Chapter Text
Mark thinks you’re really pretty, insanely pretty. For a moment, he forgets where he is, forgets that you’re staring at him, expecting him to answer your question.
Your voice cuts through the air bluntly, “I asked, what do you want?”
Mark stutters as reality hits him, spluttering, his ears growing red and hot.
“I-I wanted to join the newspaper, I recently picked up photography. My friends said I wasn’t so bad.”
Mark fiddles with the straps of his backpack, thinking he should have hung his new Nikon on his shoulders instead to look more professional. You look at him with a raised eyebrow, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they start to point upwards in amusement. You enjoy seeing him shake under your stare in some twisted way. The power of being ‘Student Editor in Chief’ for your university’s newspaper was too much fun. Mark feels his embarrassment rising, he’s nervous for some reason. He’s Spider-man for fuck’s sake! Peter Parker would have never looked down at his toes with his cheeks blushed pink while talking to a pretty person. After his origin story, he grew into the hero too. He held a new impression of confidence, so why was it flaking out on him now?
You reach your arm up with your hand open. “Well then, let’s see them.”
Mark immediately shuffles his backpack off his shoulders to retrieve his shots, zipping it open as quickly as he can to not keep you waiting. He thought his pictures weren’t so bad. They were of the recent Career Fair, Haechan stood posed while looking down on a plasma pool in front of the Star Tech booth. Jaemin and Jeno laughed while talking to the woman in charge of Sticker Label, a company at the graphic design table. Mark even snuck a candid shot of Chenle scarfing down a slice of quiche at the culinary booth. He would say he was proud, it was no Peter Parker work, but it would manage, and would help him fulfill his role in the universe as Spider-man. Handing you the photos, Mark prayed you wouldn’t feel the sticky sweat that was gliding along his hand. God, why was he so anxious.
You gave a quick glance at the shots before laying them out on your desk with a curt, “they’re shit.” It was cruel, and Mark felt his heart drop into stomach. Silence filled your office as Mark stood in shock. After a few moments, you offer him somewhat of a deal.
“I’ll take your photos, you can come back with more next week, but I’m not paying you.”
With too much information at once, Mark’s mouth opens with no sound emitting.
“What are you still doing here?” You ask but it sounds faded in his ears, he’s distracted again, noticing the cheeky glint in your eyes, the smirk on your lips.
“I, uhm, thought,” He starts. “I thought you don’t get paid here.” He swallows the pool of saliva at the back of his throat, instantly regretting his words.
“Yeah, we don’t.
It’s almost midnight, and you’re still staring at your midterm robotics project. Trying to code your pen to graph the way you want is torture, you’ve probably written at least a hundred scripts by now, and you still have paper deadline at 11 tomorrow. Groaning in despair knowing you’ll probably have to ask your robotics professor for an extension. In the back you hear a group of boys’ hushed whispers. You thought the lab would be empty at this time of night, but apparently not as you hear pieces of their conversation, something about touch receptors and a camera lens? You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but it was the reporter in you. They seemed stressed about something, their whispers growing louder and harsher. You decided you shouldn’t pay any mind, they probably were just arguing over a group project. Delving into your scripts again, you weren’t able to hear the squealing of an impending explosion in your midst.
It was sudden. Your body blown to the side into a glass cabinet, shock and adrenaline had taken over your senses, as you tried to pick up your legs and run to the nearest emergency exit. You couldn’t hear anything, and your arms had stopped working. It was so bright, and your forehead felt wet. Realizing blood had begun to pour from your scalp, panic had insinuated through your nervous system. You couldn’t move. Laying on shards of glass with a fire beginning to surround you, lungs filled with smoke, you knew you were going to die there.
But, a strong set of arms had wrapped around you before you had fully slipped into unconsciousness. The words “I got you” were sung by the owner, as your body was flown to safety.
The distinct smell of chemicals are what wake you up. Instantly feeling the frigid hospital air, you shiver underneath your thin sheets. You crack your eyes open in order to adjust to the brightness streaming into your vision, and a headache hits you at full force. One of your arms are fractured, and you know you have stitches in your head. But, above it all, you wonder how you’re going to pay for the bill that will no doubt be at your doorstep once all of this is over. Finally being able to look around the room, you have a breathing tube stuffed into your nostrils, and an IV stuck in your unscathed arm. You can’t feel your legs, and you can’t turn your head all that much either, but from the corner of your eye you can see a slumped figure on the couch next to your bed. Between the two of you is a makeshift table with a glass of water, and a phone. Reaching with your IV-ed arm, you take the phone, dialing on the emergency call feature to your roommate, who is most likely asleep. She doesn’t answer, not much to your surprise, but you dial a couple more times leaving her with a few shaky voicemails to make sure her car will be waiting once the hospital clears your discharge.
