starshuas

[starshuas]

muahahahhahahaha 😈

late nights

pairing: vampire!yoon jeonghan x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, comedy, university!au

word count: 2.0k

warnings: mentions of blood (it’s inevitable), allusions of sex (but nothing of the sort happens), jeonghan is Old, most of the fic is a flashback if it wasn’t obvious

author note: hello! i have admittedly abandoned this blog for a while so i hope you like this!! honestly speaking, this is more of a platonic fic but you can read it however you want to ^^

masterlist

yoon jeonghan is a vampire.

he has, unfortunately, lived through many wars and battles, considering he was born in 1679, but hey! it just means it’s easier to find victims already bleeding out on the battlefield, even if the taste of dirt infects his precious food. he can deal with it.

besides, he can always transfer over to the winning side anyway once it’s over—he’s had so many pieces of identification at this point, he’s known by almost every country of the world, though for most of them, he’s already dead.

luring his victims in is easy, especially when they’re driven by lust and love (it’s usually the first one though he’s never really… understood it; why do humans crave intimacy so much when they could just have blood? it definitely makes him happy enough to just have it).

however, you. you.

you are quite difficult. 

“mister yoon, what did mesopotamia look like?”

“i thought i told you to call me jeonghan.” his eye twitches, and when you glance over at him lazily, you see the smallest flicker of fur covering his cheeks, and you realize he’s getting annoyed. 

he always turns into his bat form uncontrollably when he’s irritated. it’s… admittedly a little fun to play around with, especially in public, where he tends to hiss at you to stop talking and pull his hood even higher over his head, as if his sunhat and sunglasses weren’t enough. sometimes, it just seemed like he was a man who was born with the soul of an old auntie more than anything.

“this may be hard to believe,” jeonghan starts, his tone as sweet as syrup, “but i wasn’t alive then either.”

“you weren’t?!”

the gasp you emit means he needs to close his eyes to calm himself and stop his wings from appearing when he’s trying to remain lowkey, as you would put it. why does he even put up with you anymore?

…really, why does he?

it’s a trivial thing, keeping you alive when he could just drain you dry and sigh in contentment afterwards, eyes emitting a soft glow that would fade in a few days.

it had been so long since he had a whole person to himself, since he only took a little from those he was in relationships with. it was a give and take though; a pint every two weeks and a kept secret in exchange for… well, a companion on lonely nights for most. 

every time an agreement came to a close—since of course, he had already studied law and knew the importance of a legal contract, especially when it came to him disappearing from the same legislation he had learned previously—he had simply poofed away and fled to a different country, finding someone else there to satisfy his needs.

he had found you too, pretending to be a college student in your history class—he was back in school for the twentieth time since the start of the 20th century—and he knew it would be easy to strike up an agreement with those in your age group; weren’t they always looking for a night to fool around? maybe he could finally teach them what responsibility looks like via contract signature. oo la la, how enticing. besides, it was a good idea to stay informed on what was relevant nowadays. a vampire has to stay with the times, right?

you were much too focused on your assignments for him to even approach you at first, and honestly, he thought that made you a better candidate. someone who works so hard must want a break sometimes too, right? you must want some relief, or something like the romance novels most people read—and that was something he was well versed in. actually, he had been the inspiration for a writer once as a part of their contract, and it led to him understanding his… well, his vampirical nature more than before.

however, he was wrong. though a little intrigued, your studies were more important, even more so than he first thought they were. why did you reject his advances when—when he was so good-looking?! especially when he had been trying his hardest. 

he batted his eyelashes. he winked. he picked up your bags for you, even though you brushed off the gesture. he learned what your favourite drink was and the exact amount it costed from the vending machine in the eastern corridor that you always went to, even though it was farther away from the class you both shared. 

he even asked you out very bluntly, and all you had to say after a curious look was, “our midterms are coming up. shouldn’t you be studying for those?”

hah. you sounded… well, younger than him but older than you should have. god forbid an immortal being wanted to have some fun.

frankly, it infuriated him. how could one simple person with such a small worldview reject him?! the yoon jeonghan?! (he had decided to take his actual name this time, deciding it’s been tiring coming up with new variations, and it’s certainly long enough for no one to suspect him of living until now.)

he had seen things you would never be able to, and much of it was material in—

that’s it. jeonghan was a genius. he had lived through history itself—he could just use that as a selling point! your history lectures would be so much easier! 

so instead, now that he had spent all this time studying you instead of the material (not like he needed to because of his realization), he had decided to take… a different approach. 

at this point, he really needed a snack, and definitely not the one you pulled out during breaks in history class—he wanted you. or well, your blood. he didn’t care too much about the flesh that needed it.

jeonghan had felt his energy weaning the more you rejected him, partially because he was sick of your aversion, and his body slowly got weaker and weaker. it wasn’t the worst he’s ever been, though he was getting close to that point. 

he needed to make a last ditch effort and hope it would work.

he found you at the library one night—after your midterms, so you wouldn’t be saying the same thing again without letting him talk—and pulled you aside, asking to be heard one last time before he left you alone. the truth was easiest to start out with, so he did something he had never done before. 

