have to consider quality of life. If there’s no improvement, if he remains unresponsive… continuing life support may not be in his best interest.” The words don’t make sense.

Life support.

Not in his best interest.

No improvement.

“No,” Hao says immediately as the doctor pauses. “I understand this is difficult—”

“No.” This time it’s louder. Hao shakes his head, once, then again, faster. “No, you don’t—you don’t get to say that. He’s right there.” His voice breaks on the last word.  “He’s still here,” Hao insists, his breathing uneven now, his chest tightening as panic begins to creep in. “He’s breathing, his heart’s beating, you said he’s stable, you said—”

“We said his body is stable,” the doctor corrects carefully. “But his brain—”

“Stop.” Hao’s voice trembles, “Just—just stop.”

“I’ll give you some time,” the doctor says after a moment, “But we do need a decision soon.”

A decision, as if this is something that can be decided. Hao stands there for a moment longer, unmoving, his hands trembling faintly at his sides as the words replay in his mind, over and over. “No.” he whispers as he turns and walks back inside.

The same soft beeping fills the air, steady and unrelenting. The same sterile white sheets. The same stillness that has become so familiar. Hanbin lies exactly as he always has. For a moment, Hao just stands there looking at him.

“…They’re lying,” Hao says finally, his voice quiet. He steps closer, “They have to be,” he continues, his gaze fixed entirely on Hanbin’s face, “They don’t know you. They don’t know how stubborn you are, how hard you fight, how you—” His voice falters. “You wouldn’t just… give up like this.” The words come out weaker, less certain.

His hand lifts slowly before settling carefully over Hanbin’s. It’s warm. That should mean something. It has to mean something.

“…Right?” he whispers. Hao exhales shakily, his grip tightening slightly, “They said…” He stops, his throat tightening again, the words refusing to come out properly. He tries again, forcing them past the lump in his chest. “They said I have to make a decision.” The air felt heavier. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do that,” his voice breaking, “You didn’t leave me instructions for this, Hanbin. You didn’t—”

A shaky breath escapes him.

“You always decide everything,” he continues, “You’re the one who tells me what to do, you’re the one who—who fixes things, and now you’re just… lying here like this and I don’t—” His grip tightens further, his fingers curling into Hanbin’s hand, “I can’t choose this,” Hao whispers, his voice trembling uncontrollably. “I can’t choose a world where you’re not in it. I can’t—I don’t know how to live in that world, I don’t—”

His breath catches sharply, a loud painful sob escaping as the weight of it finally crashes down fully, “So wake up,” the words breaking out of him desperate. “Just wake up, okay? I’m not asking for much, I’m just—I just need you to open your eyes, that’s it, you don’t even have to talk, you don’t have to move, just wake up—”

Nothing. Hao shakes his head, tears spilling over now, his entire body trembling as reality refuses to bend, refuses to give him his world back. “Please…” he whispers again, “Please, Hanbin, I can’t do this without you. I don’t want—I don’t want to learn how to—”

The machines continue beeping, steady. And then—A twitch. It’s small, so small it could have been nothing but Hao freezes. His breath catches in his throat as his head lifts slowly, his eyes locking onto their hands, his entire body going still like he’s afraid that moving will undo what just happened. “…Hanbin?” he whispers, but nothing changes.

The machines continue exactly as they were. Hao lets out a shaky breath, his chest tightening painfully, doubt creeping in. 

He imagined it. Of course he did. He’s tired. He hasn’t slept. He’s—Another twitch.

This time, unmistakable. Hanbin’s fingers shift extremely weakly against his and Hao’s heart stops. “—Hanbin?” The name comes out louder as the monitor stutters. A change in rhythm, a spike. “Do that again—please—do that again—”

Another movement, it is faint, weak, but there. Hao lets out a broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, his entire body shaking now, his vision blurring completely as everything hits him at once.

