word count: 5592

premise: jungkook loves three things in life: his camera, his freedom, and his friends. yet suddenly, and, may you add, very out of the blue, jungkook also develops a love for rock climbing. joins the campus society. spends all of his free time there. bails on you for it. and you can't for the life of you figure out why. oh, and spiderman comes to your rescue after a night out clubbing. and he smells good. smells a lot like jungkook, actually. no biggie.

pairing: spider!koo x reader

inspiration: erm. spiderman? doesn't really get more self-explanatory does it.

warnings: nothing bad, not even violence, really. lil bit of drinking (because of course, i am me). there's not even much romance, OC just has a big stinkin' crush on koo, cause again, i am me. frequent use of the word cretin, 'cause all of my characters apparently grew up in Britain. yeah that's it I think lol enjoy x

the title was too long hahaha but this is it:

How To Weave A Web Of Lies And (Not) Get Away With It: An Idiots Guide By Jeon Jungkook

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

In another lifetime, Jungkook had been a golden retriever.

You were convinced of it.

Big grins, wavy hair that always flopped over his puppy-dog eyes, and a personality so endearing that you could never stay mad at him for too long. All that was missing was a tail - though the camera that he constantly lugged around could have been classified as his fifth limb instead.

His likeness went right down to the way he could pout and get himself out of any kind of trouble. It had worked wonders for him over the last few years. From girlfriends and school teachers, to his aunt and, hell, even you, his best friend, he was able to worm his way out of even the stickiest of situations.

Having grown up together, you'd seen him work his magic on multiple occasions, and had also been lucky enough to benefit from it when you both got into trouble - usually with his aunt, after sneaking home past curfew.

Now in college, with a taste for freedom, he'd found himself using his charms less and less. He never normally had to explain himself to anyone.

At least, he hadn't. The last few months had been... troublesome, to put it blandly.

The look on your professor's face as she called his name indicated that his puppy-dog eyes wouldn't be working this time.

For the third day straight, she looked up to an empty seat where Jungkook typically would have been sat.

Across the gaping void of Jungkook's empty desk, Jimin caught your gaze. Eyes wide, brows high, his head shook as if to question: What the fuck. Again?!

Raising your shoulders, you pouted a little and shook your head right back. You didn't have a clue.

He'd been AWOL all week.

"He's, uh... he's still unwell," you called down towards your professor. Her nose turned upwards, as if she could smell the bullshit you were spewing. "Awful case of, uh..." you panicked, desperately trying to think of an ailment that could last in excess of 72 hours.

"Gonorrhea!" Jimin interjected, equally as panicked, before wincing as your foot hit his shin beneath the desks.

"Diarrhoea," you corrected him, as if that would make it any better. "Yeah, awful. Just awful."

"Terrible," Jimin nodded, eyes wide and mouth stern. "Sharting all over the place."

"You should really be thankful he isn't here," you insisted, trying not to laugh. If Jungkook had bothered to show up, he'd have been calling you both little cretins by now.

But he wasn't there. And he didn't even have to decency to tell you ahead of time.

"Enough," your professor scowled, ignoring the chatter and laughs from the rest of the class at your blatant attempt to cover up for Jungkook.

He'd kill you both once he realised you were the source of the rumours surrounding his rectum later that day. Maybe he'd laugh about it one day, but that wouldn't be for at least a month, and he'd definitely not show up to the next three classes out of sheer embarrassment.

"Look, all I'm saying is that if he wanted us to cover for him, then he should have at least given us something to work with," Jimin muffled through a mouthful of blueberry muffin. As it turned out, diarrhoea had been his intended cover illness, his brain had just short circuited in panic at the time.

Now walking back through campus, the pair of you had had enough. Jungkook had been reading your group chat all day, but hadn't responded to anything - though, that being said, it might have been deliberate. You didn't reckon that you'd be in his good books, not if word had travelled back about his newly developed STD. You couldn't blame him.

"Something's not right," you sighed. "He leaves us on delivered all the time, but never on read. He's not acting like himself."

Scrolling through his phone, Jimin pulled up Hope/Less - an app developed by Jungkook and Hobi during last semester, which had spread around campus like wildfire.

The premise was simple: students uploaded anonymous posts, which their peers would vote on.

Last week, a new Hope/Vote record was set, with 13,475 votes on an update saying that Tony Stark had been seen in the engineering building.