“i’m a vampire,” he said, plain and simple. 

of course, the weird look you gave him was expected. he just sighed and continued.

 “i want your blood—in fact, i need it before i shrivel up and… i don’t know. just—please go on a date with me. i’ll tell you all about the daily life of a soldier in the second world war for our assignment—i can fact check! i was in france during normandy!” jeonghan finished with a nod of his head, as if it was completely believable. 

“normandy? listen, mister… yoon, was it?” you started, looking at him with a deadpan expression as he nodded with hopeful eyes that seemed too animated to be those of a fantastical creature. you hadn’t had enough sugar that day to deal with this crap. 

“i literally don’t need that, since you’re lying anyway—and even if you weren’t lying, i’m no bella. shiny creatures aren’t my thing, especially when they’re like five hundred years old.”

he couldn’t help but pout at that before clearing his throat, trying to remain serious. “i can give you factual details! i can prove it!” 

”and besides, i’m not even three hundred fifty yet,” jeonghan mumbled under his breath before sighing.

you raised an eyebrow and he immediately sighed again, pulling you away into the blind spot of the cameras so he could take off the hood covering his face from the zip-up hoodie—seriously, you would’ve thought he would’ve worn something more classy—and focused on turning only part of his face into his bat form not to raise suspicion of those around you, even if you were a mostly deserted part of the hallway outside of the library. he let little fur pieces poof onto his cheeks as his eyes slowly filled up with black and—holy shit. he had to be great at trickery. how’d he do that in real life?

you simply stared at him in astonishment as you asked, “so you’re a magician?!”

…jeonghan was already sick of you.

but eventually! eventually, he got through to you and did everything he possibly could to get you to sign the damn contract he had already proposed but fixed with your suggestions. the intimacy clause, as you asked for, was completely removed, since you didn’t want it anyway. 

it confused him a little, since well… it seemed like everyone wanted it. maybe you were like him in that way instead, without the whole blood-sucking thing. 

and now, after a few months, jeonghan is being asked a ridiculous question at two am. sure, there’s been many over the time he’s known you but this was something only a sleep-deprived person could make up.

“you didn’t learn cuneiform back in the middle ages?” you ask, yawning. 

he gives you a blank stare. “that… you need to sleep, and you need to sleep now before you start talking about how it was like communicating in gruff snorts, or however you lot word it nowadays.”

maybe his blood drawing session yesterday had taken more of a toll than he had originally thought, since your energy had seemed low all day, and had only gotten worse during the night. you had been playing with the wound on your wrist the entire time he had been with you, even if it was now covered up by a bandaid. 

even with a solid excuse, fang marks in your neck would have been suspicious, and it was always easier to just bite your hand—like a blood donation, except you were donating strictly to the yoon jeonghan blood bank and nothing else. besides, the neck area was easily damageable, especially when feeding since it was harder to control his strength, even if he did manage to hold on. he didn’t want to hurt you, not when he… had slowly grown attached to you being by his side.

however, no matter how charming jeonghan was, you did not care to get into that bed with him.

he should’ve known you didn’t wish to “cuddle” with him, the word being strange to articulate when he first said it. he didn’t really understand the slang you taught him sometimes but it had earned a smile from you before you went back to your work earlier, and that made him glad. 

you’re the one who ends up snorting instead in amusement, closing your laptop and turning your head slowly towards him. “like a lemur?”

“…get into bed.”

you huff but eventually do grumble that you will, getting up to brush your teeth before jeonghan comes in after knocking to make sure you actually end up disposing of the toothpaste box properly, and you admire how despite the company, there’s still only one person in your bathroom mirror. no matter how many times he’s walked around in there with you, it’s something hard to get used to.

jeonghan glances up at you, now done inspecting the garbage—you seriously wonder if he was a garbage truck driver once because of how thorough he always is when it comes to it, though he swears he’s just an environmentalist—and gives you a curious look. 

you simply point at the mirror, and your lonely reflection, too tired to filter your thoughts from your words. “i can’t believe you left me…”

“oh, bollocks. go to bed.”

jeonghan huffs and you grin because perhaps with a vampire that needs no sleep by your side, late nights where you can say whatever you want are a little more fun.

