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“ Breaking news ,” the static voice of the news reporter cuts through the music of whatever mind-numbing commercial was playing earlier, “ We have exclusive new footage of Black Cat’s attack on Jinyoung & Co Jewellers yesterday night. ”
“This again?” Minho scoffs, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly and watching the news broadcast from behind the couch. Jisung pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing and preparing his poor head for an earful of bickering.
“What do you mean again ?” Changbin shoots back, holding the remote in both hands and staring straight ahead at the television, “This literally just happened last night. It’s not again .”
“Well I’m already bored,” Minho shrugs, stomping around to the front of the couch and snatching the remote out of Changbin’s grip. He points it at the screen and clicks it off without a second thought, tucking it under his arm and flopping down onto the couch next to Jisung.
“What th—!” Changbin stares at the TV in disbelief, then glares daggers at Minho, “I was watching that!”
“ I was watching that !” Minho mocks him childishly, tucking into Jisung’s side and burying the remote somewhere in between their pressed-together legs. He huffs out a sigh at the same time that Changbin makes an indignant noise, Minho’s eyes fluttering shut as he silently resigns himself from the argument.
He’s been so uptight recently that Jisung is happy to see him relax a little, feeling the tension leave the older’s muscles as he buries himself into the spot under Jisung’s arm. Minho’s always been skittish, tail standing up like a cat, but these days he seems more stressed than usual. It worries Jisung, but he knows that if he makes a move to ask his friend about it, Minho will only bristle harder and show his claws.
So he lets Minho come to him, curl up for a cat nap and snooze his troubles away. There’s a quiet little yawn and a mumbled string of incoherent noises, and then Minho is sagging into Jisung’s side and dozing. Once he’s sure that he’s asleep, Jisung leans back on the couch and gives Changbin a weary glance.
“Suddenly my headache is gone,” Changbin drawls sarcastically, eyes glaring daggers at Minho’s snoozing face. Jisung only rolls his eyes, wrapping his arm around Minho’s shoulders and staring ahead at the black TV screen.
“Funny. Mine’s still here,” he casts a pointed look at Changbin, who pretends like he hasn’t heard Jisung and hums quietly.
“So when are you gonna tell him?” Changbin probes, not because he’s curious, but because he just enjoys being annoying. He treats it like a full-time job.
Changbin makes a dramatic noise of effort as he stands up to turn the television back on the old-fashioned way, pressing the button at the bottom of the screen.
“That I’m Spiderman?” Jisung takes a shot at filling in the blank that Changbin’s question left, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
“That you’re Sp—?! No, dumbass, that you’re in love with him,” Changbin scoffs like it’s obvious, and Jisung’s spine straightens. He feels his cheeks grow warm and he clears his throat, looking down at the top of Minho’s silvery head.
Changbin’s not wrong. Jisung is in love with Minho. But he’d rather fight a million villains than be rejected by his best friend, to risk losing what they have just to pursue his silly daydreams.
“Probably never,” Jisung mutters, carding his hands through soft grey hair and chewing on his bottom lip. The black roots poking out from the crown of Minho’s head send a twinge through his stomach and up into his throat.
As if on cue, Minho stirs slightly, yawning and reaching his arms out to stretch like a sleepy kitten. He blinks the sleep away from his eyes, slowly coming back to the world of the conscious and tugging on Jisung’s weak little heart.
“How are you so loud ,” he whines quietly, pulling away to stretch his back. Jisung instantly mourns the loss of body heat, and he stands up quickly to prevent himself from reaching out and tugging Minho back into his side.
“It’s getting late,” Jisung says dumbly, as if the darkness outside the window isn’t proof enough of the time, shuffling on the carpet and shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, “I need some rest before the trip tomorrow.”
It’s not totally a lie—he decided to tag along with the college dance team on their short trip to Incheon to collaborate with another crew, and Jisung is excited, but he’s also dreading waking up early enough to make it to the bus on time. His alarm is set for eight in the morning, and he thinks it should be illegal to wake up at a time with a single digit in the hours place—the things he does to gain Minho’s favor. Gay brownie points.
“You’re not staying the night?” Minho pouts, rubbing his cheek with his palm and yawning once again before he’s fully awake, “I’ll miss your stupid big head.”