"It's ridiculous!" Jungkook had shrieked at the time, his voice a fair few octaves higher than usual. "Tony Stark? At our university? Stupid. I don't want people using Hope/Less to spread lies just to farm Hope/Votes. Who even gives a fuck about Hope/Votes? They're all anonymous anyways."

You and Jimin had just looked at him with furrowed brows and bemused smiles, wondering why he seemed to be so irate over the ethics of a gossip app.

Still, he and Hobi had been working on censoring uploads regarding the Avengers, which would no doubt cause an uproar. In all honestly, Jungkook was expecting the user numbers to drop quite considerably whenever they patched the newest update, but he didn't care.

"Aw, shit," Jimin whined, presenting his phone over to you. "It's at the top of the feed. He's gonna see it."

"RIP to us," you sighed, though secretly you found it all very amusing. He only had himself to blame. If he hadn't been so incognito recently, then you never would have had to step in. "More Spidey sightings, though," you acknowledged, handing Jimin his phone back.

At this point, people were just jumping on the Avenger bandwagon in a bid to get a higher Hope/Score. There was even an update saying that Thor was roaming about campus - and everyone knew he hadn't been back to earth since Loki had last been a little shit.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Jimin snorted, not buying into the hype.

The three of you were sceptics in different varieties; Jungkook was affronted by the suggestion of Avengers being anywhere close to campus, Jimin bemused by it, and you were indifferent.

Even if Spiderman was hanging around campus, it's not like it impacted any of your lives.

And so you got on with your day, hoping that Jungkook wouldn't bail on your plans for that evening, at least.

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

"Fucking typical," you fumed as Jimin showed up for pre drinks at your dorm alone. "What's his excuse this time?"

Jimin shrugged, passing you his bottle of passionfruit tequila, knowing that you needed something strong to take the bitter edge of disappointment off. "Said something about a rock-climbing injury."

"If I hear one more word about that stupid bloody rock-climbing society, then I'm gonna take a stick of dynamite to every single goddamn rocky mountain in this stupid city," you said with over-dramatic flair. "I didn't even know we had a rock climbing society."

"Me either," Jimin shrugged. How Jungkook chose to spend his time concerned Jimin a lot less than it concerned you, but of course it did - Jimin didn't have a monstrous, raging, inexplicably hard to hide crush on Jungkook like you did. You thought that no one had caught on. You were wrong.

"He's started calling it roc-soc," Jimin shuddered at how cringeworthy he found it. "But whatever. It's his loss. We'll still have a good time tonight, just forget about him."

It was easier said than done.

Once you arrived at the club, you tried to get into the swing of things. Downing more tequila than you knew your body could realistically take, you desperately tried to dust the Jungkook chip off your shoulder.

The strobe lights and sweaty bodies packed like sardines, all swaying in time to the music, definitely helped - and yet you still ended up waiting outside for a cab before the end of the night.

Jimin had gone missing in action, presumably because he was getting some action, which meant that both of your favourite boys had bailed on you.

Cold, alone, and far too drunk to be wandering the streets alone, you angrily began to scroll through your contacts, looking for his name: Voyeur Boi📷🤠.

You used to joke about him being obsessed with you, the way he always had his camera with him, ready to take your photo.

He'd get a little bashful, shake his head, and tell you that he only took so many photos of you because he was doing a study on the integration of aliens onto our planet.

He hadn't touched his camera in months. It was gathering dust on his shelf. Apparently, you weren't that interesting to him anymore.

You didn't want to be mad at him. Not really. All you wanted was to hang out with your best friend, but God damn it, he was being so fucking-

"-Cute when you wanna be, but then you go and pull shit like this, Kook. The fuck? Why can't you just be consistent?" You whined into your phone, helplessly fighting against no one. He wasn't on the other end of the line. You doubted that he'd even listen to his voicemail. He never did. Which kind of gave you the freedom to just ramble at him without consequence - so you had been doing exactly that, for about three whole minutes, now.

"You're my favourite person, Kook, but it feels like you don't even care enough to spare even a tiny bit of time for me. And like, if we're on different levels, if I'm not your best friend, that's fine. That's okay. Fuck. Just tell me so that I can stop treating you like you're mine. Let me know so that I can adjust the energy I'm giving to you, because I'm fucking drai-"

A beep sounded, letting you know that you'd reached the time limit. With a defeated sigh, you kicked the curb slightly with your beat-up converse. The hightops were red, to match Jungkook's, with little doodles that he'd drawn on the white trim last summer. Things had been different back then. Easy. Happy.