[starshuas]

⚔️　OF WAR & WAITING　( 이석민 )

genre king arthur/xcalibur au , medieval au , king arthur!seokmin x fem!reader   cw war/battle , fighting , blood/injuries , me trying my best to make this feel medievally but lowkey struggling , one kiss   wc 474   request yes , (send in thoughts for drabbles!!) note xcalibur dk my dk bias origins, writing smth w this au has been 3+ years in the making   net @kstrucknet

Seokmin collapsed on the ground, hand at his bleeding side, resting against Excalibur to keep himself upright. With the chaos of fighting dying down around him, he breathed easy for the first time in days. You were by his side within seconds; your own face bloodstained from battle. Seokmin wore a breathless smile on his face— one that confused you immediately. 

“Your majesty, you are gravely injured,” you whispered in dread. The fight had been long, and even with his proficiency with a sword as powerful as Excalibur, his enemies had outnumbered him tenfold. 

“It matters not,” he replied triumphantly, cupping your cheek with his hand. It was a gentle gesture he usually reserved for intimate, private moments. The bloodied battlefield was neither, but as the embers of the fire died down, Seokmin needed something to ground him. 

He always held you as if you were royalty, not him. The kingdom looked to their king like he was the answer to all their problems. But Seokmin only knew one answer in his life, and that was you.

“What of the others? Mingyu and Jeonghan— they were at the front lines with me. I lost sight of them during all the chaos. What about you? You’re hurt as well,” Seokmin uttered, now glancing over you with care to see if the blood on you was your own or soils from battle. 

“It is nothing grave,” you vowed, much to Seokmin’s relief. His eyes softened with unspoken promises you both held in your heart. Now that it was all over— now that the kingdom was at peace— everything you had held back for years was within reach. Seokmin’s devotion to you could no longer be clouded by the anxiety and fears of war. Unhindered at long last, he could give everything he had to you.

Seokmin had always been fearless; waiting for no one, allowing no amount of burden to slow him down. He was the hope of the kingdom, the leader to those without voices, and the trusted friend of all the knights of the round table. But there was one thing he had always feared. The thought that he might never get the chance to cherish you as he desired— that his royal duties would sweep him away into another life; one that would never be complete if you did not have a place in it.

But that fear was washed away as he pulled you closer, kissing you with the same fearlessness that had always defined him. As if nothing mattered in the moment but you; the one who had been at his side since the beginning. Silently resigned to wait while he flourished as king of the country, awaiting the very moment he would fulfill all his promises and love you with everything he had. At long last, the moment was yours.

svt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @cham3li,, @shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @wonwooz1,, @blossominghunnie,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu,, @parkjennykim,, @wootify,, @svtoose,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @yudaies,, @gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @starshuas,, @raevyng,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @xikskrrrs,, @cupidslovearrows,, @nicholasluvbot,, @hhaechansmoless,, @i03jae,, @tmrwsuns,, @sea-moon-star,, @wonnzii,, @hanwoolvhs,, @yujiswave

[starshuas]

CHASING THE FRONT [TEASER]

pairing: mercedes driver!joshua x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst, f1au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. New team, new teammate, new standards to live up to. For Joshua, stepping into Mercedes is a test of everything he’s worked for. Competing against a world champion teammate, adapting to a new team dynamic, and finding his place in the spotlight, he’s under pressure like never before. But things start to get a little out of control when he keeps bumping into you, his teammate's sister...and manager.

warnings for the fic: strong language, stressful situations, mentions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn (i cannot stress on this enough), quite f1 heavy

teaser w/c: 1155 full fic: 57k [ part one comes out on 18th july! ]

glossary taglist

ITALY, AUTODROMO INTERNAZIONALE ENZO E DINO FERRARI

Thursday, Media Day

May 15th 

Minghao calls you right after breakfast, his voice sounding thin and scratchy.

“I’m so sorry, I won’t be able to come today. I’m down with a fever, and I’m not even kidding when I say I couldn’t get out of bed this morning.”

Slightly worried, you assure him that it’s alright and tell him to rest. He pauses for a few seconds before croaking out again.

“I told the team, but I think they’ll most probably hand Joshua over to you as well.”