Jisung falters, steps stuttering as he walks to the front door. He’s weak.
“Nah, sorry Min,” he shrugs off the flips of his heart as he bends down to tug his boots on, “I need my beauty sleep.”
He can hear Minho mumble something in what sounds like disagreement, but he doesn’t quite catch it enough to banter back.
Offering Minho and Changbin an animated wave, Jisung bids them goodnight and slips out of their apartment unit. He’s thankful that their place is only on the second floor, bounding down the stairs and carrying his momentum to fly out of the foyer door.
It’s dark—November nights creeping up earlier and earlier, the winter chill settling in the air around this time of year. The walk to his dorm is long, but not one that Jisung’s unfamiliar with, and after perhaps hundreds of times traveling it, he’s come to find it calming. As calming as the burning in his calves can be. Shin splints can be romantic.
He hadn’t been in bed for more than five minutes when his room was filled with red and blue lights and the streets echoed with wailing sirens. Silently resenting his superhero status, Jisung groans as he rolls out from under his covers and scrambles to his feet. He moves quickly but begrudgingly, tugging his mask over his bedhead before popping open the lock on his window.
He’s honestly lost track of how many times he’s crawled out of the rickety window, muscles aching as he maneuvers his way through the gap and onto the fire escape.
A trio of police cars fly through the street below him, heading straight for the city center and providing an easy follow-along guide for Jisung. Shaking off his sleepiness and stretching his wrists, he shoots his first web at a street lamp, using the momentum to swing between the lights and trail behind the speeding police.
Whether it’s from sleep or realization, he isn’t sure, but Jisung’s mouth goes dry when he sees where they’ve screeched to a stop up ahead. A handful of cops spill out of the cars, all bustling toward the locked glass doors of the museum.
Hoards of police all try their hand at getting inside the building, doors rattling against their locks and windows not budging. Even with his relatively poor eyesight, Jisung can see the flashing white lights of the alarms inside the museum through the glass, and the shrill noise mixes with the cries of the police sirens to create possibly the worst thing that he’s ever heard. And he’s heard Changbin sing-yelling in the shower.
It takes him less than a few seconds to spot the silhouette of a slim figure perched on top of the museum, black leather flickering red and blue as the police lights reflect off of the slick shine of his suit.
Of course.
A museum. Full of valuables, priceless items—but not money.
The perfect spot for Black Cat.
He’s never had the privilege of meeting Black Cat, always arriving at the scene early enough to see the chaos but too late to catch a glimpse of the thief himself. But he can recognize the suit, the circumstances, and especially the pair of black cat ears sticking up from his outline against the city skyline.
As Jisung swings closer, he can see that Black Cat has got a bulging duffel bag at his feet, certainly filled with irreplaceable artifacts from inside the city’s prized museum. It’s a mystery how he managed to snatch them without picking a lock on a door or window, the sound of police officers trying in vain to get into the museum still echoing through the streets.
Jisung guesses that he used some sort of grappling hook, descending from the ceiling to swipe the artifacts without setting foot on the ground, but he decides not to dwell on it for too long, focusing on the here and now.
He quickly moves to the base of the building, sneaking past the groups of oblivious police officers and swiftly sprinting to the rear entrance. Sticking the fingers of his suit to the brick wall, he begins ascending carefully, leaving a small trail of web behind him to catch in case he falls.
Nearly halfway up the museum, Jisung frowns as he hears a faint, haunting hum cutting through the harsh sounds of police sirens and burglar alarms. It isn’t until he looks up that he realizes that Black Cat is standing near the precipice of the wall that he’s climbing, staring back down at him with the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.
Jisung picks up the pace, scaling the bricks quickly in an effort to confront the villain as soon as possible.
“The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout,” Black Cat’s humming morphs into real words, the familiar melody sending a small shiver down Jisung’s spine.
He reaches the edge of the wall, webbed red fingers grabbing onto the metal lip that lines the top perimeter of the museum.
Black Cat bends down, squatting so that his leather-masked face is about a foot away from Jisung’s. His silvery hair falls in front of his face, head cocked to the side.
“Down came the rain and washed the spider out! ” he sings, punctuating the last note with a stomp to Jisung’s fingers.
