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The Comfy Bean was the kind of place that existed in the perpetual twilight of fluorescent lighting and the rich, bitter aroma of coffee that had long since seeped into the walls. At 2:47 AM on a Tuesday, it was also the kind of place where time seemed to blur, where the line between night and early morning dissolved into something soft and indistinct.
Y/N wiped down the counter for what felt like the hundredth time, her movements automatic, her mind somewhere else entirely. The shop was empty except for a guy in the corner, hunched over his laptop like it held the secrets to the universe. Or at least the secrets to passing whatever class had him here at this ungodly hour.
She'd noticed him before. Hard not to.
He was always alone, always in that same corner spot near the outlet, always with those massive over-ear headphones clamped over a head of fluffy brown hair that looked perpetually disheveled in the most endearing way. His fingers flew across his laptop keyboard in bursts of inspiration, then would pause while he stared at the screen with an intensity that bordered on comical, his lips moving silently as if arguing with whatever he was working on.
Cute, Y/N thought for the millionth time. Really cute. Probably doesn't even know I exist cute.
She shook her head, focusing on restocking the sugar packets. This wasn't the time or place for crushes. This was the time for getting through her shift without falling asleep standing up.
The bell above the door chimed, and she looked up automatically. Just her luck, the cute guy was leaving. He was shoving his laptop into a battered backpack, the movement hurried, almost frantic. He grabbed his empty cup and headed for the door, giving her a quick nod as he passed the counter.
"Night," he mumbled, his voice rough from hours of silence.
"See you," Y/N replied, because apparently that was all her sleep-deprived brain could manage.
He was halfway out the door when it happened.
The change he'd left on the counter for a tip, a small handful of coins, slipped from his fingers as he fumbled with the door handle. They scattered across the floor in a metallic cascade, glinting under the fluorescent lights like tiny, fallen stars.
"Oh, crap, sorry, I'm so sorry-" He was already on his knees, scrambling to gather them, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. His hands were shaking, Y/N noticed. Actually shaking, like he'd had way too much caffeine or not nearly enough sleep.
Or like someone who'd just had a really, really bad night.
She was around the counter before she could think about it, kneeling down to help. "It's fine, don't worry about it. Happens all the time."
Up close, he looked even more exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes that no amount of concealer could hide, and his cheeks had that slightly hollow look of someone who'd forgotten to eat. Multiple times. In a row.
But it was the bruise that made her pause.
It was small, mostly healed, a faint yellowish-purple mark along his jawline that he'd probably hoped his jacket collar would hide. Y/N's eyes lingered on it for a second too long, and she saw him tense, saw the way his hand instinctively came up to touch it.
"Skateboard," he said quickly. "I'm... really bad at skateboarding."
She looked at him. At his nervous smile. At the way his eyes darted away from hers. At the small, almost imperceptible wince when he reached for a quarter that had rolled under a table.
Sure, she thought. Skateboarding. That explains the bruise on your jaw and the way you move like your ribs hurt.
But she just smiled and handed him the coins she'd collected. "Here. Wouldn't want you to lose your... skateboard fund."
He laughed, a short, surprised sound that seemed to catch him off guard. "Yeah. Thanks. I really appreciate it." He stood up, shoving the change into his pocket without counting it, and made for the door again.
"Hey," Y/N called out before she could stop herself.
He turned, one hand on the door, and for a moment, under the harsh fluorescent lights, he looked impossibly young and impossibly tired.
Y/N grabbed a cookie from the display case, one of the oversized ones with chocolate chips the size of her thumbnail, and held it out to him. "Here. On the house. You look like you need it more than the store's profits tonight."
He stared at the cookie like she'd just offered him a winning lottery ticket. Then his gaze traveled up to her face, and something in his expression shifted. The tiredness was still there, but underneath it, something warm flickered to life. His lips curved into a genuine smile, not the polite, automatic one from before, but a real one that made his eyes crinkle into happy crescents and completely transformed his face.
"You're an angel," he said, and his voice had lost its rough edge, replaced by something softer, almost wondering. "A real-life, cookie-giving angel."
Y/N felt her cheeks warm. "I'm a barista with an expired food budget and too many cookies. But I'll take the upgrade."
He laughed again, and this time it was fuller, warmer, the kind of laugh that made you want to hear it again. He walked back to the counter, accepting the cookie like it was something precious.
"I'm Jisung, by the way." He extended his free hand. "Han Jisung. Regular customer, terrible skateboarder, and apparently the recipient of your charity."
She shook his hand. His grip was warm, his fingers calloused in a way that didn't quite match the "music student" vibe she'd mentally assigned him. But then, what did she know? Maybe piano did that.
"Y/N," she said. "Night shift survivor, professional coffee pourer, and apparently, philanthropist."
"Y/N," he repeated, like he was tasting the name. "Nice to officially meet you, Y/N. Thanks for saving my night."
"It's just a cookie."
He looked down at it, then back at her, and there was something in his eyes, gratitude, yes, but also something deeper, something that looked almost like loneliness meeting kindness for the first time in a while. "No," he said quietly. "It's not. Trust me."
The moment stretched between them, fragile and unexpected. Then the bell above the door chimed again as a group of loud, laughing college students stumbled in, and the spell broke.
Jisung stepped back, tucking the cookie carefully into his jacket pocket like it was made of glass. "I should... go. Early class." He grimaced. "Well. Later today class. In a few hours. Sleep would probably be smart."
"Probably," Y/N agreed, already moving toward the new customers. "See you around, Jisung?"
He was at the door again, but he turned back, and that smile, the real one, made another appearance. "Yeah. See you around, Y/N."
The door swung shut behind him, and Y/N found herself smiling at nothing as she took the new customers' orders.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
He was back two nights later.
Y/N hadn't been waiting for him, exactly. She'd just... noticed when he walked in. That was all. Normal barista things.
He looked better this time, less like he'd been through a war, more like he'd at least gotten a few hours of sleep and a proper meal. The bruise on his jaw had faded to a barely-there smudge of yellow, and his movements were smoother, more coordinated. He gave her a small wave as he made his way to his usual corner, and Y/N felt an ridiculous little flutter in her chest.
Stop it, she told herself firmly. He's a customer. A cute customer who you gave a cookie to one time. That's all.
But when she brought his usual order, an americano, black, no sugar, to his table instead of making him come get it, she told herself that was just good customer service.
"Special delivery," she said, setting the cup down next to his laptop.
He looked up, startled, and his face broke into that familiar smile. "Oh, wow. They usually make you guys come to the counter for a reason, you know. It's, like, exercise or something."
"Consider it a reward for not losing all your change this time." She nodded toward the neat stack of bills he'd already placed at the edge of the table. "Very responsible of you."
He laughed, and yeah, that sound was definitely going to become a problem. "I'm learning. Slowly. Against my will."
"What are you working on, anyway?" She gestured at his laptop screen, which was covered in some kind of audio software she didn't recognize. "If you don't mind me asking. You're always here, always working on something. I'm nosy, clearly."
For a second, he looked almost shy. He ducked his head, running a hand through his already messy hair. "It's... music stuff. Producing. I'm in the music production program at the university, so..." He gestured vaguely at the screen. "Homework. Basically. But also not homework? Like, the fun kind of homework that's also stressful because it's your actual passion and also your grade depends on it and-" He cut himself off with a self-deprecating grin. "Sorry. I ramble when I'm tired."
"I don't mind," Y/N said, and meant it. "So you make beats? Like, actual songs?"
"Attempt to make songs. The results vary wildly." He tilted his head, studying her with sudden interest. "Do you like music? I mean, obviously everyone likes music, but do you actually listen to it? Like, really listen?"