You stop in your tracks then, just outside the Mercedes hospitality. “What?”

“I know, I know it’s going to be so busy for you and I am truly so sorry. I’ll send over his schedule” He sighs. “I tried telling them to not hand it over to you, cause I know Doyoung has a shit ton to do today but I don’t think they’ll listen.”

You hang up just as you step through the glass doors. The paddock’s already starting to fill—press, crew, sponsors, all of them moving with that media day urgency that feels a little more frantic than usual. You’re used to it. What you’re not used to is the weight of two drivers and whatever the hell Joshua Hong’s day looks like.

Joshua’s schedule hits your inbox seconds later. You skim it through it quickly, stomach tightening when you realise how little time there is between each thing. Back-to-back and some even overlap with Doyoung’s.

Great. You think, mentally scorning the higher-ups for not having a backup plan.

“Hey,” a voice says behind you.

You turn. It’s Joshua, already changed in his team shirt, cap low, and with a bottle of water in hand. You straighten slightly, unsure how to even begin.

“Hi,” you say. “Uh—so Minghao’s sick, I don’t know if you know. They’ve put me on double duty today.”

His brows lift just a little. “So I’m yours now?”

The way he says it—casual, almost amused—makes you blink once.

“Temporarily,” you reply. “Until he stops dying.”

Joshua nods, then pushes his cap up a bit. “Guess I’ll try not to be too difficult.”

You don’t reply to that. You’re already flipping through his schedule and cross-checking it with Doyoung’s in your head. You have twenty minutes before Doyoung’s interview with American media, but Joshua’s supposed to be at a sponsor photoshoot in ten. It’s in a completely different building.

“I’ll walk you there,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

He follows easily, steps matching yours as he scrolls through his phone. At one point, you drag him by the sleeve towards yourself so that he doesn’t bump into a few Alpine mechanics hoarding around a box of something.

“Sorry,” he lets out with a small gasp, “God, my friends are planning to come in for Silverstone and I’m trying to figure out their passes.”

“All good.” You grumble slightly, checking your watch again.

The photoshoot runs long. Doyoung’s media prep runs early. You’re glued to your phone by mid-morning, answering one call while texting logistics to two different comms interns. It’s chaotic, but it’s familiar. You’d handle it fine if it weren’t for the fact that now, somehow, you’re fielding questions like “what do we usually do for Joshua’s media pen appearance, later on?” when you have no idea what his “usual” even looks like.

At one point, you find him sitting outside the hospitality, sipping a coffee like the world isn’t on fire.

“You’re supposed to be on your way to the Sky Sports filming right now. What are you doing?” You ask, huffing out a breath and trying to continue, when someone calls your phone. Letting out a small sound of frustration, you glance at him once more, pointing in the direction of where the interviewers are standing, before picking it up.

He blinks at you, almost innocently. “They told me it got pushed ahead by ten minutes.”

You don’t have the energy to check if that’s true. The call you’re on is already starting to drone in your ear, and someone’s messaging you about a missing team jacket. You close your eyes for a second.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Just go now. Please.”

Joshua lifts both hands in mock surrender, rising from the chair. “Okay, fine, fine.”

You shoot him a look, even as you bring the phone back to your ear and mutter something resembling an apology to the comms assistant still waiting on the line. By the time you look up again, he’s halfway across the paddock.

You don’t see him again until much later, when the worst of the day has passed and you finally get a minute to breathe inside the hospitality. You’re leaning back in a chair, half-reading a spreadsheet, when Joshua walks in holding two iced coffees.

He sets one down in front of you without a word.

You look up with a questioning glance.

“Half milk. Less sugar. Like how you ordered yours this morning,” he says, casually. “Figured I owed you.”

You blink, surprised but grateful nonetheless. “I—thanks.”

He shrugs, sliding into the seat across from you. “Didn’t get lost or miss anything this afternoon, so I’d say your track record’s looking good.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Are you done for the day? Or does your brother dearest still have schedules?”

“He’s in a meeting right now,” You sigh out of satisfaction from your first sip. “So I’m not done for an hour or more. I have a meeting to get to in…” you trail off.

Joshua raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue.

“Now. Actually. You’re done for the day, so you’re free to go home.” You mutter, getting out of your chair and setting your cup down before beginning to gather your things. Joshua shifts, trying to help you, but you wave a hand at him.