Sinking into your pillow, you sigh heavily, a feeling of despair knowing that your projects will all be set back by the inconvenience, or should you say tragedy. Your university’s most renowned robotics lab had been blown up, with you receiving a few injuries. Still, your deadline was within a few hours, just enough time to whip up a front page with the reason why you have stitches in your head.
Ripping off the tape securing your IV, taking the needle out, and unhooking the tube forcing sterilized air down your lungs, you lift your body off the bed as carefully as you can, nudging the right foot of the guy in the room with you once it was in reach. He wakes after a few nudges, blinking to fully understand his surroundings. You don’t wait for him to adjust from sleep.
“Who the hell are you?” You say while trying to shift your weight from the bed to your feet.
He takes a few moments to respond, his body relaxing and a slow smirk on his face appears. “I was at the lab when the explosion happened, no else was there to help you,” he pauses, “except me.” His smirk grows bigger, and you are not amused. Looking more carefully at the unknown man, you notice his washed strawberry colored hair and his pouty lips which look too familiar. You couldn’t have interacted with him before, he seemed too far removed from your areas of study, but then again you are the Student Editor in Chief, the school’s archive manager. You recognize him finally through the pictures you had seen earlier that day. He was posed next to a green pool of plasma, wearing the same corny grin. It was a nice picture, you recalled, despite your nasty remarks about it. The man’s relaxed expression had contrasted with the stark, high tech beside him.
“Why are you in my room? I have heard multiple voices at the back station, so there was most definitely someone else who could’ve helped me, and I know it wasn’t you. It was Spider-man. Do you know Spider-man? Why was the lab blown up? And why the hell are you still here?” You berate him, not allowing him to speak. It’s not a good journalism practice, you know, but this guy seemed to be difficult in answering questions, and you weren’t intrigued enough to listen to him for very long. You needed to get out of this hospital room as quickly as possible.
“Relax, someone wanted me to make sure you’re alive and well, and I can see that you are, so I’ll be leaving now.” The guy gets up, a smirk still on his face. You don’t push him farther. Apparently, you have a secret admirer, but you didn’t mind a few undisclosed secrets.
The phone on the bedside table rings, and you grab it to pick it up. The boy exclaims, but you ignore him, instead relaying some more information to your roommate, so she could get you out of there as quickly as possible. The guy leaves with his phone afterward, bidding you a quick wave, and soon after, you are discharged. With it being almost 7 in the morning, you perch at your PC, making some final adjustments to the week’s NCIT News. Opening up a page to write your headliner, ‘Kim Tech Lab In Shambles After Devastating Explosion’.
You find the shadow of your reflection in the monitor. At least you hadn’t died.
Arriving at your student office at 9, you find the boy from the day before lurking outside your door. You didn’t say a word to him, but still leave the door open for him to come inside. While busying yourself with spreads you ask, “Is there something you need?”
He freezes, pausing his fidgeting. “Yeah, I was, uh, at the robotics lab when the whole explosion happened, and I took some pictures.”
You look over them without saying anything. There was a shot of the lab on fire, after the fire had subsided, and most shockingly, one with a blurred Spider-man carrying you in his arms. Gripping the photo in your hands, you examine it for any edits. After a few moments you let yourself say, “This is amazing.” You don’t notice how the boy’s eyes had lit up at the compliment.
“I, uh,” the boy continues to wring his hands nervously.
“You were there during the explosion?” You begin your interrogation. The events of the evening prior were bizarre, and it was even more bizarre that this guy and his friend who ‘checked up on you’ were a part of the chaos.
“Yeah.” The boy says.
“So who was that guy that was in my hospital room?” You say quickly, enjoying the small second where he can’t mask his shock.
“I’m sorry?”
“He was also in your other pictures. His hair was strawberry blonde, and he was kinda cocky.”
“Oh, you’re talking about Haechan?” He pauses for a long moment as if he knew what he was about to say next, but was waiting for the right moment. “He was in your hospital room?”
“Yeah, he said someone wanted to make sure I was OK.” You continue to busy yourself. Sooyoung hadn’t sent her final draft on the Career Fair, yet. You wanted to reach for your phone to pester her, but the boy distracted you.
“What were you doing in that lab?” A look of concern flushes upon his face, it was endearing. “I mean, what are you doing here now? Shouldn’t you be in bed or something?”
“What? Did Haechan tell you I got a concussion or something?” You mock his choice of words.
The boy opens his mouth, but yours is faster. “And what about you? Shouldn’t you be in bed? You were in that explosion too.” The words came out harsher than to your liking, as if you were a mysterious person carrying a traumatic backstory, afraid to open up.
The boy doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and you just stare at him. Mostly to make him feel antsy, but his demeanor had shifted.
“I’ll take these and give you tagline. Thanks.” You say swiping his photos towards your copier.
He understands your gratitude as a sign of dismissal and heads towards the door.
“If you get any more photos of Spider-man, you’ll give them to me.” It was an abrupt statement, but you didn’t have time to regret it.
The boy turns to give you a small smile and curt nod. “Of course.”