“Hanbin—” he sobs, “I’m here,” he rushes out,  “I’m right here, okay? You’re okay—you’re safe, I’m here—”

The monitor stutters again. Hao’s heart slams against his ribs, “Hanbin, can you hear me?” he asks, louder now, “If you can hear me, move your hand again, okay? Just like before—” For a moment, nothing happens.“Please…” he whispers, “Please don’t stop, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, just—”

Hanbin’s fingers curl against his, as Hao gasps. “Okay—okay—okay,” he repeats under his breath, barely coherent as tears spill over again, vision blurring completely. Hao lets out a broken laugh that doesn’t sound like a laugh at all, the relief hitting all at once, overwhelming. 

His thumb brushes over Hanbin’s knuckles without him realizing, “Do you know what they just told me?” Hao continues, his voice breaking again, “They said I had to decide—they said I might have to—” His breath catches sharply. “I can’t do that,” he says, “I can’t choose that. So don’t—don’t make me, okay? Don’t leave me here having to decide something like that—”

Hao stills and quietens immediately as Hanbin’s brow twitches faintly, a subtle crease forming between them. “Hanbin?” Hao breathes, “Can you hear me? It’s me—it’s Hao, I’m right here—”

Hanbin’s lips part slightly though no sound comes out, just a faint, uneven breath. Hao leans closer immediately, his free hand hovering near Hanbin’s face now, “It’s okay,” he says, “You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to do anything, just—just stay with me, okay? Just stay—”

For a fraction of a second, Hanbin’s eyes part, just barely, and Hao’s entire world stops as he finally gets a good look at those brown eyes again. “Hanbin…” he whispers.

“Hao—” The word almost comes out. It’s barely a sound, more breath than voice, but Hao hears it anyway. His fingers tighten instinctively, his other hand coming up to cup Hanbin’s face. 

“I’m here,” he says immediately, tears spilling faster. “I’m right here, you’re okay, you’re safe—just—just stay with me, okay? Don’t—don’t go anywhere—”

The monitor spikes again as the rhythm stutters unevenly, climbing too fast, too erratic.

Hao freezes for half a second and then instinct kicks in. His hand shoots toward the call button, hard. “Help!” His voice cracks. “Someone—please—”

Then he hears footsteps as the door bursts open, the quiet stillness of the room shattering all at once as doctors and nurses rush in, their voices overlapping. 

“What happened?”

“When did he respond?”

“Vitals are spiking—”

“Sir, I need you to step back—”

Hands are already moving, adjusting monitors, checking readings, pulling equipment closer. The calm environment Hao had grown used to is gone. 

“No—wait—he—he moved, he—” Hao tries to explain, the words stumbling over each other as he takes a step back, then another, his hands hovering uselessly in the air like he doesn’t know where to put them anymore.

“We’ve got it,” one of the nurses says quickly, already guiding him further away from the bed, from Hanbin, “You did the right thing, just give us space—” But Hao’s eyes don’t leave Hanbin. They can’t. Not even as he’s moved aside, not even as people step between them, blocking his view. He searches through it, over it, around it. 

“I need oxygen—get respiratory—”

“Heart rate’s elevated—”

“Stay with me, Hanbin, can you hear me?”

The words blur together as a sob catches in Hao’s throat before he can stop it, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as his chest heaves, the reality crashing into him all over again, heavier this time. He’s here. He’s still here. And for the first time in two months, Hao isn’t watching him disappear.

He’s watching him come back.

— ౨ৎ —

Days pass. Then weeks. Recovery isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet, requires a lot of patience, built out of small moments that would seem insignificant to anyone else, but to them, they are everything.

The first thing Hanbin relearns is how to breathe without pain. Every inhale is careful, “Slowly,” Hao murmurs, his voice softer than Hanbin has ever heard it, “Don’t rush it.” Hanbin nods faintly, or at least tries to. The movement is small, barely there, but Hao sees it anyway.

The first time Hanbin sits up without collapsing back immediately, Hao nearly cries. The first time he manages to speak a full sentence without his voice giving out halfway, Hao does cry.

And Hanbin watches him with something soft and overwhelming, drowning in love he will never be able to ever top. 

It’s late afternoon when the sunlight starts spilling through the hospital window, painting everything in quiet gold. The room feels less suffocating even if the machines are still there, but fewer of them. Hanbin is sitting up against the pillows, a blanket draped loosely over his legs. There are still bruises and the faint outline of healing cuts along his arms, but he looks…alive.