The sharp ridges of Black Cat’s combat boots dig into his hands, causing him to let out a shriek, immediately dropping off of the edge of the building and barely catching himself with a web. With next to no grace, he manages to prevent himself from falling to certain death by only a few feet, but he ends up caught up in his own webs.
Struggling against the silk wrapped around his shoulders and his torso, he startles to a still when he hears a pair of chunky black boots hit the ground next to him. It’s a quiet landing, all things considered.
Black Cat slings the priceless duffel bag over his shoulder and offers Jisung a vulpine smile, walking toward him slowly. Even with his Spiderman mask on and his superhero adrenaline in full force, Jisung can’t help but feel like a mouse being cornered by a hungry alleycat.
“Better luck next time, Spiderboy,” Black Cat places a leather-gloved finger under Jisung’s chin, tilting his head upward. Jisung fights the action and keeps his eyes trained on Black Cat’s face the whole time; his sharp jawline and sharper nose, his pretty teeth, and his shiny silver hair that falls haphazardly around a pair of pointy cat ears.
“Hm,” Black Cat lets out a small hum from the back of his throat before spinning on his heel, leaving Jisung caught in his webs in favor of sprinting down the alley.
Feebly picking at the strings binding his fingers, Jisung watches helplessly as a tail made out of a black leather belt sways side to side into the distance.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jisung yawns and rubs at his eyes, like he isn’t actually sorry.
Changbin gestures for him to step onto the bus, and Jisung follows his suggestion, tripping on the way up and nearly breaking his nose. Changbin points and laughs at him. He supposes he deserves that.
Jisung walks through the aisle of the bus until he reaches the very back seats—he may be in college, but the back of the bus is still the best place to sit. It’s the bumpiest. He has a very healthy relationship with his inner child.
Changbin slips into the seat next to Jisung, pulling out his phone and getting annoyed when the face ID doesn’t recognize his sleepy eyes and puffy cheeks.
Jisung, only doing his duty as the youngest friend, leans his head on Changbin’s shoulder and makes it his mission to shove his nose all up in Changbin’s business.
When an Instagram notification from his crush pops up, Changbin quickly whips his phone out of Jisung’s view and shoves it under his thigh.
“Did you forget to bring Minho with you or something?” Changbin asks him annoyedly, shimmying his shoulders and jostling Jisung’s poor empty head.
“What, he’s not already here?” Jisung sits up a little, looking out of the bus window and scanning the rest of the team for a head of silver hair. When he comes up with nothing, he looks back at Changbin, who only shrugs.
“I heard him come back into the apartment hella late,” Changbin recounts, tapping his chin in deep thought, “Then when I got up to get ready, he wasn’t home. I kinda thought he was with you.”
“Why would he be with me?” Jisung asks, and he’s worried about Minho, but he has half the mind to interrogate Changbin for his assumptions.
“Because you’re gay,” Changbin points a finger at Jisung and slowly advances until his finger is digging into Jisung’s chest, “Gayity gay gay. Homosexual. I know what you are.”
“But you don’t know where he is?” Jisung bats Changbin’s hand away without paying it any mind, hairs on the back of his neck prickling to life.
“Nope,” Changbin shrugs, and his lack of worry is making Jisung fear that this is normal behavior for Minho.
His mind jumps to the obvious. The obvious, obvious truth that has been staring him in the face for weeks while he tries desperately not to look back at it.
But Minho can’t be Black Cat—because Minho’s not evil.
Minho is lemonade and orange cat fur. He’s a well-worn sweater, an indent on the couch, a sleepover on Saturday, and breakfast on Sunday.
He’s no villain.
And then Jisung is left grappling with his moral compass at 8:30 am on a Friday because he isn’t sure if he can even call Black Cat a villain.
He stares out of the window as they pull out of the parking lot and the bus bumps over stray rocks and debris, officially leaving campus without Minho on board. The sun is still completing the motions of rising, and Jisung can see dark blue at the edges of the skyline if he really tries.
He’s fought many villains. A green lizard with a gnarly skateboard, a woefully attractive nuclear physicist with eight limbs, and an alien made of black shit that was also attractive in a sort of fucked up way. They all killed people with reckless abandon—hell, the sexy alien goop monster even ate humans.