Your phone began to buzz in your lap, the display still lit from the recently ended voicemail. On the screen, Jungkook's dumb face smushed against yours in an old-school photo booth appeared. It was your favourite photo of the pair of you - but he'd claimed it and had it hanging up on his pinboard back in his dorm.

It had only been a few seconds since the end of the voicemail - he wouldn't have had the time to have listened to it just yet.

Unlocking your phone, you pressed it to your ear and sniffed back the runny nose that your emotions had decided was appropriate. "Mhmm."

"I'll make it up to you," he muffled quietly through the speaker.

"Doesn't matter," you shrugged, knowing that he wouldn't. He never did anymore.

You didn't question the fact that he seemed to have been able to read your mind.

You were drunk. Time didn't exist. You hadn't yet comprehended that he must have heard your voicemail live. Been listening in. Been close.

"Stop," he whined, hurt lacing his plea. "I'm sorry, okay? You're my favourite person. My best friend, you little cretin. I'm sorry."

"You said you were sorry last week."

"And I was. But I'm more sorry now."

"See, that's the thing, Kook," you laughed pitifully. "If you were really sorry last week, then you wouldn't have made the same mistakes again so soon. You don't give a shit."

"That's not fair."

"You're not fair."

"Don't be a child," he smiled through the phone. One thing you had always been great at was getting him laughing during a fight. You could picture how fond he'd look, smiling at you like he didn't really think you were an insufferable cretin after all. He cleared his throat gently, his tone of voice changing. "It's no good you being out here by yourself at this time of night. You don't know what creeps could be lurking about."

Narrowing your eyes, you didn't like his tone of voice. "You don't even know where I am. Don't pretend to care."

But he did. Know where you were, that is. He was looking right at you from a vantage point on a fire escape a few buildings away.

You didn't need to know this, though. He was planning on keeping it that way.

From his position, he could see a drunk man stumbling around in the distance. He didn't like it. Didn't trust the man to not try and pull something with you.

"Just call a taxi, please, you little cretin."

"Ah," you grimaced, your drunk mind paying no notice of the concern that his words were tied up with. "You're trying to get rid of me-"

"No."

"No, no, it's fine. I get it. Later, Kook."

"Don't be like tha-"

The line was cut before he could protest. Either he didn't realise the damage his constant bailing was doing, or you were just feeling incredibly argumentative. Truthfully, it was a bit of both. With a sigh, his gloved hand rubbed over his face before raking his hair back.

He wasn't sure at which point his life had become such a mess.

Well, no. That's a lie. It was three months ago during a field trip to Oscorp. Stupid fucking field trip, Jungkook fumed internally. Tilting his head back, his hair waved loosely in the wind. Shoulders broad, jaw tense, he was sick of it all.

"'Do your job'," he whined, imitating the gentleman who had paid him a visit earlier that day. "'You've been given a gift, Jungkook.' Yeah, yeah. Gift my arse, Mr Stark. Fuck this fucking gift. Prison sentence, more like," he ranted quietly to no one in particular. In fact, the only person who would be listening in would be Mr Stark himself. Probably best not to talk shit while he was wearing the suit.

Down on the street, you were ignorant of Jungkook's crisis.

Taxi cabs came and went, skipping past you and going for larger groups, knowing that with multiple stops, there would be more money to be made. Tonight just wasn't your night.

"Yeah, well, fuck you, too!" You shouted as yet another taxi whizzed on by, your middle finger waving it on its way.

Men, you scoffed internally. Couldn't be trusted with anything, not to stick with you for the night, not to help you home, not for anything.

Okay, so maybe you were a little antsy because you'd had a little too much to drink, but hey. You'd been worse. You could still walk in a straight line (you couldn't) and you were more than capable of finding your way home (you weren't), so you decided in your enraged state of mind that - fuck it, fine - you'd walk home alone.

It wasn't anything too out of the ordinary. You'd done it a million times before, but there was something that just felt a little... off.

Crime rates in the city were up, you weren't gonna deny that, but you'd never personally been affected. Perhaps you were just paranoid, thanks to the Hope/Less app and its incessant need to spread drama and gossip.

"Stupid boys and their stupid app," you grumbled, still very much in a mard with Jungkook.

From across the street, a burly man, easily in his thirties, had clocked you. Drink was spilt down his front, steps uneven. "Oi, sweetheart! Watcha doing out here alone?"

Not talking to you.

You rolled your eyes internally, walking away from him. There was no point in even entertaining the conversation. He was looking for someone to take home, and you were looking for, well, anything but him.