Something in his intensity made her smile. "I do. Not as professionally as you, probably, but yeah. I'm that person who has playlists for everything. Walking to class playlist. Studying playlist. Pretending I'm in a movie while looking out the bus window playlist."
His eyes lit up. "Okay, but the movie playlist is essential. What's on it? Wait-" He held up a hand. "No, don't tell me. Let me guess."
"You're going to guess my bus window movie playlist?"
"I'm very intuitive. It's a gift." He leaned back in his chair, studying her with exaggerated concentration. "Okay. You're a night shift barista, so you're either a night owl or a procrastinator or both. You gave a stranger a cookie for no reason, so you're nice but also maybe a little impulsive. You noticed I had a bruise, which means you pay attention to details." His eyes sparkled with playful mischief. "Your movie playlist is... indie. But not pretentious indie. Like, coming-of-age indie. Stuff with good soundtracks and bittersweet endings. Lots of shots of people walking through cities at night."
Y/N stared at him.
He blinked. "What? Was I close?"
"How did you-" She shook her head, laughing. "That's actually... disturbingly accurate."
"Ha!" He pumped his fist in a small victory gesture. "I knew it. My powers of observation are unmatched."
Apparently, Y/N thought, remembering the bruise she'd noticed, the way he moved carefully, the way his hands had shaken. They really are.
"I should get back to work," she said reluctantly, nodding toward the counter where a new customer was waiting. "But... maybe you could play me something sometime? One of your songs?"
The shy look was back, but underneath it, she caught a flicker of genuine pleasure. "Yeah? You'd want to hear my stuff?"
"I just watched you correctly guess my entire personality based on nothing. I think I owe you at least one listen."
He grinned. "Deal. But you have to promise to be honest. No polite nodding."
"I promise to be brutally, offensively honest."
"Perfect. I'll hold you to that."
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
Over the next few weeks, Y/N learned a lot about Han Jisung.
She learned that he was actually funny, not just cute-in-a-shy-way funny, but genuinely, laugh-out-loud funny when he let himself relax. She learned that he was passionate about music in a way that made her own interests feel shallow by comparison, but he never made her feel dumb for not knowing technical terms. He'd explain things with such obvious joy, his hands moving as he talked, his eyes bright, and she found herself fascinated not just by the information but by him, by the way he came alive when discussing something he loved.
She learned that he was anxious. Not in a casual "oh I'm so stressed about this test" way, but in a deeper, more constant way that she recognized because she felt it too sometimes. He'd check his phone repeatedly during their conversations, his jaw tightening at certain notifications. He'd tense up when someone came in wearing a uniform or carrying a walkie-talkie. He'd sometimes go still and alert for no apparent reason, his head tilted like he was listening to something no one else could hear, before slowly relaxing again.
Weird, she thought. Really weird. But also... not in a bad way?
She learned that he liked his coffee black but would occasionally accept a pastry if she insisted. That he wrote lyrics in a battered notebook covered in stickers and coffee stains. That he had a habit of humming under his breath while he worked, melodies she'd catch fragments of before they disappeared. That he smiled more easily now when he saw her, that the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease when she sat down across from him during her breaks.
And she learned, one night when he'd stayed particularly late, that he was hiding something.
It was nearly 4 AM. The café was empty except for the two of them, and Y/N was supposed to have closed twenty minutes ago. But Jisung was still there, his headphones around his neck, staring at his laptop screen with an expression of intense concentration. She'd been sweeping around him, not wanting to rush him, when his phone buzzed.
She saw him glance at it. Saw his whole body go rigid. Saw something that looked almost like fear flash across his face before he masked it.
"I have to go," he said, already shoving his laptop into his bag with that same frantic energy from their first real interaction. "I'm so sorry, I know you're closed, I just, I have to-"
"Jisung." She put a hand on his arm, and he froze. Under her fingers, she could feel him trembling slightly, could feel the coiled tension in his muscles like he was ready to spring. "It's okay. Go. I'll get the door."
He looked at her, and for a moment, his guard dropped completely. She saw exhaustion and worry and something that looked almost like guilt. Then he was moving, shoving his phone in his pocket, heading for the door.
"Wait-" She grabbed a muffin from the display, wrapped it in a napkin, and pressed it into his hands. "In case you don't get to eat. And Jisung?"
He paused at the door.
"Be careful. Whatever it is. Just... be careful."
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or gratitude. Or both.
"I will," he said softly. "I promise."
And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, and Y/N was left alone in the quiet café, wondering what exactly she'd gotten herself into.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
Two hours later, she was closing up, exhausted and ready to collapse into bed. She'd just locked the door when her phone buzzed.
An unknown number. A single text:
Thanks for the muffin. And for not asking questions you definitely have. I'll explain someday. Maybe. If you still want to talk to me after. - J
She stared at the message for a long moment. Then, before she could overthink it, she typed back:
I make really good cookies. They're excellent bribes for explanations. Just so you know.
The reply came almost instantly:
Noted. ☺️
Y/N smiled at her phone, standing alone in the dark alley behind the café, and tried very hard not to think about how much she was looking forward to seeing him again.
The text messages became a thing.
It started small, a good morning here, a funny observation about a customer there. Jisung would send her pictures of his laptop screen covered in production software with captions like help I've created a monster or this beat is fighting me and I'm losing. Y/N would send him photos of ridiculous coffee orders, a venti extra hot soy no foam caramel macchiato with three pumps of vanilla and an extra shot, because apparently some people needed that specific of a caffeine delivery system.
You're telling me someone actually ordered that with a straight face? he texted one night.
With complete seriousness. Then complained that it wasn't hot enough.
Some people have never known true struggle and it shows.
She laughed out loud at that one, earning a weird look from a customer. She didn't care.
The texts were safe. Easy. They let her learn him in smaller doses, without the intensity of those late-night café conversations where she found herself forgetting to breathe when he really looked at her.
She learned he was a massive dork. He sent her memes that made no sense and then spent fifteen minutes explaining why they were funny. He had strong opinions about pineapple on pizza (pro) and the correct way to load a dishwasher (extremely pro, apparently, and willing to die on that hill). He sent her voice messages of him singing random snippets of songs he was working on, his voice rough and beautiful and so full of emotion it made her chest ache.
You're really good, she texted after one of them. Like, actually good. Not just "oh that's nice" good. Actually talented good.
His response took a while.
Thanks. That means a lot coming from you. ☺️
She was still smiling at her phone when her coworker Mina nudged her. "Okay, who is it? You've been making that face for like twenty minutes."
"What face?"
"The face. The 'I'm texting someone cute and trying to pretend I'm not' face." Mina grinned. "Spill."
"There's nothing to spill. He's just a customer. A regular."
"A regular who you give free cookies to and smile at like he hung the moon?" Mina raised an eyebrow. "Honey, I've seen you interact with actual celebrities who came in here. You did not make that face at them."
Y/N shoved her phone in her pocket. "His name is Jisung. He's in the music program. He's funny and kind of weird and I think he might be hiding something but I don't really care because when he smiles it's like-" She stopped, realizing she was rambling.
Mina's eyebrows had climbed so high they'd practically left her face. "Like?"
"Like everything gets brighter. Like the whole café feels warmer. Like I forget that I've been on my feet for eight hours and haven't had a real break." Y/N sighed. "I'm pathetic, aren't I?"
"You're smitten. There's a difference." Mina patted her shoulder. "Bring him around when I'm working. I want to see this sun-person for myself."
,
The next time Jisung came in, Mina was working.