But Black Cat never hurt a hair on anyone’s head, with the exception of Jisung’s poor fingers. He never stole from small businesses, and Jisung never heard about what he did with the money and artifacts afterward. He wasn’t an extortionist, a kidnapper, or a murderer; just a petty thief with a pair of Halloween store cat ears.
In the bigger picture, Black Cat really isn’t all that bad. Which makes Jisung’s hyperactive brain feel a little bit better about all the dots that he’s been connecting for the last few days.
Minho’s tense shoulders, the bags under his eyes, scrapes on his chin and bruises on his knees—really, who else has bright silver hair?
“Changbin,” Jisung nudges the older with his elbow.
If he can talk to anyone about his Black Cat-Minho worries, it’s Changbin. The only person in the world who knows that he’s Spiderman, and the only other person close enough to Minho to notice his erratic behavior.
When he gets no response, he elbows Changbin again.
“Changbin,” Jisung whines this time, aiming for Changbin’s ribs.
“Pipe down, gayboy,” Changbin swats his arm away, attention entirely captivated by whoever he’s talking to on his phone.
Jisung gapes at him in disbelief, but he doesn’t get a chance to say something playfully homophobic in return. His phone begins to vibrate in his back pocket, and he realizes that he forgot to turn off his ringer before it’s too late.
His text tone of the Big Time Rush theme song rings throughout the entire bus, heads turning from behind seats and poking out into the aisle to see which idiot forgot to mute their phone.
Jisung has the decency to be embarrassed at first, sheepishly muttering out an apology and lifting his hips to fish out his phone and check which app caused one of the top ten most humiliating moments of his life.
The notification is from Twitter—a news story, with a red circle emoji.
Live Video from Gangnam-gu: Black Cat Robs Tiffany & Co., miu miu, Sulwhasoo, and more in The Galleria Tower
“Shit,” Jisung hisses, running a hand through his red hair as his brain tries to calculate how long it would take him to swing to The Galleria from the bus. He clicks on the notification, holding his breath as he watches the live feed of Black Cat’s figure scaling the side of a building.
“Dude, you need to change your ringtone,” Changbin cackles, leaning over to look at Jisung’s phone, “Big Time Rush is soo—oooh shit.”
“I need a distraction so that I can get off this bus,” Jisung shakes his head, tucking his phone into his bag and fiddling with the lock on the window.
“Don’t worry, I got you,” Changbin nods very seriously, clearing his throat and standing up.
He gasps dramatically, looking down at his phone and pretending to labor his breath, heaving loudly. Everyone turns to look at the back row of seats again, their gazes following Changbin as he slowly stumbles into the aisle.
“Oh my god,” he grabs onto the headrest of a seat next to him, eyes wide, “Oh my god! They hit the fucking Pentagon!”
Jisung finally gets the window latch to open, pushing the glass outward and hoisting himself out of the bus. He can still hear Changbin screaming like his ass is on fire from inside the bus, but he focuses on tugging his mask over his face and adjusting his web shooters.
Kicking the bus window closed before he leaves, Jisung shoots a web at the bottom of an overpass, swinging off of the bus roof and back toward the city center.
He knows he’s getting close when he hears people yelling and sirens blaring, police cars parked sideways in the streets to prevent any civilians from approaching. The block around The Galleria is full of employees and customers fleeing, clutching their bags as they run from the scene.
At the top of the midrise building is an all too familiar silhouette, one hip cocked to the side and a pile of bags at his feet. Jisung swings himself up to an adjacent building, landing in a crouch and catching his breath from his long journey.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Black Cat drawls from across the gap that separates the buildings, holding his belt tail and swinging it side to side lazily.
The bags at his feet are all filled to the brim with what Jisung can only imagine is millions of won worth of luxury items, likely a negligible loss for the retailers but enough to be beyond a felony.
Jumping across the gap like it's a crack in the sidewalk, Black Cat saunters up to Jisung where he crouches, wrapping his tail around his wrist.
“Welcome to the show, Spiderboy,” Black Cat clicks his tongue as Jisung rises to his feet, brushing the dust off of his knees.