"Oi!" He called after you, clearly not getting the hint.

"Fuck off," you whispered under your breath, hoping that you could manifest a little change. But you couldn't.

"Where you going, sweetheart?"

You could hear his footsteps. Walking. Pacing. Encroaching.

And then, you heard a second voice. A familiar one.

"Where you going, mate?" The second voice mocked the man trailing you. Frozen still, you didn't turn around, not wanting to face confrontation. You didn't want to be involved in any display of masculine authority, to be honest. A sharp hiss sounded, and then there was a yelp, followed by the sound of a body falling to the ground. "No, really," he taunted. "Where you going?"

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the man flailing around on the ground like a fish out of water, his legs bound by a white rope-like thing. You weren't quite sure what it was.

But then you glanced across to the second voice, head tilting in confusion.

Tall and broad, a second man stood slightly obscured in the shadows behind a shop sign. His clothes were skin-tight, and it took you a second to realise they weren't clothes at all, not in the traditional sense of things. He was suited. Red and blue. Dark ridges climbing up his limbs like a web.

Like a spider's web.

The app had been... right?

"The fuck?" You couldn't help but blurt out. But, like, what were you supposed to say when you accidentally ran into the newest Avenger on your way home from a club. Thanks probably would have been a good place to start. You were too drunk to realise that, though. "Don't you have... like a world to save or something?"

He tilted his head, but you had no idea what was going on behind that mask. No idea what he would be assessing. Thinking. Perceiving. You felt nervous. So you rambled.

"I feel like this is a bad use of company time. Like, there are definitely more important lives to be protecting. There's a hospital, like, three blocks away. I can give you the directions? Also what are you gonna do abou-"

"Yeah, we're gonna need to do something about that," Spiderman hummed, before raising his palm and shooting a web across your mouth like duct tape. Immediately your eyes widened, noises vibrating against the woven spider silk. "Probably those, too."

Before you had a chance to comprehend what he was doing, ribbons of webbing wrapped around your head like a blindfold, rendering you both mute and blind - which felt infinitely more terrifying than the position you had been in before the so-called 'superhero' arrived.

You felt your body jolt, a strong arm wrapping around you. And then, a warning: "You're not gonna like this."

And he was bloody well right. You didn't like it one bit. Within seconds, your feet were off the ground, wind whipping against your skin, seemingly furious at the way Spiderman was ignoring the breeze and choosing his own path.

You tried to scream, but it was muffled by the webbing across your mouth.

Your stomach flipped from the loss of gravity and confusion that came with hurtling through the city with nothing more than a boy and a spider web keeping you from falling into the bustling traffic below. His grip remained tight, as if he'd laced his fingers with superglue just to keep you close to him.

That being said, it was probably self-preservation. If he dropped you to your death, he'd be crucified in the local newspapers. Globally, maybe.

At least then Jungkook would have to give you attention, though. Maybe death was the solution.

Whatever 'death' was, it felt imminent, because your drunk body was absolutely not coping well with the whole soaring through the skies blindfolded thing.

Thankfully, within minutes, you were being lowered, Spiderman's grip weakening as your feet touched solid ground once more. It was a miracle you hadn't thrown up in your own mouth. Lord knows you'd been close.

"Just a little further," he encouraged softly. His voice was deeper now, husky, almost as if he was a kid pretending to be an adult on the phone.

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a muffle. There was a hiss, as something cold hit against the web over your mouth, but not your eyes. It fizzled and tingled, dissolving the solution like vinegar on baking soda.

"Where-" you hiccuped "-am I?"

Feeling out around you, you were surprised to feel what you recognised to be your fluffy pillow that was perpetually at the end of your bed.

"You're home."

Still tipsy, your brain shutting down from the combination of toxins and adrenaline, you didn't consider how he even would have known where to take you. Lucky guess? Superhero privilege? Stark stalking tech? Whatever. All you wanted was to sleep.

He guided you, not taking off the webbing that blinded you, instead telling you that it would dissolve of its own accord within a few hours.

"Meanie," you pouted, snuggling into your mountain of cushions, still fully dressed - minus your shoes. He'd taken those off for you.

You felt his presence as he stood beside you, his hand tenderly brushing against your cheek. "Sweet dreams, cretin."

It was subtle, the slight breeze from the window that carried the silage of his aftershave towards you.

"You smell like my friend," you hummed peacefully, shuffling to get comfortable, ready to doze off.

Soon, you'd be numb to the world, sleep taking over your hazed mind - but not before you heard him mumble under his breath, as well.