Hao is beside him, as always. He’s sitting too close for it to be comfortable, one leg tucked under him on the bed, his shoulder pressed lightly against Hanbin’s side. Hanbin glances at him. Then slowly reaches out. His fingers brush against Hao’s wrist first before curling gently around it as Hao stills immediately. It still feels new every time. He just looks at Hanbin for a while, taking him in. 

“…You’re staring again,” Hanbin murmurs, still a little rough at the edges, but steady. Hao doesn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he says simply.

There’s no attempt to deny it. Hanbin lets out a soft breath that turns into a laugh, his thumb brushing faintly over Hao’s wrist. “I’m right here,” he adds. 

“I know.” Hao’s voice dips slightly, “I just… like checking.”

Hanbin’s chest tightens painfully. He shifts slightly, careful of his still healing body, before lifting his other hand and reaching toward Hao’s face, gently cupping Hao’s cheek. Hao leans into it immediately. “You didn’t have to stay,” Hanbin says quietly, “For all of it. You could’ve—”

“Don’t,” Hao cuts in immediately, the word firm as his hand comes up to cover Hanbin’s where it rests against his face. “Don’t say things like that. There was nowhere else I was going to be,” he continues, his thumb brushing over Hanbin’s knuckles. 

Hanbin swallows, eyes not leaving Hao’s as he speaks, “…I heard you,” he admits, “Sometimes. Not everything. But… enough.”

“Yeah?” he whispers.

Hanbin nods faintly.

“You talk a lot,” he adds, the corner of his lips lifting just slightly. Hao lets out a soft, breathless laugh, his forehead dropping forward until it rests lightly against Hanbin’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” he mutters, though there's no bite behind it. Hao lifts his head slowly, his gaze searching Hanbin’s face, then he leans in.

The kiss is soft, careful, almost hesitant at first, like he’s afraid to hurt him, but Hanbin responds immediately. His hand shifts, sliding from Hao’s cheek to the back of his neck, holding him there gently, deepening it just slightly. Hao exhales against him, finally loosening, as he leans closer, fingers curling into the fabric of Hanbin’s shirt.

When they pull apart, it’s slow, reluctant. Hao stays close, their foreheads brushing lightly. “…You scared me,” Hao admits, barely above a whisper against his lips.

“I know,” he says quietly.

“I had—” Hao continues, his voice trembling slightly now despite how calm he tries to keep it. “They told me—” Hanbin doesn’t let him finish. He leans forward again, pressing another kiss to his lips, firmer this time. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs against him as Hao exhales shakily. “I’m right here.”

Hao nods, his forehead dropping against Hanbin’s again, his hands gripping him a little tighter, still afraid this could all slip away. “…Don’t do that again,” he mutters. Hanbin huffs out a soft breath that almost resembles a laugh.

“I’ll try,” he says.

“Yah Sung Hanbin!.”

Hanbin giggles, “Okay, okay,” he corrects, his thumb brushing gently under Hao’s eye, catching the remnants of tears that still linger there. “I won’t.”

Hao watches him for a second longer, then, “Good.” Hao leans in again, pressing a series of small kisses. One to his lips, one to the corner of his mouth, one against his cheek.

Hanbin lets him, laughing in return. Because after everything, this is the only thing that matters. That Hao is here. That he stayed. 

This time, Hanbin isn’t going anywhere.

— ౨ৎ —

Two years later, the world feels… softer. Not quieter, New York never really is, but softer in the way things settle when the storm has already passed. The city still hums with life outside the windows, distant sirens threading through the air, people moving, cars passing. 

But inside the apartment, it's warm, lived in, safe. Sunlight spills lazily across the wooden floors, catching on scattered tools laid out on the workbench near the window, half finished prototypes in various states of assembly, wires and circuits neatly organized in a way that only Hanbin understands. A laptop sits open nearby, lines of code glowing faintly on the screen.

And in the middle of all of it—“Sansan, no—hey, that’s not yours—” A blur of golden fur darts across the room, claws skidding slightly against the floor as Sansan makes a sharp turn, something suspiciously fabric shaped clenched triumphantly in his mouth.