“Thank you for not being a pain, actually.” You say to him once you’ve got everything you need in your hands. “I thought I’d have to chase you around all day or something. I know Minghao’s there with you most of the time, so I’m sorry I couldn’t but…”

“You thought I was difficult?” Joshua lets out, almost incredulously.

“I think you’re used to Minghao borderline baby-sitting you.” You roll your eyes.

He laughs now, tipping his head back a little. “To be fair, he likes bossing me around. Who am I to refuse?”

There’s something oddly warm about the moment, despite the fatigue clinging to your limbs. You glance at him again, at the way he’s still nursing his coffee like he has nowhere else to be.

He pauses, gaze flickering to you. His smile softens, not teasing or sharp, instead almost sincere. “Thanks for stepping in,” he says. “I know you didn’t have to.”

You shrug, throwing him a grin over your shoulder. “It’s just what we do as a team, I guess.”

[starshuas]

get his ass

[starshuas]

MAMA IM FREE (for two months 🙏)

[starshuas]

i’m obsessed with how every single person can be stupid in their own special way and infinitely smart in another. simultaneously

[starshuas]

to be loved.

[starshuas]

IM GOOD !!!

i fear im still stuck studying for finals ☹

BUT i will finally be set free on thursday so no more studying for a while 😁😁😁

but also have a lot to do over the summer... so um i technically get only 4 days of absolute freedom... BUUT ITS OKAY its better than none AND ILL BE FREE FOR REAL in august </3

ARE U DOING ANYTHING FUN THIS SUMMER???

HI HI HI ZANNA HOW ARE U ML !!! 💗💗

HI AMELIA OMG im so sorry i'm answering this a bit late <//3 i'm doing well !!!! how are you ‼️‼️‼️

[starshuas]

you met me at a very mentally ill time in my life

[starshuas]

life is just like you embarrass the shit out of yourself and then you die

[starshuas]

[starshuas]

JOSHUA | THUNDER STAGE COMPILATION

[starshuas]

propaganda i am not falling for:

always moving on. some goodbyes need to rot a little. some griefs need to be held in the mouth like a stone.

beauty defined by algorithms. beauty exists in crow feet and smile lines

pretending to be chill. i’m not chill. i care deeply and inconveniently. i read into things. i write poems about eye contact

beige apartments with no soul. give me bookshelves and incense and loud art

sneaky links and unclear intentions. i want devotion. and also clarity

treating books as decor. read them. dog-ear them. argue with them in the margins

[starshuas]

[starshuas]

OK PART TWO TIME live reaction fron discord texts 😈:

"And then it hits him. A wave of nausea slams into Mingyu’s gut." FUCKING BANK GUY?????

in the daily planet…

tall.... why do i feel like its someone we know very well

and then rania proceeded to tell me that it was in fact, not someone we know very well and instead a random oc she made up

-

"We have received a breach in security. Please remain calm and await further instruction. There has been a potential bomb threat reported in the building. All personnel are ordered to evacuate immediately. Emergency services are on their way. This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill."

BOMB THREAT??? HELLO WHAT WHAT

-

"In an instant, he feels the white-hot searing pain of kryptonite nearby enter his body, but he has to push through. He has to."

MINGYU

MINGYU NO

MINGYU PLEASE

OH MY GOD

RANIA I HATE YOU

-

"But then, suddenly, a cloth clamps over your mouth from behind." RANIA

WHAT THE FUCK RANIA

...

i dont like you

why would u do this to me

HOSTAGE SITUATION

THE "IF WE CANT GET HIM WE'LL LURE HIM WITH THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE" rania: "what happened to ILY"

i revoke that right now ur getting it back at the end of the fic ur in time out now

-

"You take his hand in yours. It tremors from your touch. “No, you can’t𑁋” You purse your lips together urgently. “They want you to walk into their trap. Into their goddamn execution chamber.”

rania.

OH HOW I HATE THIS FEELING

IT FEELS SO BAD BUT IT HURTS TEW GOOD

mingyu dont make me cry rn

i wont cry anyway but URMAKING ME FEEL DEPRESSO AGAIN

-

"It’s not rage that powers him now. It’s you."

ASUGH A PANG IN MY HEART RN

-

OH MY GOD

KYRPTONIANS FROZEN AND MISSING LIKE SPECIMEN WHAT

-

"We liberated them, sunshine. Gave them a purpose before their little brains shut down. You wouldn’t believe how much their bones would go for on the black market. Oh, you should’ve seen them, Kryptonian. Some of them lit up like fucking fireworks the second they got poked."