“Hope I’m not too late,” Jisung replies with a huff, mustering up all of the spider-courage that he can manage. He stares right back at Black Cat, mask to mask, trying to hide the storm brewing in his stomach at their proximity.
Black Cat only hums at that, walking closer and closer. When he stops, Jisung can count his eyelashes.
“I would never start the performance without you,” Black Cat smiles, tilting his head slightly to the side. Jisung can smell the leather, earthy and sweet, and he can see the glint in his eyes.
“Now who would wait night and day just for little old me?” Jisung presses, his feet wobbling. He wants to step forward, to clash right into Black Cat and feel his familiar embrace, grab a handful of soft silver hair. But he also wants to stumble backward, to run away from the whole situation.
“Are you asking me who I am?” Black Cat’s lips curl upward, a response and a challenge wrapped into one.
“What’s wrong with that?” Jisung fires back, his breath hot against the fabric of his mask. His skin is on fire, hairs on edge and sweat dripping down the back of his neck.
“How’s that old saying go?” Black Cat taps a gloved finger to the tip of his chin and pretends to think for barely a second, “Curiosity killed the cat?”
“What if I’d die just to find out?” Jisung hears his voice come out as a rasp more than he feels it, throat tight.
Black Cat only smiles at him, sickly sweet.
“Oh, Spiderboy,” he runs a finger down the bridge of Jisung’s nose on top of the mask, wearing a mock pout, “Use that big head of yours to figure it out.”
That was all the confirmation that Jisung needed.
As Black Cat turns to leave, taking no more than three steps in the opposite direction, Jisung springs into action. Catching him by the tail, he spins Black Cat around and pulls him back.
He reaches out his red and blue gloved hand and plucks the leather mask off by the nose piece, throwing it to the ground.
Minho blinks back at him with wide eyes, mouth open slightly in shock.
Jisung knows that his reaction is hidden by his mask. A cocktail of satisfaction, relief, and revelation washes over him, puzzle pieces falling into place.
It could never have been anyone else.
Scratching the back of his neck, Minho clears his throat awkwardly. He’s blushing, and Jisung guesses that he’s embarrassed.
“I guess the cat’s out of the bag, then,” Minho offers meekly, shoulders rising into a tense, uneasy shape.
“How did you know?” Jisung asks quickly, unable to stop himself any longer, “That I was Spiderman?” It was easy to see how nearly anyone could connect the dots between Minho and Black Cat. But Jisung liked to think that he was good at being a superhero with a secret civilian identity, good at keeping the two separate.
“You and Changbin are the loudest people I know.”
Shit.
“Why would you attempt to have a secret conversation right in front of me?” Minho continues, and now Jisung is feeling like he’s the one with his mask ripped off and on the ground, “I woke up like, instantly.”
“If you knew,” Jisung starts, rubbing the side of his upper arm, “That I was Spiderman, I mean. Then why did you keep doing all of this?”
“I’m not…I’m not really a villain,” Minho mumbles, slipping a finger under his neckline and pulling the leather fabric away from his skin, “Not to me, at least.”
Jisung nods slowly, picking up what he was putting down but still needing more information. Minho seems to sense this, shuffling his feet and shrugging.
“I mean, I only steal from the stupid rich, y’know?” Minho looks down at the gravel roof of the building they're perched on, kicking rocks with the toe of his boot, “Just from the companies that won’t miss the money at all. And I never hurt anyone.”
Jisung snorts at that, holding up both of his hands. Minho’s face twists, wincing as he pictures the bandaids and bruises covering Jisung’s knuckles.
“Okay, that one’s on me,” Minho admits, and Jisung isn’t even mad at him. He should be, and he almost wants to be.
“But…why?” Jisung chuckles, half enamored by Minho’s sheepish smile and half amused by the sticky situation that they’ve managed to get themselves caught up in.
“Why did I step on your hands?” Minho quirks an eyebrow, glancing up at Jisung’s hands and following their path with his eyes as Jisung lowers them and folds his arms across his chest.
“No,” Jisung rolls his eyes this time, even though he knows that Minho can’t see it, “Why do you steal?”
“Oh,” Minho mutters, but he sets his shoulders straight and takes a deep breath, “Because there are plenty of other people in this city that deserve it more. I pawn off the jewelry and give the money to the food bank, or the animal shelter.”