Y/N had warned her to be normal, which was apparently the wrong thing to say because Mina's version of "normal" involved way too many questions and absolutely zero subtlety.
"So you're Jisung!" Mina said brightly as he approached the counter. "Y/N talks about you all the time."
Jisung's eyes flicked to Y/N, a delighted smile spreading across his face. "Does she now?"
"She does not," Y/N said quickly, her face heating. "Mina, I need you to restock the cups."
"In a minute. So, Jisung, what do you think of our Y/N? Isn't she the best? Such a hard worker. Very loyal. Great at remembering orders."
"Mina!"
Jisung was fully grinning now, his eyes doing that crinkly thing that made Y/N's stomach flip. "I think she's pretty great, yeah. Best barista in the city. Possibly the world." He leaned on the counter, addressing Mina but looking at Y/N. "She once saved my night with a cookie. I'm basically indebted to her for life."
"It was one cookie."
"A life-changing cookie. Don't minimize your impact."
Mina made a sound like a tea kettle reaching boiling point. "Oh, you two are adorable. I'm going to go restock cups now. Take your time."
She disappeared into the back, leaving Y/N and Jisung alone at the counter. He was still smiling at her, soft and warm, and she had to remind herself how to breathe.
"Your coworker is... intense," he said.
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "For the record, I also think you're pretty great. Just in case that wasn't clear."
Y/N's heart did something complicated. "Noted. Your usual?"
"You know it."
,
That night, he stayed late again.
The café emptied out around midnight, and by 1 AM, it was just them and one older man in the corner who was either deeply focused on his book or asleep with his eyes open. Jisung had abandoned his corner spot for a seat at the counter, his laptop pushed to the side while he nursed his third americano.
"You're going to vibrate out of your skin," Y/N observed, wiping down the counter next to him.
"Worth it. I finished something tonight. A track I've been working on for weeks." He bounced slightly in his seat, unable to contain his excitement. "It's actually good. Like, I'm not just saying that because I made it. I think it's genuinely good."
"That's amazing! Can I hear it?"
He hesitated, that familiar shyness flickering across his face. "Now? Here?"
"Why not? It's just us. Well, us and Steve." She nodded toward the sleeping man in the corner. "I don't think he'll complain."
Jisung bit his lip, considering. Then he pulled his headphones from around his neck and handed them to her. "Okay. But close your eyes. I can't watch you listen."
"That's weirdly specific."
"I'm a weirdly specific person. Close your eyes."
She closed her eyes.
He put the headphones over her ears, his fingers brushing against her hair, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. Then the music started, and she forgot about everything else.
It was soft at first, a gentle piano melody that felt like morning light through curtains. Then a beat dropped, subtle but insistent, and layers built on top of each other, synth and bass and something that sounded almost like rain. Vocals came in, his voice, processed and layered, singing words she couldn't quite make out but could feel. It built and built until it reached a peak that made her chest expand with something she couldn't name, and then it fell away, leaving just the piano again, fading into silence.
She opened her eyes.
Jisung was watching her with an expression she couldn't read, hopeful and terrified and vulnerable all at once.
"Well?" His voice was small.
Y/N took off the headphones slowly, carefully, like they were sacred. "Jisung."
"Yeah?"
"That was..." She shook her head, searching for words big enough. "That was beautiful. Like, actually, genuinely, makes-me-want-to-cry beautiful. You made that? You created that from nothing?"
The hope in his eyes grew. "You really think so?"
"I really think so." She reached across the counter and grabbed his hand without thinking. "You're so talented. I don't know if you know that, but you are. That song made me feel things I didn't know I could feel from a track."
He looked down at their hands, then back up at her, and something shifted in his expression. Softened. Deepened.
"Thanks, Y/N." His voice was rough. "That means... really. Thank you."
They stayed like that for a moment, hands connected across the counter, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound. Then Steve snorted awake in the corner, and the moment broke.
Jisung pulled his hand back, but he was smiling. "I should probably go. Let you actually close up."
"Yeah. Probably."
He packed up his laptop slowly, like he was in no hurry to leave. At the door, he paused. "Hey, Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for listening. For real. I don't... I don't usually let people hear my stuff. It's kind of a big deal."
"I'm honored."
He smiled, that real one, the one that made his eyes disappear, and slipped out into the night.
,
The next week was weird.
Jisung didn't show up for three days.
At first, Y/N told herself not to worry. He was a student. He had a life. He didn't owe her nightly appearances just because she'd gotten used to them.
But by day three, she was checking her phone constantly, re-reading their last conversation.
See you tonight? she'd texted. I saved you a cookie.
No response.
She tried not to read into it. Tried not to imagine all the reasons he might have suddenly gone silent. Tried not to replay every interaction, looking for signs she'd misread everything.
By day four, she was genuinely worried.
She was wiping down the same spot on the counter for the fifth time when Mina appeared at her elbow. "Still no word from mystery boy?"
"No."
"You've texted?"
"A few times. Nothing."
Mina's expression softened. "Hey. I'm sure there's an explanation. Maybe his phone broke. Maybe he's swamped with finals. Maybe-"
The bell above the door chimed.
Y/N's head snapped up.
It wasn't Jisung.
It was a delivery guy, holding a small envelope. "Order for Y/N?"
"That's me."
He handed it over and left. Y/N stared at the envelope like it might bite her. Her name was written on the front in handwriting she recognized, messy, slightly chaotic, with a tiny doodle of a spider next to it.
She tore it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, covered in his scrawl.
Y/N,
I'm so sorry for disappearing. Something came up. Something I can't really explain. Not yet. But I'm okay. I promise.
I know I owe you an explanation. And probably several cookies worth of apology. But I wanted you to know I'm thinking about you. And I wrote you something. It's not finished, but it's for you. So you know I didn't forget.
-J
P.S. The song is called "Coffee and Constellations." Because that's what you feel like. Warm and constant and full of light.
Tucked inside the envelope was a USB drive.
Y/N held it like it was made of glass.
, -
The USB drive sat on Y/N's nightstand for three days before she worked up the courage to listen to it.
She wasn't sure why she waited. Fear, maybe. Fear that the song wouldn't be as good as she remembered his other work being. Fear that it would be too good, that it would mean too much, that she'd somehow built this whole connection with Jisung around something that wasn't real.
But mostly fear that listening to it would make her miss him more, and she already missed him enough that it felt like a physical ache.
When she finally plugged it into her laptop, late on a Sunday night when the city was quiet and her apartment felt too empty, she wasn't prepared.
The song opened with the sound of a coffee machine, she recognized it immediately, the specific hiss and gurgle of the espresso maker at The Comfy Bean. Then a piano came in, simple and warm, and then his voice.
She was crying before the first verse ended.
It went on like that, verses about late nights and stolen glances, about feeling seen for the first time in years, about someone who made the weight of the world feel a little lighter. It was specific to her, to them, to every moment they'd shared in that café.
And it was beautiful.
Y/N listened to it four times in a row, crying through each one, before she finally texted him.
I listened.
His response came immediately, like he'd been waiting.
And?
And I don't have words big enough.
A long pause. Then:
Can I see you?
When?
Now?
She looked at the clock. 11:47 PM. She had work tomorrow. She didn't care.
The café?
The café.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
He was waiting outside when she got there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jacket pockets. The street was quiet, the café dark, and he looked up when he heard her footsteps with an expression that made her heart stutter.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi yourself."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite sure how to bridge the distance. Then Jisung pushed off the wall and closed the gap between them, stopping just close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For disappearing. For not explaining. For making you worry."
"You sent me a song."
"I did."
"A song you wrote about me."