"Yeah, you smell like my friend, too."

🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

By the time next week rolled around, you were ecstatic to have Jungkook with you as you waited in line for the club. He had still been acting a little strange, and he was still always off bloody rock climbing, but at least he was making an effort, now.

He'd noticed the cold shoulder you had been giving him, and had wised up to your upset pretty quickly. He didn't mean to keep letting you down. Seeing you sad absolutely sucked, and knowing that he was the cause made it even worse.

All he wanted to do was to say sorry, and explain himself, but he couldn't. And so he was trying to let actions speak louder than words.

He'd consumed all of the shitty cocktails you had made for him during pres, played along to every single game you had wanted to play, and even sung along to the Moana soundtrack with you. It was worth it, he thought. That smile. He'd missed it so much since he'd been... busy.

In fact, quite often all he could think about when he was... rock climbing... was you. Dumb stories you had told him, the way you couldn't hold a tune to save your life and the way you sang as if you could, regardless. He thought about your laugh, how much he liked being around you, and how much he wanted to fix the mess he knew he was making.

Easier said than done, though.

'I left my wallet at home," he said, clenching his teeth together just before you were about to enter. His regret was almost believable.

"It's fine, I'll pay your entry," you smiled, not wanting to give him any excuse to leave. "You can get mine next time."

"No ID," he shrugged, lips frowning earnestly. "They're bastards on the door. Won't let me in without it."

You knew he was right.

"Alright, let's go, I'll call a taxi," you offered. The sooner you'd retrieved his ID, the sooner you could be letting your hair down together. It really didn't matter what was happening, just as long as you were together.

"No, it's fine," he objected, not wanting to ruin your night. He didn't realise that it was his presence that made or broke it. He had thought if he at least made it to the club this time, it would be less noticeable when he dipped. "It's better for you to get in now. The queue is gonna stack up. I'll meet you in there, okay?"

"Kook," you whined, a little dejected. He was leaving. Again.

"Honestly. I'll be quick, you little cretin. I promise."

"Pinky?" You pouted, extending your little finger out for him to link with it.

Rolling his eyes, he reached over and clasped your hand, pressing your pinky back into your fist. With a smile like the disco lights you so desperately wanted to be beneath with him, he told you a line that you drank up like vodka-lime-soda: "I won't be long."

You tried not to dwell on his avoidance of a pinky promise. You felt so disconnected from him these days. Had he started dating someone? Been having trouble with school? None of it made any sense.

"He said he'd be back. He's a liar," you almost sobbed as you necked a tequila shot two hours later.

Jungkook was a no-show, once more.

"Big fat liar."

"Fuck him," Jimin shrugged. "He'll regret it in five years time - don't waste all of your nights out being sad, you big baby. He's just going through one of his phases. You know what he's like."

Jungkook had always been a little strange; a little non-conventional, but it was more so now.

In fact, he was so fucking bizarre lately, that when you joked about him being on drugs while you ate a post-club pizza together, Jimin took you seriously.

Which is what led to the pair of you sitting in Jungkook's room the next day, rather solemnly, with sheets of printer paper pinned to the wall, reading:

H U G S

N O T

D R U G S.

You'd practised your lines, like, a billion times. Jimin seemed to crack up every single time he tried to keep a straight face.

Of course, he was on drugs!

It all made sense now. His jittery behaviour, the way that he always seemed a little beat up, the way he cowered a little in the hallways these days. You were annoyed at yourself for not noticing it sooner, but at least you had noticed.

Better late than never, you assured yourself as you patted your knees, smoothing the skirt you were wearing across the top of your thighs. The rubber trim of your red high tops beat together nervously.

"Stop fidgeting," Jimin hissed like a tiny little garden snake. "That's, like, an addict thing. You don't wanna set off his cravings or something."

"I don't think that's how it works-"

"Shush, shhh shhh," Jimin fanned his hand in the air, hearing a faint scratching noise. It had to be Jungkook coming home. He didn't have any roommates, and you had been the one who had reset his door passcode after a drunken night out once. Nobody else knew it. Nobody else but you and Jungkook. A secret shared between friends. A trust, a bond, that you thought was falling apart at the seams.

Watching the door, you braced yourself to see his sweet face, and watch as his confusion turned to confrontation. It broke your heart even thinking about it. He'd never looked at you angrily before, and you were scared of how it would feel when he did it for real.

In and out, you breathed. In and out. In and-

"The fuck?!"