“You little thief—give it back,” he insists, trying and failing to sound stern as he reaches for the dog, who dodges him effortlessly, tail wagging. From the other side of the room, Hanbin watches and makes the mistake of laughing.

It’s quiet at first, but it grows easily, naturally, “Sung Hanbin! You’re encouraging him,” Hao accuses, shooting him a look as Sansan darts behind Hanbin like he knows exactly where the safest place is.

Hanbin lifts his hands in mock surrender, still smiling. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly!” Hao is breathless now, one hand on his hip as he tries to peer around Hanbin to spot the dog. “Help me.” he whines out. 

“Go Hao, go!Hanbin cheers him on receiving a glare in return. 

Sansan uses the distraction to bolt again. “Oh my—Sansan!” Hao lunges after him, nearly slipping as he rounds the couch, and Hanbin laughs again, louder this time as he stands. 

There’s no hesitation in his steps anymore, no careful calculation in every movement. The scars are still there if you look closely enough, but they no longer define the way he moves. He crosses the room just as Hao finally manages to corner Sansan near the kitchen.

“Got you,” Hao breathes out triumphantly, crouching down as he gently pries the stolen item from the dog’s mouth. Hanbin leans against the counter beside them, glancing down.

“…Is that my hoodie?” he asks. Hao pauses, looks at the fabric in his hands, then back at Hanbin.

“Oh. It is.”

Hanbin exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he crouches down too, reaching out to scratch Sansan behind the ears. The dog immediately melts into it, tail wagging even harder, entirely unapologetic. “You’re raising him to be a criminal,” Hanbin murmurs.

“He learned from you,” Hao shoots back instantly.

Hanbin glances up at him, fondness flickering across his expression. “Unfair,” he says.

“Accurate,” Hao corrects, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips now, something that sits naturally on his face these days. For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just stay there, Sansan happily wedged between them. Hanbin reaches out again, but this time, not for the dog.

His fingers brush lightly against Hao’s wrist first, a familiar habit he never quite grew out of, before sliding up to lace their fingers together as Hao squeezes back.

He stands just then, as he leans in the rest of the way, closing the distance between them pressing a soft kiss to Hao’s lips. Hao exhales into it, his hand tightening slightly in Hanbin’s, his other hand coming up to rest against his chest. When they pull back, it’s only just enough to breathe.

“…You’re supposed to be working,” Hao murmurs, though there’s no real complaint in it.

“I am,” Hanbin replies lightly. “This is very important work.”

Hao rolls his eyes. “Of course it is.”

Hanbin grins faintly, leaning in again, this time pressing a softer kiss to the corner of Hao’s mouth, then another to his cheek. “I finished the prototype anyway,” he adds.

Hao hums, unconvinced. “You said that three hours ago.”

“I was being neglected.” Hanbin says with a pout. 

“By what?”

“You.”

“Me?” Hao replies, tone scandalous, ” Need I remind you what happened this morning, because the way I remember it, you did not let me get out of bed for two hours because your refractory period is—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, because suddenly, Hanbin’s hand slides around his waist and reaches his ass, where he squeezes, hard. 

Hao yelps.

“Hanbin—!” The sound is sharp, startled, his entire body jolting as he immediately tries to twist out of his hold. Sansan barks in surprise, as Hao’s hands shove at Hanbin’s chest.

“What is wrong with you?” Hanbin just grins.

“What?” he says with a smirk, “I didn’t do anything.”

Hao starts backing away, shaking his head as he tries to regain some composure, though Hanbin doesn’t let him get far. He catches Hao’s wrist mid retreat, pulling him back just enough to close the distance again, his other hand sliding to his waist, lowering before he gropes Hao, again. 

Hao exhales sharply, caught off guard again, his hands pressing instinctively against Hanbin’s chest as he tries to push him back. “Let go,” he says, but it lacks any real force. 

“Mm,” Hanbin hums, not moving at all. “I don’t think I will.”