His ears went pink. "Yeah. That."
Y/N looked up at him, at his tired eyes and the faint shadow of a bruise along his cheekbone that he probably thought she couldn't see in the dim light. "What happened, Jisung? Where did you go?"
He hesitated. Opened his mouth. Closed it.
"I can't-" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "There are things I can't explain. Not because I don't want to. Because I can't. Not yet."
"Try."
"I'm trying. I just-" He laughed, a frustrated sound. "What if I told you I have a really demanding part-time job? One that's unpredictable and sometimes dangerous and keeps me up all night and leaves me with bruises I can't explain?"
"I'd say that sounds like a terrible part-time job."
"It is. But it's also... important. And I can't quit. And I can't talk about it. And I hate that I can't talk about it, especially with you, because you're-" He broke off, looking away.
"I'm what?"
He looked back at her, and there was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable and unguarded. "You're the first person in a long time who makes me feel normal. Who looks at me like I'm just... Jisung. Not whatever else I am. Just me."
Y/N's throat tightened. "You are just Jisung. That's all I've ever seen."
"Yeah?" His voice was small.
"Yeah."
He smiled then, wobbly but real. "Okay. Okay, good. That's... really good."
They stood there in the quiet, the city humming softly around them. Y/N wanted to push, wanted to demand answers, wanted to know what he was hiding and why. But she also wanted this, wanted him here, wanted his smile, wanted whatever this fragile thing was between them.
So instead she said, "The song is incredible. You know that, right?"
His ears went pink again. "You really think so?"
"I really think so. I've listened to it like twenty times."
"Twenty?"
"Maybe more. I lost count."
He grinned, and it was like watching the sun come out. "I'm going to write you more. A whole album. You'll be sick of me."
"I doubt that."
Something sparked in his eyes, warm and hopeful. "Yeah?"
"Jisung, I-"
The rest of her sentence was lost to the sound of sirens.
They blared in the distance, growing closer, and Y/N saw Jisung's whole body tense. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something she couldn't hear, and his expression shifted, focus, alertness, something that looked almost like instinct.
"I have to go," he said, already stepping back.
"Now?"
"Now. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He was already moving, backing toward the alley. "I'll explain. Someday. I promise. Just-" He paused, looking at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Wait for me? Please?"
Before she could answer, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Y/N stood alone outside the locked café, listening to the sirens fade into the night, and wondered what she'd gotten herself into.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The excuses became a pattern after that.
Jisung would show up at the café, tired and bruised, with some story ready. Skateboarding accidents. Late-night study sessions that ran long. A friend who kept needing help moving furniture. A part-time job with weird hours.
Y/N listened to each excuse and nodded along, even when they didn't make sense. Even when the bruises were in places skateboard falls couldn't reach. Even when he'd flinch at sudden loud noises or go completely still for no apparent reason.
She didn't believe him. But she also didn't push.
Because in between the excuses, there were moments that felt real.
Like the night he stayed until close and helped her scrub the espresso machine, making up silly songs about coffee beans and complaining about the smell of old milk. Like the way he remembered her favorite pastry and started bringing one for her every time he came. Like the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching, soft and wondering, like she was something precious.
Like the night he fell asleep at his corner table, head pillowed on his arms, and she covered him with her jacket and just... watched him breathe for a while, his face peaceful in sleep in a way it never was when he was awake.
"You've got it bad," Mina observed, watching from the counter.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're literally staring at a sleeping boy like he's a work of art."
"He's just tired. It would be rude to wake him."
Mina snorted. "Sure. That's definitely the reason."
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The note came on a Tuesday.
Y/N was mid-shift when a delivery guy walked in with a small envelope. Same messy handwriting. Same tiny spider doodle.
Y/N,
I know I keep disappearing. I know I keep making excuses. I hate it. I hate that I can't tell you the truth. I hate that every time I leave, I'm scared it might be the last time you'll wait for me.
But I keep coming back. Do you know why?
Because you're the only place that feels like home.
I'll explain everything someday. When I can. When it's safe. Until then, I hope you'll keep letting me sit in your corner and drink your coffee and pretend I'm just a normal guy with a normal crush on a normal girl.
You're not normal, though. You're extraordinary. And I'm really, really glad you exist.
-J
P.S. I wrote you another song. It's called "Waiting."
Y/N read the note five times. Then she tucked it into her pocket, right over her heart, and finished her shift with a smile she couldn't wipe off her face.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The night everything changed started like any other.
Jisung was at his usual table, laptop open, headphones around his neck. Y/N was behind the counter, pretending to organize cups while actually watching him work. He'd been there for hours, and she was supposed to close in twenty minutes.
Then the lights flickered.
Jisung looked up immediately, his whole body going alert. The lights flickered again, and somewhere in the distance, Y/N heard a strange humming sound, low and building.
"What was that?" she asked.
Jisung was already standing, his laptop forgotten. "I don't know. Stay here."
"What? Jisung-"
The lights went out.
Complete darkness. The kind that pressed in from all sides, disorienting and absolute. Y/N heard customers gasp, heard someone drop something, heard the hum growing louder outside.
Then she heard Jisung's voice, close to her ear.
"I need you to lock the door behind me. Do not open it for anyone. Do you understand?"
"Where are you going?"
"I have to check something. Stay safe. Please." His hand found hers in the dark, squeezed once. "I'll come back. I promise."
"Jisung-"
But he was already gone. She heard the door open, heard the night sounds of the street rush in, and then silence.
The emergency lights kicked in a moment later, dim and flickering, casting long shadows through the café. Customers were muttering, pulling out phones, trying to figure out what was happening. Y/N moved on autopilot, reassuring them, handing out free bottles of water, all while her mind screamed one question on repeat:
Where did he go?
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The blackout hit without warning.
One moment, The Comfy Bean was humming along, fluorescent lights buzzing, espresso machine hissing, the low murmur of late-night customers. The next, everything went dark.
Y/N froze mid-wipe, the rag in her hand suddenly useless. Around her, customers cursed and fumbled for their phones, tiny screens flickering on like fireflies in the sudden darkness.
"Everyone stay calm," she called out, her voice steadier than she felt. "Emergency lights should kick in any second."
They did, dim, flickering things that cast long shadows and made the café feel like something out of a horror movie. Y/N moved on autopilot, apologizing to customers, handing out bottles of water, explaining that yes, the registers were down, no, she couldn't make coffee until the power came back.
Within twenty minutes, the café was empty.
Y/N should have closed up. Should have locked the doors and waited for the power to come back or gone home. But something kept her there, lingering by the counter, her phone battery draining as she scrolled through her last messages with Jisung.
You coming tonight? she'd texted hours ago.
Wouldn't miss it, he'd replied. Got something to show you.
But he hadn't shown. And now the city was dark, and she had no idea where he was, and the worry that had become her constant companion these past weeks was coiling tight in her chest.
He's fine, she told herself. He always is. He'll show up with some ridiculous excuse and a new bruise and you'll pretend to believe him and everything will be fine.
She grabbed her keys and decided to head home.
The back alley was pitch black. Her phone flashlight cut a weak path through the darkness, illuminating dumpsters and stacked boxes and the metal fire escape stairs zigzagging up the building. She fumbled with the lock, the keys slipping in her sweaty fingers,
A hand clamped over her mouth.
Y/N's scream was muffled into nothing. An arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her backward, dragging her away from the door. She kicked, she struggled, she tried to bite, but whoever held her was too strong, too big.
"Got a live one," a voice growled near her ear. Smelled like smoke and sweat. "Boss said anyone near this area tonight. Looks like we found someone."