YOU FUCKING SICKO GO DIE

KYSKYSKYS

-

"“Get away from him,” a voice rings out shakily𑁋your voice. “Now.”"

OH MY GOD

GF TO THE RESCUE

-

OMG ROOFTOP SCENE

“You’re him, aren’t you?” GAH

"He’s kissing you like Kim Mingyu, and holding you like Superman."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

'“You make me feel human,” Mingyu whispers shakily. “Like I belong somewhere.”'

and u make me want to sob

'“Do you, uh…” You start, already breathless. “…want to go to my bedroom?”'

WAOH THERE RANIA WHY THEY GETTING FREAKY

good lord rania wtf

-

OH MY GOD JEONGHAN

“Try not to die this time, yeah?” hello.

WTF

“With you by my side?” Mingyu starts, lips quirked up as he steps up closer to you. “I’m ready to take on anything, my love.”

GAH

GRAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

i need the jenghan part NEOWWWWW

turn this into a full action series

off the record | kim mingyu {part two}

SYNOPSIS. Kim Mingyu lives a double life. On one end, he’s the perfectly charming yet clumsy coworker at the Daily Planet. On the other, he’s saving the world. But when you–a guarded yet sharp-witted journalist–are paired up with him on solving a mysterious case of kryptonite trafficking, Mingyu finds it harder and harder to keep his secret at bay. And falling for you only makes it worse, when he’s only given two choices: protect his identity, or risk everything by letting you in.  PAIRING. superman!kim mingyu x journalist!fem!reader (ft. editor-in-chief!seungcheol, photojournalist!wonwoo, editor!minghao, barista!seulgi) GENRE. superman au, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humour, slow burn, suggestive WARNINGS. cursing, suggestive themes (kissing, making out, lil grinding, vague nudity, implied sex, shirtless mingyu ofc), violence, blood, illegal crimes (kryptonite trafficking, robbery, theft, hijacking, bombing, kidnapping), drinking, mention of tobacco, mingyu has hella plot armour, idk how to write a whole crime case for the life of me i was struggling w that whole part so it prob makes no sense lol WORD COUNT. 18.2k (for part two); 43k (in total)

notes: welcome to the final part of off the record!! honestly after rereading this fic a million times i swear there are plot holes and parts i could do better on. but hey, i've never written an action-crime fic like this before so i had fun writing with all the knowledge i had and wtv my pea brain could handle heh. if you've read this far, i hope you've enjoyed 🫶 once again, pls do reblog or comment/send an ask i would love to know your thoughts!

part one | part two

Mingyu finds himself clumsily stumbling through the doors of the Daily Planet. He’s ten minutes late than he was supposed to clock in. One of the buttons on his shirt is unknowingly misaligned, though he covers it up with his jacket. He brushes through his windswept hair, adjusts his crooked tie, and itches a tiny spot at his nose before fixing the glasses on his face while speed-walking through the lobby. 

There was an attempted robbery at one of the local laundromats this morning. Luckily, it wasn’t too bad𑁋just a bunch of high school teenagers attempting to snoop through the laundry machines and steal the coins. Mingyu had handled it quickly, gently scolding the teenagers then reprimanding them, and flying them straight to the nearest police station. But it still cost him precious time, as he barely was able to finish his breakfast before being called in. 

Mingyu sighs under his breath, muttering an apology as he dodges a passing janitor and an intern jogging towards the ground floor coffee shop. His mind races ahead of him, knowing he was going to see you today. You’re probably already here, sipping on your cup of coffee that he should’ve probably gotten for you if he wasn’t late.

Warmth blooms in his chest at the thought of you briefly, but the fondness is quickly shoved away by guilt. He can’t help but think about your conversation with him the other night as he adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

Your words keep replaying over and over in his mind. You make it hard, you know, to stay detached. 

God, he wanted to tell you everything. Wanted to stand in front of you𑁋not as Superman, but as Mingyu. As your dazed, cowardice coworker and science journalist who has always wanted to ask you out on a proper date but doesn’t have the guts to. 

It’s an odd situation, really. When he’s Superman, he has the confidence to kiss you, but when he’s Mingyu, he can barely look at you in the eyes for more than five seconds before feeling like he’ll spontaneously combust. 

He exhales sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face as he nears the elevators. His steps quicken with determination. He dashes around the corner of the lobby𑁋

𑁋and crashes straight into another man. 

“Ah, sorry, sir!” Mingyu blurts out in apology, already reaching out a hand to steady the man before stumbling back himself. 