“Hanbin—”

Hao turns slightly, trying to slip past him, but Hanbin is faster, stepping forward just enough to guide him back until Hao’s lower back lightly hits the counter. The movement isn’t rough or painful, but Hao’s breath still catches. Hao glares at him. “You’re annoying,” he mutters, but his hands haven’t left Hanbin’s chest, fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt. 

“Yeah?” Hanbin tilts his head, his hand tightening just slightly at Hao’s waist as he leans in and kisses him. Hao makes a soft, startled sound against his lips before melting into it, his grip tightening, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

“Hanbin—” he tries again when they break for air but Hanbin doesn’t give him time to recover. 

He kisses him again, quick, a little messy, saliva all over their chins. Hao loses track of where one ends and the other begins. His hand stays at Hao’s waist, while the other is still groping him, making Hao inhale sharply. “Sansan’s right there—” Hao manages weakly against Hanbin's lips when they separate, a bark punctuating the sentence.

Hanbin huffs out a quiet laugh against his lips. “I. Dont. Care.” each word followed by a kiss.

Hao shakes his head, but there’s no real protest left in him now, only the overwhelming comfort of being wanted like this. Hao exhales as Sansan barks suddenly, pawing at Hao’s leg. Hao laughs softly, reaching down to pick him up, holding him against his chest as the dog immediately settles, content. “See?” Hao says, glancing back at Hanbin. “At least someone here appreciates me.” Hanbin steps closer again, closing whatever small space remains between them, his hand coming to rest at Hao’s waist. 

“Hey, I appreciate you more,” he says quietly, with a genuine pout on his face. Hao huffs lightly at that, kissing the pout away.

— ౨ৎ —

Baby, come meet me. Near the bridge.

Hao doesn’t think much of the text at first, even if it doesn’t sound like Hanbin, lacking the many kissy faces and heart emojis he ends his texts with. Maybe it’s work. Hao grabs his jacket anyway as Sansan barks, tail wagging. “Don’t look at me like that,” Hao mutters, slipping on his shoes. “I’ll be right back.”

The evening air is cool when he steps outside, the city humming around him in that familiar way, cars passing, voices overlapping. The skyline stretches ahead, lights flickering on one by one as the sky deepens into something darker. Brooklyn Bridge stands ahead in the distance, so Hao slows as he gets closer, but there’s… something off.

The street is quieter than it should be, the usual noise dampened, making his steps echo a little louder. A few people linger, but most of the space feels empty. “Hanbin?” Hao calls lightly, glancing around, his brows pulling together slightly. “You better not be making me walk all the way out here for nothing—”

Then he stops. Completely. Because across the open stretch, spanning between lampposts, buildings, anchored impossibly high is webbing. 

And forming, in unmistakable letters—

Will you marry me?

Hao’s breath leaves him. Just—gone. For a second, nothing exists. Not the city. Not the sounds. Not even his own thoughts. Only the words exist stretching across the bridge. 

His chest tightens painfully, “Hanbin…” he whispers, his voice breaking on the name. His hands lifting instinctively to cover his mouth as his vision blurs almost immediately.

A sharp thwip cuts through the air and before he can turn, a force wraps around his waist. Hao gasps, startled, the world tilting as his feet leave the ground in one swift motion.

“Hanbin—!” The city drops beneath him, wind rushes past him, pulling the breath from his lungs as he instinctively clutches at the arm around him.

“Hold on,” a voice murmurs near his ear. Hao’s heart stutters.

“Are you insane!” Hao demands, his words half laugh, half sob as he grips tighter. “You couldn’t have just walked up to me like a normal person and proposed—”

Hanbin laughs, the sound almost getting lost in the wind, “Where’s the fun in that?” he calls back as they swing higher.

The city stretches beneath them, lights blurring. Hao squeezes his eyes shut for a second,taking in the moment, then opens them again just in time to see the bridge. And then they land. Right at the top of one of the beams of Brooklyn Bridge, the city sprawling out in every direction, the river reflecting scattered lights below like something out of a dream.

Hao’s legs almost give out when they touch down but Hanbin steadies him immediately. One arm still around his waist, the other braced carefully as Hao clutches onto him, his breathing uneven, his heart racing. “You—” Hao starts, but the words fall apart as he looks at him. Really looks at him.