No no no no-
She fought harder, terror giving her strength, but he just laughed and tightened his grip. She could see others now, shadows moving at the mouth of the alley, a van with its lights off. They'd been waiting. They'd been watching.
"Hold her still," someone else said.
And then,
THWIP.
The arm around her waist jerked away. The hand over her mouth disappeared. She heard a yelp, a thud, the sound of something, someone, hitting the dumpster hard.
She spun around.
The man who'd grabbed her was stuck to the dumpster. Both hands, pinned there by something white and glistening. Webbing. He was struggling, cursing, but he wasn't going anywhere.
Another thwip. Another thug, the one who'd been approaching from the side, suddenly found his feet glued to the pavement. He toppled forward with a shout.
And then a figure dropped from above, landing silently between Y/N and the rest of the alley.
Red and blue. White lenses. The spider emblem on his chest.
Spider-Man.
He stood there, back to her, shoulders relaxed like he didn't have a care in the world. "Sorry for the dramatic entrance," he said, his voice modulated but somehow still managing to sound cheeky. "Rough night for crime, I guess. You might want to pick a different alley next time. The ambiance is terrible."
The remaining thugs hesitated, exchanging glances. There were three of them still standing, plus the two he'd already webbed up.
"You think you're funny?" one of them spat.
"I know I'm funny. It's a whole thing." He tilted his head, and something about the gesture made Y/N's breath catch. "Now, here's the deal. You're going to get in your van and drive away. Or-" He held up a hand, and she saw something glinting between his fingers. "I make you drive away. Your choice."
They chose wrong.
What happened next was a blur. Movement so fast she could barely track it. Thwips and thuds and shouts. Bodies hitting walls, getting stuck to dumpsters, webbed to the pavement. It was over in seconds.
And then he was turning to face her, and the alley was quiet except for the sounds of the thugs groaning and cursing behind him.
"You okay?" he asked, and his voice was softer now, concerned. "Did any of them hurt you? Talk to me. Are you hurt?"
Y/N stared at him.
She stared at the suit, at the mask, at the way he held himself, weight slightly on one foot, like he was ready to move at any second. She stared at his hands, gloved fingers twitching slightly, a nervous habit she'd seen a hundred times across a café counter.
She stared at the way he tilted his head, waiting for her answer, and something clicked into place.
"Jisung?" she whispered.
He froze.
Complete, absolute stillness. Even the twitching stopped. The white lenses of his mask somehow conveyed pure panic.
"Uh," he said. "I... who's Jisung? Cool name. Very... handsome name, I'm sure. Is he your boyfriend? He sounds great. Really great guy. You should go find him. I'll just-" He gestured vaguely toward the rooftops. "Swing off. Do Spider-Man things. Very busy. Lots of crime to-"
"Jisung."
He stopped mid-gesture.
Y/N felt a smile tugging at her lips, relieved, overwhelmed, and impossibly fond. "Thank you, Spider-Man," she said softly, putting just enough emphasis on the name to make her point.
He deflated. His shoulders dropped, his head tilted forward, and a sound escaped him, half sigh, half laugh. "You know," he said quietly. "Of course you know. Because I'm an idiot who can't even-"
"Jisung."
He looked up.
She was smiling at him. Really smiling. Through the terror and the confusion and the thousand questions racing through her mind, she was smiling at him.
"You saved me."
"I mean. Technically. But also I've been lying to you for weeks, so-"
"Come here."
He blinked. "What?"
"Come here." She gestured him closer. "I can't reach you from there."
He hesitated for just a moment. Then he moved, not walking, exactly, but flowing into motion, a handspring that ended with him hanging upside down from the fire escape ladder, his masked face suddenly level with hers.
Y/N's heart stuttered.
He was right there. Inches away. Hanging upside down like it was the most natural thing in the world, his gloved hands gripping the ladder above him, his body swaying slightly in the night breeze.
"You're not freaking out," he observed, his voice small and vulnerable even through the modulator.
"I was scared," she admitted. "And you were here. So no. I'm not freaking out."
"But I'm Spider-Man. I've been lying. I've been making up stupid excuses and disappearing and-"
"You're also Jisung." She reached up, her fingers finding the edge of his mask where it met his jaw. "You're the guy who writes me songs and sends me bad memes and falls asleep in my café. You're the guy who saved my life."
He swallowed. She could see the movement in his throat. "Y/N..."
"Can I?" she whispered, her fingers hooking gently under the edge of the mask. "Just... can I see you?"
He nodded. The tiniest movement, but full of trust.
She pulled the mask up slowly, carefully, revealing his jaw first, then his lips, then his nose, then,
His eyes.
Jisung's eyes. Wide and vulnerable and shining with something that looked an awful lot like love. He had a fresh bruise on his cheekbone and dark circles under his eyes and he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"There you are," she breathed.
"Hi." His voice cracked. "I'm really sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to, every day, but I was scared you'd-"
She didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. The apology, the fear, the months of distance, it all dissolved in the space between them. She closed the small gap, her hands framing the exposed line of his jaw, and pressed her lips to his.
It wasn't a soft, gentle kiss. It was desperate. A collision. It was the answer to every unanswered text, every hollow excuse, every time she'd watched him walk away and wondered if she'd imagined the connection between them. His lips were warm and chapped, yielding for a half-second before he was kissing her back with a matching ferocity. This wasn't the tentative exploration of a first kiss; it was the frantic, hungry reunion of two people who had been starving for each other without ever knowing it.
The awkward angle of him being upside down vanished. All she could feel was him. The solid, grounding pressure of his mouth, the way his free hand flew from the ladder to tangle in her hair, his fingers gripping the strands like he was afraid she might disappear. She felt the rumble in his chest, a low groan that vibrated through her, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. He wasn't holding anything back anymore. The mask was gone, the secret was out, and all that was left was raw, unfiltered Jisung.
She poured every ounce of her fear for him, her anger at his lies, and her overwhelming, aching love into the kiss. She tasted the rain on his lips, felt the slight scrape of his stubble against her chin, inhaled the scent of city rain and something uniquely him. He tilted his head as best he could, deepening the kiss, and it was a brand new kind of intoxicating. It was a surrender. He was giving her everything.
When she finally pulled back, it was because her lungs were burning. They were both breathing hard, their breath mingling in the cold air. His eyes, those beautiful, familiar eyes, were wide and dark, blown wide with a dizzying cocktail of shock, awe, and something so profound it made her chest ache. A single tear had escaped and traced a path through the grime on his temple.
He didn't say "wow." He just stared at her mouth, then back to her eyes, as if trying to commit the entire moment to memory.
"That," he finally managed, his voice a raw, shaky whisper, "was not upside down." He swallowed hard. "That was right side up. For the first time in a long time."
She laughed, giddy and relieved and still shaking from everything. "You're ridiculous."
"I know." He smiled, that real smile, the one that made his eyes disappear. "But I'm your ridiculous. If you'll still have me."
Y/N looked at him, this impossible, wonderful, terrifying boy hanging from a fire escape in a Spider-Man suit, his mask pushed up just past his lips, looking at her like she was the answer to every question he'd ever asked.
"I'll have you," she said.
His smile widened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
And then he kissed her again, because apparently once wasn't enough, and she wasn't about to complain. His lips moved against hers, soft and sweet, and she felt his thumb trace gentle circles on her cheek, and for a moment, the dark alley and the unconscious thugs and the blacked-out city all faded away.
There was just them. Just this.
When they finally broke apart, he was grinning so wide it looked almost painful.
"We should probably go inside," he said. "Before more criminals show up. Or before I pass out from happiness. Either way."