The man barely looks up from where he stands, clutching a sleek black briefcase at his side as he brushes off his dark coat, muttering something under his breath. He’s tall, seemingly close to Mingyu’s height, and his face is half-hidden by a black fedora.

The familiarity of the man hits Mingyu all at once. 

Mingyu feigns a guilty look. “Sorry again, sir. Is there anything I can𑁋”

And then it hits him. A wave of nausea slams into Mingyu’s gut.

He falters for a second, trying to control the way his knees nearly buckle beneath him. His vision swims for a second, his skin burning underneath his clothes, sweat beginning to bead at his forehead despite being in a completely air-conditioned lobby.

“You good, kid?” the man asks lowly, voice rough and gravelly; it even sends an uncomfortable shiver up Mingyu’s spine.

No.

He is not good. 

“Yeah, just…” He lets out a few fake coughs, clenching his jaw. “Skipped breakfast, little stomachache. Happens more often than you think.”

“Mm,” the man hums, and Mingyu swears he sees his lips curl underneath the shadow from his fedora. His stomach twists violently as his attention flits to the man’s briefcase momentarily, and there’s a faint, sickly green glow pulsing from its seams, so subtle no ordinary human eye could possibly notice. “Take care of yourself, kid.” 

Before Mingyu can say anything more, he watches as the man disappears within the bustling, crowded lobby. Then he finds himself leaning against the wall for support, breathing unsteady, feeling the poison dissipating from his bloodstream the farther the man walks away. 

Kryptonite. The word echoes through his mind as if he was cursed, leaving his limbs heavy and his thoughts spiraling. The pain is faint now𑁋whatever the hell was in that briefcase is out of proximity𑁋but that encounter was close. Too close. This wasn’t just some low level crook or common thief. It wasn’t an accident. It was intentional. 

And if it’s in the Daily Planet, it was meant for him. 

Mingyu forces himself upright, brushes away invisible dust on his clothes, and readjusts his crooked glasses. He can’t afford to make a scene. Not here. Not now.

Especially not when you’re here. 

He pastes on a smile when the elevator dings and he steps out onto the floor, yet it’s swift to fade as he breezes past passing colleagues trying to greet him and cubicles, scanning the room to find you. But he doesn’t see you, not even at your desk.

Panicking, he strides towards around the corner to where the conference room is, heart thudding, vision narrowed. 

Finally, he spots you through the glass of one of them. You’re seated near the end of the table surrounded by other journalists in your field, dressed in some semi-formal attire, jotting down notes on your notepad as a woman speaks at the front. You’re so focused, so in your element, completely unaware of the possible danger lingering inside the building. 

A wave of relief washes over him for a fleeting moment as he nears the door. He hesitates. He shouldn’t disturb you. You’d probably even try to kill him for interrupting a meeting like this. 

But he can’t shake the feeling crawling up his spine𑁋the warning courses through his veins, the way every nerve in his body is rigid with apprehension. The image of that briefcase and its poisonous glow flashes through his eyes. 

Without thinking, he knocks on the door, and it’s firm enough to turn a few heads in his direction. The woman at the front pauses mid-sentence. You look up as well, eyes widening and brows furrowing to the sight of Mingyu in the doorway. He gestures toward you with a subtle tilt of his head, mouthing something you can’t quite decipher from where you’re sitting. 

“Hi, um… Sorry to interrupt.” Mingyu pushes the door open a little more, trying to contain the urgency in his voice, shooting apologetic looks to everyone in the room. “Can I borrow Y/N for a second?”

You frown at him, glancing briefly at your other colleagues who are all mumbling amongst each other. “I𑁋Mingyu, can it wait? I’m in the middle of a𑁋”

“Please.” His lips part; for a brief second, his façade falters, and you catch something like worry in his eyes. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

Your shoulders tense instinctively, but you cover it up with a polite smile to the people beside you, mumbling apologies under your breath. You tuck your notepad under your arm and stuff your pen inside the pocket of your suit jacket and quietly excuse yourself from the meeting. 

Mingyu opens the door a little farther for you to step out, before closing it behind and reaching for your hand without a second thought. 

His fingers wrap around your hands with a kind of urgency you’ve never felt from him before, struggling to keep up with his fast pace. He drags you through the crowded newsroom and towards the entrance to the stairwell, the buzz of nearby conversations fading away. 