“So you steal from the rich and give it to the poor,” Jisung stifles a laugh, fiddling with the hem at the bottom of his neck.
“Exactly,” Minho nods with a smile, glancing across the gap between the buildings at his bags still laying in a pile.
“Like a furry Robin Hood,” Jisung laughs out loud this time, pointing an accusing finger in Minho’s face.
Minho punches him square in the shoulder, nose scrunched, “Shut up. Like being the bug-version of Iron Man is any better.”
Jisung gasps and places his hand flat over his chest, “You think I’m like Iron Man? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Rolling his eyes and mumbling something catty under his breath, Minho reaches out and grabs two fistfuls of Jisung’s mask. With a firm tug, he pulls the mask right up and over Jisung’s head, his burgundy hair falling into his eyes ungracefully.
Minho takes a moment to set Jisung’s hair right, fiddling with strands and tucking tufts behind his ears. He lets out a little hum once he’s gotten all of the stray hairs out of Jisung’s face, leaning back and observing his work. Jisung feels all the heat in his body pooling in his cheeks.
He tries to clear his throat but ends up choking on his own spit.
“Minho, um…” Jisung starts, tugging at his earlobe and avoiding Minho’s expectant gaze, “If you heard Changbin and me talking about Spiderman yesterday, then did you also hear…?”
Minho bites down on his bottom lip, chewing on it lightly. Jisung wants to reach out and touch it.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, voice cracking, “Yeah, I heard it all,” he repeats with more confidence.
Jisung falters. For the first time, he doesn’t feel confident in his supersuit.
“I’m sorry. If you’re weirded out, I don’t blame you,” Jisung says like his superpower is superspeed, waving his hands in front of his face frantically, “I mean, we’re friends. And arch-nemeses, I guess, so it’s weird for me to have feelings for you, right?”
“Jisung,” Minho’s sharp features soften, and he takes a step closer.
“Tons of friendships are ruined by one person having unrequited feelings for the other, I know that. And I don’t want to lose what we already have just because I’m hopelessly down bad for you—”
“Jisung,” Minho cuts him off, placing his hands on Jisung’s shoulders and giving him a small shake.
But Jisung is not deterred, still spiraling down a slippery slope, “Aw man, I don’t even know if it’s morally acceptable to be a superhero in love with a villain. There’s gotta be some sort of rule against tha—mmf!”
Minho interrupts him with a firm kiss, circling his arms around Jisung’s neck and pulling him impossibly closer. Jisung’s hands stutter awkwardly in the air for a moment, but he finally gets a hold of himself and plants them on either side of Minho’s waist, hoping that’s a safe bet.
There are still sirens echoing from the streets below, and they’re so high up that wind is nipping at their faces and making their eyes water. It’s absolutely not how Jisung had pictured their first kiss—and he’s pictured it many, many ways. But in the end, he thinks it might be the only way it was ever meant to happen.
It only lasts a few seconds, shorter than Jisung would prefer, but something tells him that he’ll have a chance to make up for lost time in the near future.
When Minho pulls away, he smiles at Jisung like the cat that got the cream. They both laugh, and Jisung glances at their masks on the ground. He bends down to pick them up, Minho’s hands staying on his head and scratching at his scalp.
Holding the black leather mask out for Minho with one hand and tugging his own mask over his head with the other, Jisung grins.
“What do you say we call this rivalry quits?” Jisung offers his hand, waiting patiently as he watches Minho fix his mask over his eyes.
“Deal,” Minho nods once his eyes are rimmed with black once again, slipping his fingers into Jisung’s, their gloves squeaking slightly as they meet.
“I just have one important question for you,” Jisung teases as he drags Minho to the edge of the building by his elbows, both of them stumbling slightly over the uneven gravel.
“Yeah? What’s that?” Minho holds onto Jisung’s upper arms, eyes warily flitting down to the bustling streets below them.
Wrapping his arms tightly around Minho’s waist, Jisung follows his gaze down to the yelling police officers and the staring bystanders.
“Do cats really always land on their feet?” Jisung smirks, stepping off of the side of the building and dragging Minho with him.