Y/N laughed. "Inside sounds good."
He flipped down from the ladder, landing gracefully beside her, and she grabbed his hand before he could move away. His fingers intertwined with hers like they belonged there.
"Jisung?"
"Yeah?"
"We're going to talk about this. All of it. No more secrets."
"I know." He squeezed her hand. "I promise. No more secrets."
"And you have to warn me before you ditch me to fight guys with weird weapons."
He laughed, that full, bright laugh she loved. "Deal."
"And you have to let me help. However I can. First aid kits and snacks and someone to talk to when it gets hard. I'm in this now, whether you like it or not."
He stopped walking. Turned to face her, his expression soft and wondering.
"You're amazing," he said. "You know that?"
"I'm a barista who just got saved by Spider-Man. You're the amazing one."
"No." He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "You're the one who stayed. You're the one who looked at me, all of me, the complicated scary parts, and didn't run. You're the one who kissed me while I was hanging upside down like an idiot." He smiled. "You're the amazing one. I'm just the guy who's lucky enough to have you."
Y/N felt her eyes sting. "Jisung..."
"I mean it." He pressed his forehead to hers. "Every word."
They stood there for a long moment, foreheads together, breathing the same air. Then Y/N pulled back and tugged him toward the café door.
"Come on. I have cookies. And about a million questions."
He grinned and followed her inside.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The café was dark, lit only by the glow of emergency lights and the occasional sweep of headlights through the front windows. Jisung sat on one of the overturned stools, he'd flipped it right-side up after nearly knocking it over in his nervous rambling, while Y/N rummaged behind the counter.
"I know there's a first aid kit somewhere," she muttered, opening and closing cabinets. "Mina's always moving things. She says organization is 'fluid' and I say she's chaotic, but-" She emerged with a small red case. "Aha."
Jisung watched her approach, something warm and aching in his chest. She moved like she always did, purposeful, efficient, but with a gentleness underneath that he'd noticed from that very first night. The night she'd given him a cookie and changed everything.
"I really am sorry," he said again. It felt like he'd said it a hundred times already. It still didn't feel like enough.
Y/N set the kit on the counter beside him and pulled up another stool. "You've apologized. Several times. Very sincerely."
"But I haven't explained. Not really." He looked down at his hands, bare hands, no gloves, just his fingers twisting together in his lap. "I wanted to tell you. So many times. Like, embarrassing number of times. I'd literally be swinging home from stopping a robbery and thinking, okay, tonight, I'm just going to say it. And then I'd see you, and you'd smile, and I'd think, what if that smile goes away? What if you look at me differently? What if-"
"Jisung."
He looked up.
Y/N was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Soft, though. That much he could tell. "You're rambling."
"I do that when I'm nervous."
"I know." She reached out and took one of his hands, stilling his fidgeting. "I've noticed. It's kind of cute."
His heart did something complicated. "Cute?"
"Cute." She squeezed his fingers. "Now. Tell me. All of it. But maybe start from the beginning? Because I have approximately one million questions, and the first one is, how long have you been Spider-Man?"
He took a deep breath.
And then he told her.
He told her about the spider bite, about the powers that had seemed like a miracle until he realized what they cost. He told her about Uncle Ben, his voice cracking on the name even now, years later. He told her about the weight of responsibility, the nights he couldn't sleep, the people he couldn't save. He told her about the loneliness, the absolute, crushing loneliness of being the only one who could do what he did, of having no one to talk to about the things he saw, the things he carried.
He told her about the café. About how he'd stumbled in one night after a particularly brutal fight, bruised and exhausted and not sure he could make it home. About how he'd sat in the corner and tried to disappear, and how she'd looked at him, really looked at him, and seen someone worth saving.
"That cookie," he said, his voice rough. "It sounds stupid, but that cookie meant everything. Someone saw me. Someone cared, even for a second, with no idea who I was. And I kept coming back because... because you kept seeing me. Night after night. You'd smile, you'd ask about my music, you'd save me pastries and pretend it was because they were going to expire. And for those few hours, I wasn't Spider-Man. I was just Jisung. Just some tired student with a caffeine addiction and a crush on the prettiest barista in the city."
Y/N's eyes were bright. "A crush, huh?"
"A massive crush." He laughed, wet and a little shaky. "Embarrassing, soul-crushing, write-songs-about-you-in-the-middle-of-the-night crush. Still have it, by the way. Probably always will."
"Good." She was smiling now, tears spilling over despite the smile. "Because I have one too. On some idiot who can't stop getting hurt and disappears in the middle of conversations and writes me songs that make me cry."
"That's me." He squeezed her hand. "That's definitely me."
She leaned forward and kissed him again, soft, brief, a punctuation mark rather than a sentence. When she pulled back, she cupped his face in her hands, thumbs brushing away the tear tracks on his cheeks.
"I like Han Jisung," she said firmly. "The one who sends me bad memes and falls asleep in my café and hums while he works. And I think Han Jisung, the amazing, dorky, music-producing Spider-Man, is pretty great too." She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Just... maybe try not to get hurt? And warn me before you have to ditch a date to fight a guy with a lightning gun?"
He laughed, full and bright and absolutely giddy with relief. "Deal. I can do that. Probably. I mean, the warning part. The not-getting-hurt part is... less guaranteed. But I'll try. I promise I'll try."
"You better." She kissed him again, quicker this time. "Now hold still. I'm going to clean up that cut on your cheek, and you're going to tell me more about the lightning gun guy. Fair warning: I'm going to have opinions."
"Yes, ma'am."
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The next few weeks were an exercise in learning to balance.
Jisung had spent so long keeping his worlds separate, Spider-Man in one box, Han Jisung in another, never the two meeting, that integrating them felt like defusing a bomb while riding a unicycle. But Y/N made it easier.
She started small. A first aid kit appeared on the fire escape outside his apartment window, tucked behind a loose brick where he couldn't miss it. Inside, she'd packed bandages and antiseptic wipes and painkillers, along with a sticky note that read: For when you're stupid. Love, your favorite barista. ❤️
He found it at 3 AM after a particularly rough night, bleeding from a gash on his arm and so tired he could barely stand. He'd laughed until he cried, sitting on his fire escape in his suit, clutching that little kit like it was made of gold.
The snacks started appearing too. Protein bars in his usual café corner. A bag of his favorite chips tucked into his backpack when he wasn't looking. Once, a fully assembled sandwich with a note: Eat this. You forgot lunch again. I can tell by the way you're looking at the pastry case like it owes you money.
He brought it with him on patrol that night, eating it while perched on a water tower, and decided it was the best sandwich he'd ever had.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
For Y/N's part, she learned to read him in new ways.
She could tell now when the tiredness in his eyes was just sleep deprivation versus when it was the bone-deep exhaustion of someone who'd spent hours swinging through the city, stopping crimes, carrying weight no one else could see. She could tell by the way he moved, smooth or stiff, fluid or careful, how bad the night had been.
She learned to ask questions without pushing, to offer comfort without making it obvious she was offering. She'd slide a coffee across the counter and ask, "Late night?" and he'd know she meant Are you okay? and he'd answer honestly, sometimes with words, sometimes just with a look.
And when the answers were bad, when he couldn't quite hide the shadows in his eyes, she'd find an excuse to sit with him. A break that lasted longer than it should. A sudden need to reorganize the sugar packets at his table. She'd be there, quietly present, and somehow that made everything feel more bearable.
"You're really good at this," he told her one night, his head pillowed on his arms on the counter, watching her wipe down the espresso machine.
"At wiping counters?"
"At... this." He gestured vaguely between them. "At being... you. At making everything feel less heavy."