The suit. The mask. “…You’re so weird,” Hao whispers.

Hanbin tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?” he says lightly.

Hao doesn’t answer, he can’t, not with the way his chest is tightening again, the tears clinging stubbornly to his lashes, the words from before still echoing in his mind.

Will you marry me?

“…Was that—” Hao swallows, “Was that for real?” he asks as he reaches up, and pulls his mask off.

“Yeah,” Hanbin says softly as he steps closer. “I know I’m not doing this… normally,” he admits, an almost nervous smile tugging at his lips, something Hao doesn’t see often. Hao lets out a soft, broken laugh. “I just…” He hesitates, then continues, “After everything—we almost didn’t get here. There were so many versions of this where I don’t get to stand in front of you like this.”

Hao’s eyes fill again instantly. “And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending I can do this without you,” Hanbin adds, his voice steady now, “Because I can’t. I don’t want to.” Hao shakes his head, overwhelmed, stepping closer without realizing.

“Hanbin—”

“I love you,” Hanbin says, “In every way that matters. In every way that doesn’t even have words yet. I love you when things are easy, and I love you when things get hard. I loved you when I couldn’t even open my eyes and you were still there talking to me like I could hear you—”

Hao lets out a soft, broken laugh. “Hey,” he whispers, defensive. 

Hanbin smiles faintly. “And I want to keep choosing you,” Hanbin continues, “Every day. For the rest of my life, if you’ll let me. So, Zhang Hao, will—”

Hao doesn’t let him finish. He surges forward and kisses him. Hard, like he can’t hold it back for another second. Hanbin stumbles slightly, a surprised laugh escaping into the kiss as Hao grips his shirt, pulling him closer. “Okay—okay—” Hanbin tries, breathless when they part for half a second. “I didn’t actually—” Hao kisses him again, softer this time, but no less desperate.

“Yes,” Hao breathes against his lips, his voice shaking, tears slipping freely now. “Yes, obviously yes, what kind of question is that—”

Hanbin laughs again as he cups Hao’s face, “I didn’t even get to the ask the question or get down on one knee—”

“I don’t care,” Hao interrupts immediately, pressing another kiss to his lips, then his cheek, then just barely against the corner of his mouth “You think I’m going to wait for a second longer? Absolutely not—” Hanbin gives up trying to talk. Instead, he kisses him back. His hands settle at Hao’s waist, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between them, until Hao is practically pressed into him, breathless and laughing and crying all at once.

“God, I love you,” Hao murmurs against him, “You’re so dramatic—who proposes like this—”

“Me,” Hanbin replies softly, brushing his thumb under Hao’s eye, catching the tears there before they fall. “And you said yes.”

Hao exhales shakily, leaning into his touch, his hands still gripping him, “I said yes,” he repeats, with a blinding smile, the apples of his cheeks lifting up. Hanbin smiles at that and then kisses his cheeks one by one. 

They don’t stop kissing for a while. It’s messy and breathless and a little ridiculous considering where they are. Balanced high above the city on Brooklyn Bridge, but the way Hao keeps pulling him back every time he tries to say something remotely coherent, Hanbin can’t help himself but to give in. 

At some point, they break apart, and they both just… laugh. Soft chuckles escaping from the overwhelming realization that this is real, that this is happening. Hao rests his forehead against Hanbin’s, still smiling, still a little teary, his fingers absentmindedly tracing along the edge of Hanbin’s suit. 

“…Wait,” Hao says suddenly.

Hanbin hums softly against Hao's lips. “Mm?” Hao pulls back just enough to look at him properly, his expression shifting, suspiciously thoughtful.

“…I have a condition.”

Hanbin raises an eyebrow, already amused. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah.” Hao nods too seriously. “Very important. Non negotiable.” Hanbin lets out a quiet laugh. 

“I haven’t even given you the ring yet and you’re already making demands?”

“Yes,” Hao says, straightforwardly.  Hanbin shakes his head, smiling, his hands still resting comfortably at Hao’s waist. 

“Alright,” he says, playing along easily. “Let’s hear it.”