Jimin, who had turned around once he realised the sound was coming from the window, watched in bewilderment as Jungkook tumbled to the floor.

The noise of his body crashing against his desk chair forced you to turn your head too, baffled by the sight of his body mangled on the floor, his sash window open from the top down.

"How the..."

"Oh my fucking god," Jungkook groaned, writhing on the ground uncomfortably. You were well aware that you should have probably been rushing to his aid, but the shock had you still. His eyes were closed as his body rolled, holding his elbow and bending his legs at the knees. "Why the fuck are you in my room, you little cretins?"

Jimin, whose jaw was still on the floor, spoke first. "Why the- what the fuck? Why are we in your room? Nah, you don't get to ask questions. Why the fuck were you crawling on the ceiling?! How the fuck?!"

Your eyes darted between the boys, utterly confused. Sure, Jungkook did look a whole lot like someone who had just dropped from the ceiling... but, like, what the fuck? People crawl on the floor. Not ceilings?

"I asked you first, cretin," Jungkook grunted as he rolled onto his front to pull himself up. Now on his knees, he looked towards you both, and then averted his attention the paper sheets on his bedroom wall. "Hugs, not... Sorry, what? You think I'm on drugs?!"

"You literally just crawled on your ceiling," Jimin stated all rather plainly, before muttering, "think I might be on drugs, actually."

"Fuckin," Jungkook began, not quite sure what he was going to follow it up with; so he stuck with the easiest option. "Rock climbing -" yeah, that works. "Gotta keep up with my training. Told you I've been taking it more seriously lately."

"Lately?" You scoffed. "Since when had you ever climbed in your life before you joined that fucking society?"

"I'm sorry?" he questioned defensively. "You don't get to come in here, ambush me with this bullshit and then start questioning me like I'm a fucking criminal!"

In all reality, Jungkook had just been dealing with a bunch of criminals himself. Thieves, who had ransacked a conveniencestore.

He didn't like being made to feel like a bad guy. He was one of the good guys.

You could be a good guy and a shitty friend in the same process.

But you were being a shitty friend, too.

Your hurt was taking priority over the fact that something clearly was going on behind the scenes. Jungkook wouldn't lift the curtain though, so how were you to know?

"Look, just gimmie a few minutes to get changed, okay?" he said, all irritable and fidgety in his suit beneath his clothes. "I'll meet you in Jimin's room."

"But we decorated."

"Jimin," you tried not to laugh as he pouted. "Let's leave him. He can find us. Or, yanno, he can just bail, again."

"Really?" Jungkook let out an aggressive breath at the fact you weren't easing up. He'd always liked that you had a little fight in you, but it was getting annoying, now.

"Really," you deadpanned.

"I'll meet you in five minutes," Jungkook avoided the urge to fight back. God he wanted to. Wanted to shout. Wanted you to shout at him. To scream. Wanted to make all the hurt of the past few months and turn into something that actually made a difference. You'd grow from it, learn from it, he thought. Separately and together.

But you were looking at him all forlorn and pained, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Five minutes," you repeated sternly.

"Five minutes."

Neither you nor Jimin spoke as you headed down the corridor to his room. Both of you were as confused as one another. Absolutely nothing made sense, and yet Jungkook just kept on acting like it did.

"You know, I tried looking up the roc-soc," Jimin admitted. "I don't think it exists."

"Huh?" You said with perplexion. Digging your hand into your back pocket, you went to draw your phone out - but your pocket was empty.

"Shit, hold on. Left my phone in Kook's room. I'll only be a minute."

Not waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and beelined for the room, which was now at least a minute from your current positioning. Heart thumping, you knew that you could have just waited. But you wanted to see him. Again. Just the two of you.

That argument he had wanted? You wanted it, too.

You didn't knock, because you never did. It was just how things were between the pair of you.

As he twisted his body to face the door, he wished that you had knocked.

He looked at you for what felt like an eternity; jaw slack, eyes wide. The shirt he had been wearing was off, trousers too, yet he was still fully clothed.

It was almost like he was wearing a second skin, silhouetting his enviable physique.

Except for the fact it was blue. And red. And embellished with a huge fuck-off spider on the chest.

The same one you'd rested your head against, when the superhero - who smelt like your best friend - had saved you from the advances of a predatory creep.

The only difference now was the fact that Jungkook's messy mop of hair was exposed, and he looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

There was silence. Panic. And then, an incredibly awkward cluster of words that he'd grow to regret.

"I can explain."