She set down her rag and came to stand in front of him. "That's because you're not alone anymore. You don't have to carry everything by yourself."
"I know." He reached out and hooked a finger through her belt loop, tugging her closer. "It's still weird. Good weird. But weird."
"Good weird I can work with." She ran her fingers through his hair, and he leaned into the touch like a cat seeking warmth. "You hungry? I have leftover cookies."
"I'm always hungry. But also-" He looked up at her, eyes soft. "Can we just stay like this for a minute? You're really comfortable."
She laughed softly. "We can stay like this as long as you want."
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
He left her things too.
Little origami spiders, folded from napkins, appearing in unexpected places. One tucked into her apron pocket. One balanced on the edge of her coffee cup. One sitting on her pillow when she got home one night, she still didn't know how he'd gotten in, and she'd decided she didn't want to know.
He left her voice messages of song snippets, unfinished melodies that he'd hum into his phone in the middle of the night. She'd listen to them on repeat, picking out the threads of emotion woven through each note, and text back her favorites.
He left her pieces of himself, the vulnerable parts, the scared parts, the hopeful parts, and she held each one like it was precious.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The first time she saw him suit up and leave, knowing where he was going and why, was harder than she'd expected.
They'd been at her apartment, watching a movie, well, she had been watching a movie; he'd been half-asleep against her shoulder for the past hour. The buzzer on his wrist had gone off, quiet but insistent, and he'd gone from drowsy to alert in the space of a heartbeat.
"I have to-"
"I know." She'd already grabbed his bag, the one he kept by the door with spare web fluid and a change of clothes. "Go."
He'd looked at her, torn. "I hate leaving like this."
"I know that too." She'd kissed him quick and firm. "Come back safe. Text me when you can. I'll leave the window unlocked."
He'd smiled, grateful, worried, full of something that made her chest ache. And then he was gone, a blur of red and blue disappearing into the night.
She'd sat by the window for two hours, phone in hand, until finally a text came through: All safe. Tired. Coming home.
And he had. Climbing through her window at 4 AM, suit half-off, exhaustion written in every line of his body. She'd pulled him into bed without a word, held him until he fell asleep, and kissed his forehead when he mumbled her name in his dreams.
It became their new normal.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
"You're different lately," Mina observed one afternoon, watching Y/N organize the pastry case with more attention than it required.
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Lighter? Happier? You smile at your phone a lot. Like, a lot a lot." Mina leaned on the counter, eyes narrowing. "Is this about mystery boy? The one who writes you songs?"
Y/N felt her cheeks warm. "His name is Jisung. And yes. Things are... good. Really good."
"Good how?"
"Good like-" Y/N paused, searching for words that wouldn't give everything away. "Good like I finally feel like I know him. All of him. And he knows me. And it works."
Mina studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The look. The 'I've found my person' look." She smiled, genuine and warm. "I'm happy for you, Y/N. Even if he is a mysterious night owl with questionable sleep habits."
"He's worth it."
"Yeah." Mina patted her shoulder. "I can tell."
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
That night, Jisung showed up at the café with his laptop and a nervous energy that Y/N recognized immediately.
"You finished something," she said, setting his coffee in front of him. "I can tell by the bouncing."
He grinned. "I finished something. A whole something. An album something."
Y/N's eyes went wide. "An album? Like, a real album?"
"Like a collection of songs I've been working on. Some of them you've heard. Some of them..." He ducked his head, ears pink. "Some of them are new. And they're all for you. Or about you. Or because of you."
"Jisung."
"I know it's a lot. You don't have to listen to all of it at once. You can take your time. Or never listen to it at all. I just-" He took a breath, looked up at her. "I wanted you to know. What you've done for me. What you mean to me. And music is how I say things I can't say any other way."
Y/N felt tears prick at her eyes. "Can I listen now?"
"Now? Here?"
"There's no one here. And I have fifteen minutes left on my break." She came around the counter and sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. "Play it for me. Please."
He hesitated for just a moment. Then he pulled out his headphones, the big over-ear ones she'd seen a hundred times, and settled them gently over her ears. His fingers lingered at her temples, warm and careful.
"Close your eyes," he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
The first song started, and she recognized it immediately-"Coffee and Constellations," the one he'd written after their first real conversation. But it was fuller now, more polished, with layers she hadn't heard before. Then came "Waiting," the one from his note, and then new songs-"Late Night Regular," "Fire Escape," "The Girl Who Saw Me."
Each one was a piece of their story. Each one was a love letter set to music.
By the time the last song faded, an instrumental piece called "Home" that made her think of warm coffee and safe spaces and a boy who'd finally found somewhere to belong, tears were streaming down her face.
She opened her eyes.
Jisung was watching her with that expression, hopeful and terrified and so full of love it made her breath catch.
"Y/N?" His voice was small. "Are you okay? Was it too much? I can-"
She didn't just pull the headphones off; she ripped them away, letting them clatter to the floor. The music was gone, but its echo was still vibrating in her bones, in her soul. Before he could finish his nervous question, she launched herself forward, her hands framing his face, pulling him into her.
This wasn't a kiss. It was a confession. It was every unspoken "I love you" he had ever layered into a melody, now given form. Her lips met his with a force that was born from the overwhelming symphony still playing in her head. It was desperate and deep and utterly consuming. She poured the sound of "Coffee and Constellations" into it, the ache of "Waiting," the triumphant joy of "Home." She tasted the salt of her own tears on his lips, mingling with the raw, unguarded emotion pouring from him.
He made a sound, a choked, breathless gasp of surprise that was instantly swallowed by the ferocity of her kiss. His hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, flew to her back, one splaying wide between her shoulder blades, the other fisting in the fabric of her shirt at her waist. He wasn't just kissing her back; he was holding on for dear life, pulling her flush against him as if she were the only solid thing in a world that had just been completely remade. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and it was no longer just her confession, it was his. It was the bridge of every song, the crescendo, the final, crashing chord that resolved everything into this one, perfect, breathtaking moment. It was a kiss that said, "You heard me. You finally, truly heard me." And her answer was a resounding, silent, "Always."
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
"I love them," she whispered. "I love all of them. I love you."
His eyes went wide. "You-"
"I love you, Jisung. The real you. All of you. Spider-Man and music nerd and anxious mess and the most talented person I've ever met. I love you."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then his face crumpled into something that was half smile, half sob, and he pulled her into a hug so tight she could barely breathe.
"I love you too," he mumbled into her hair. "So much. So, so much. I've been wanting to say it for weeks but I was scared it was too soon or too much or-"
"It's not too much." She pulled back just enough to look at him. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
"I'm really not."
"You are to me."
He laughed, wet and happy, and kissed her again, softer this time, sweeter, like they had all the time in the world.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
Later, after the café closed and they'd walked hand in hand through the quiet streets, they ended up on a rooftop. Not because he had to fight anyone, just because he wanted to show her his city from above.
They sat on the edge, legs dangling over the side, watching the lights flicker below. Jisung had one arm around her, and she was tucked against his side, warm and content.
"This is where I come sometimes," he said quietly. "When I need to think. Or when I can't sleep. Or when I just need to remember why I do this."
She looked out at the city, sprawling and beautiful, full of light and shadow. "It's incredible."
"It's home." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "And now you're here. Which makes it even better."
She smiled, leaning into him. "I'm glad you showed me."
"Me too."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the city breathe below them. Then Jisung shifted, pulling something from his pocket.
"I made you something," he said, slightly sheepish. "Another thing, I mean. Besides the album. Which was already a thing. A very big thing. This is smaller. But also, just, here."