Hao takes a breath, because he’s about to obviously say something incredibly profound.

“…You have to take my last name.”

Hanbin blinks. “…What?”

Hao pouts instantly. Full force, so incredibly weaponized.

“I’m serious,” he insists, his brows furrowing slightly as he leans closer again, like proximity will somehow strengthen his argument. “Zhang Hanbin sounds way better.”

Hanbin stares at him. Then lets out an incredulous laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m right though,” Hao presses, nudging him lightly. “Say it. Zhang Hanbin. That sounds—”

“—like I’ve been rebranded,” Hanbin cuts in, amused.

“Exactly!” Hao says, completely missing the point. “It sounds powerful. Iconic. People would hear it and immediately respect you.”

“They don’t already?” Hanbin asks, feigning offense.

Hao narrows his eyes slightly. “Not as much as they would if you were Zhang Hanbin.”

Hanbin exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but there’s no real resistance in it, there never is when Hao looks at him like that. “Also,” Hao adds, softer now, leaning in just a little, more playful, “I know you love me so, I think I deserve this.” entitlement dripping from his voice. 

Hanbin’s expression softens immediately at that. “…That’s your argument?” Hanbin asks quietly.

Hao nods, completely serious.

“Mm-hm.” He says with a pout. Hanbin sighs.

“Okay.”

Hao blinks. “…Okay?”

“Okay,” Hanbin repeats easily. Hao stares at him, suspicious now.

“You’re just agreeing?” Hanbin shrugs lightly. “That’s it?” Hao presses, “No debate? No ‘this is a lifelong decision, Hao’?”

Hanbin smiles faintly. “Nope.”

Hao squints at him. “…Why?” Hanbin leans in slightly, closing the small distance between them again, his voice softening.

“Because it makes you happy.” Hao’s pout falters. “And because,” Hanbin adds, “I love you.”

Hao’s grip on him tightens instinctively, “I love you too.” and then the mischievous glint returns, “…Zhang Hanbin,” he murmurs, testing it again. Hanbin huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yeah?”

Hao nods slowly. “Yeah.”

A beat. Then—

“…It is kind of badass,” Hanbin admits.

Hao lights up instantly. “I told you!”

Hanbin laughs as Hao immediately leans in again, pressing another quick kiss to his lips, then another, like a reward.

“Best decision you’ve ever made,” Hao declares confidently.

“Marrying you?” Hanbin asks.

Hao pauses, then grins. “That too.”

Hanbin shakes his head, still smiling, his hands pulling Hao closer again. 

They’re still tangled together on the bridge beam, bodies pressed close, laughter and whispers blending into the night air. Hao’s fingers tug at Hanbin’s shirt again, “Hanbin…” he murmurs, voice low and heated, “…put the ring in me.”

Hanbin freezes mid smile for a second. 

“ON me—on. I meant on, not in—I don’t want it in me, ugh just—” Hanbin just laughs at him, watching the scene unfold, and then, still giggling, he slides the ring onto Hao’s finger. 

Hao’s grin is ridiculous, as he kisses Hanbin fiercely, lips wet, sloppy, and a little desperate. Tongues swirl together, punctuated by gasps and moans. Hanbin’s thumbs brush over the ring, feeling it settle perfectly on Hao’s hand.

Finally, after one particularly long, wet kiss, Hao pulls back just enough to speak, forehead resting against Hanbin’s. Breathless, he whines, “Hanbin I’m… hungry.”

Hanbin blinks, then laughs softly, “Hungry?” he asks, tone teasing. “You mean for food… or me?” Hao smirks despite the flustered breath, pressing one last wet kiss to Hanbin’s jaw. 

“…Food,” he admits, grinning through the warmth of the kiss, “…but maybe a little bit of you too.”

Hanbin shakes his head, laughing again, eyes crinkling in that way that always makes Hao’s heart melt. “Let’s get some food first… then we’ll see.”

Hao groans dramatically but allows himself to be led, arms around Hanbin’s neck, still pressing wet, kisses along his shoulder and neck, murmuring soft praises and love declarations with every swing. 

Because after everything—after countless versions where they didn’t make it—They finally did.