He pressed it into her palm. A small origami spider, but different from the napkin ones, this one was made from something shiny, metallic, that caught the light.
"It's from one of my old suits," he explained. "The fabric has this weird reflective property. I thought, I don't know, I thought you might like something that's part of that world. Part of me. So you always have a piece of it. Of me."
Y/N looked at the little spider in her palm, then at him, at this impossible, wonderful boy who'd given her his heart in songs and secrets and tiny folded pieces of his old life.
"I'll treasure it forever," she said. "Just like I treasure you."
He smiled, that real smile, the one that made his eyes disappear, and kissed her again, soft and sweet, right there on the rooftop above the city.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The new balance looked like this:
Jisung still swung through the city at night, still stopped crimes and saved people and carried weight no one else could see. But now, when it got too heavy, he had somewhere to go. Someone waiting.
He'd find himself on a rooftop across from The Comfy Bean, watching through the window as she wiped down tables or laughed with customers. And when he dropped by later, not as Spider-Man, just as Jisung, she'd look up and smile like he was the best part of her night.
Sometimes he'd stay until close, helping her clean, making her laugh with ridiculous stories. Sometimes he'd show up exhausted and bruised, and she'd pull him into the back room and patch him up without a word, her touch gentle and sure. Sometimes he'd climb through her window at 3 AM, too wired to sleep, and they'd lie in the dark and talk about nothing and everything until dawn.
And sometimes, on the good nights, the quiet nights, he'd take her to his favorite rooftops and they'd watch the city together, and he'd think about how different everything was now. How he wasn't alone anymore. How the weight felt lighter because someone was helping him carry it.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
"You're staring," Y/N said one night, not looking up from the espresso machine.
"I'm appreciating." He was at the counter, chin in his hand, watching her work. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Absolutely. Staring is creepy. Appreciating is romantic. I'm being very romantic right now."
She glanced up, amused. "By watching me clean coffee grounds?"
"You make everything look beautiful. Even coffee grounds." He paused. "Especially coffee grounds."
She laughed, that full, bright sound he loved, and shook her head. "You're impossible."
"You love it."
"I love you." She came around the counter and kissed his forehead. "Impossible tendencies and all."
He caught her hand before she could pull away, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Best thing that ever happened to me. You know that?"
"I'm a barista who gave you a cookie."
"You're the person who saw me. Who stayed. Who looked at all of me and didn't run." He smiled up at her. "You're everything."
Her eyes softened. "Jisung..."
"I mean it. Every word."
She leaned down and kissed him properly, right there in the middle of the café, and he thought, not for the first time, that this was what home felt like.
Not a place. Not a city. Not even a rooftop with a view.
Her.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
Later that night, after the café closed and they'd walked home together, Jisung stood on her fire escape, ready to swing back to his apartment. But he paused, looking through the window at her inside, moving around her small kitchen, making tea, glancing up to smile at him through the glass.
He pulled out his phone and typed quickly.
Thanks for existing.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. He watched her read it, watched her smile, watched her type back.
Thanks for letting me exist alongside you.
Always.
Goodnight, Spider-Man.
Goodnight, my favorite barista.
He put his mask on, took one last look at her through the window, and swung off into the night. But he knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter where he went, no matter what he faced, he'd always have somewhere to come back to.
Someone to come back to.
And that made all the difference.
/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡/ᐠ > ˕ <
The alley behind The Comfy Bean was a canyon of shadows, smelling of damp brick and week-old garbage. It was the long exhale after a busy shift, the moment the day's armor of customer-service smiles and the hiss of the espresso machine fell away, leaving only the echo of her own footsteps and the cold city air. Y/N's keys were a familiar, jagged weight in her palm, her knuckles white as she walked, a practiced rhythm of glances over her shoulder. The vulnerability was a shiver down her spine, a constant, low-grade hum of anxiety.
She never heard him coming.
One moment, the only sound was the scuff of her worn sneakers on the pavement. The next, a soft thwip cut through the night, a sound like a tape measure snapping back. A shadow detached itself from the fire escape above, resolving into the familiar, impossible shape of him. He hung there, a silent, upside-down figure against the murky orange glow of the distant streetlights, his white lenses gleaming like two new moons.
"Evening, gorgeous," Spider-Man's voice came, a warm, intimate baritone filtered through the mask's modulator. It was a sound reserved only for her. "Taking the scenic route? I hear the dumpsters are particularly fragrant tonight. Very atmospheric."
The jolt in her chest was a familiar thrill, a lightning strike of fear and delight. "I'm going to have a heart attack," she breathed, her hand flying to her throat. "My obituary is going to say 'death by boyfriend-induced whiplash'."
"First of all, that's a terrible headline. Second of all-" He lowered himself in a slow, controlled sway, his body a fluid arc against the brick, until his masked face was inches from hers. "-you'd miss me too much."
And she would. God, she would.
This was their ritual. A secret communion in the city's forgotten spaces. He came to her after the night had tried to break him, and she was here to put him back together. Sometimes he was vibrating with a fight's energy, words spilling out in a torrent of near-misses and clever quips. Other times, like tonight, he was quiet, the stillness of the alley a mirror for the exhaustion she knew clung to his bones.
Her hand rose, not with hesitation but with the certainty of a well-loved prayer. Her fingers traced the seam where the red fabric met his jaw, a path she knew by heart. She felt the slight tension in the muscles there, the way he held himself perfectly still, surrendering to her touch. His lenses widened, a silent gasp. She hooked her fingers under the edge and pulled, slowly revealing the landscape of him. The sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, the stubborn slope of his nose. She stopped just short of his eyes, leaving him half-hidden, half-revealed.
Jisung's breath hitched, a quiet, audible surrender. It did every time.
"There you are," she whispered, the words a benediction.
And then she kissed him.
It wasn't a simple press of lips. It was an anchor. She leaned into him, pouring all the warmth from the café, all the safety she wished she could wrap around him, into the connection. His lips were soft and warm against the cool night air, and for a moment, he was perfectly still, just receiving it. Then he kissed her back, and it was like a dam breaking. His gloved hands, capable of punching through concrete, came up to frame her face with impossible gentleness, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of her cheeks. It was a kiss of desperate relief, of finding your only port in a hurricane. He poured the night's chaos into her, and she met it with her own unwavering calm, a silent promise: I'm here. You're safe. You're home.
When they broke apart, the world rushed back in, the distant wail of a siren, the drip of water in a downspout. He was grinning, she could feel it in the way his lips curved against hers, even with the mask still bunched under his nose.
"You know," he said, his voice slightly muffled, thick with emotion, "this is probably in the top five weirdest things about our relationship."
"Only top five?" she teased, her own smile wide. "I'm disappointed."
He laughed, a real, unguarded Jisung laugh. "Rough night?"
"Better now," he said, his voice soft and sincere.
"Same place tomorrow?"
"Always."
He squeezed her hands once more before pushing off, his body a graceful arc as he soared back up to the fire escape. He paused, a silhouette against the sky.
"Hey, Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"I really do love you," he said, his voice carrying down to her, clear and true. "Just in case the upside-down-alley-kissing wasn't obvious enough."
She looked up at this ridiculous, wonderful, self-sacrificing boy, her heart so full it felt like it might overflow. "It's the clearest thing in the world, Jisung. I love you too."
With a soft, happy sound, he was gone, a blur of red and blue melting into the labyrinth of the rooftops. Y/N stood there for a moment longer, the alley no longer feeling quite so dark or menacing. She shook her head, a smile still playing on her lips, and continued her walk to the car, the weight of her keys feeling a little lighter now.