“Mingyu,” You breathe out the second the two of you stop. “You can’t just take me out of my meeting𑁋what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer at first. His hand still hasn’t let go of yours, and you catch the way his eyes seem to be darting around as if expecting someone𑁋or someone𑁋to appear around the corner any moment. His jaw tightens, and you swear if you listen hard enough, you might be able to hear his teeth grind. 

Mingyu swallows hard before looking down at you, his firm grip on your hand loosening slightly. 

“I… I just needed to see you,” he confesses, though you can tell he’s holding something back. 

Your breath hitches at his words. “What’s𑁋”

“You trust me, right?” he asks quietly, words fragile as if it’s going to break. 

Your lips part to speak, but the words take a few seconds to form. “I… Of course, I do.”

He exhales shakily at your words, something flickering over his eyes𑁋relief, perhaps. Or guilt. Or regret. But before you can dwell on it, before you can ask him what’s wrong, a shrill, piercing sound cuts thunderously through the air.

The alarm.

It blares overhead, bouncing off the walls, swallowing every other sound in its wake. Flashing red lights cloud your vision and illuminate the halls. You could only freeze in place, stomach sinking down to the ground, unable to move. 

“Attention, all personnel,” a calm, but firm voice speaks through the intercom system. “We have received a breach in security. Please remain calm and await further instruction. There has been a potential bomb threat reported in the building. All personnel are ordered to evacuate immediately. Emergency services are on their way. This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill.”

You feel your blood run cold. Gasps and shouts erupt all across the newsroom. Chairs scrape against the floor. People around you are scrambling for their belongings and pouring out into the hallway. 

You whip your head back around to Mingyu. He’s grown paler, yet his grip on your hand only tightens, like he’s trying to anchor himself to you𑁋and maybe he is. Maybe you’re the only thing holding him together right now. 

“Mingyu,” You utter, panic creeping into your voice. “A bomb? Is this𑁋should we𑁋”

“We need to get out of here,” he interrupts, already pulling you toward the stairwell door. “Come on.”

You hastily stumble after him as he pushes the door open and leads you down the flights of stairs. You can hear the stampede of steps right behind you of people flooding their way through the stairwell, trying to get out as well. His steps are faster, more purposeful, but every few seconds he glances over his shoulder to check on you, making sure you’re keeping up. 

At the bottom of the stairs, the doors are wide open, people from all directions rushing outside, some shouting into phones, others helping each other along. The sirens of the emergency services grow deafening the second you and him burst outside. 

Mingyu pulls you a little farther away from the growing crowd, his hand still clasped around yours like he’s terrified to let go. His chest heaves unsteadily, gaze flicking wildly over the scene𑁋police cars, reporters scrambling to get footage, people crying or calling their loved ones on the phone. 

When he comes to a halt, he turns back to look at you. “Don’t move from here. Don’t follow me. Do you understand?”

“What?” You gasp, trying to catch your breath. “No𑁋Mingyu, you are not fucking going back, I am not letting you𑁋”

“Promise me.” One of his hands finds your shoulder, gripping tight but not too harshly. The other reaches up to hesitantly cup your face, and for a brief moment, the chaos seems to fade away. “Please.” 

Your throat constricts, and you barely manage a nod. With that, you feel him pull away from you. There’s a small hint of hesitation as he doesn’t let his eyes leave yours. But then he purses his lips together and turns on his heel, running back into the crowd and disappearing behind all the rows of screaming police cars. 

Every instinct in you is fighting to follow him, a wobble in your step as you place one foot forward. 

But you promised him to stay, and so you do.

Mingyu rounds a corner and ducks into a nearby alleyway. He fumbles with the buttons to his shirt, tearing it open to reveal the unmistakable emblem hidden underneath. He kicks off his shoes and throws his glasses aside, shrugging off the rest of his clothes as his red cape flares out behind him like a banner. 

The building of the Daily Planet shrinks beneath him as he launches himself up into the air, letting his mind focus to narrow in on the threat. His eyes glow as he scans through the building’s interior, and then𑁋there. 

A soft, beep-beep-beep reverberates in his ear, coming from beneath the layers of concrete and steel. He forces himself to focus even more, his vision lasering through the walls of the building, until he sees it. 

17th floor. Administrative area. Armed men surrounding the bomb like vultures. 

With a singular breath, he dives down, merely a blur of red and blue to witnesses below as he crashes through the window, shattering glass exploding like diamonds. The force is enough to send a few of the armed men crashing down the ground before even realising what hit them.

In an instant, he feels the white-hot searing pain of kryptonite nearby enter his body, but he has to push through. He has to. 

Alarms wail in his ears as he lands on the floor with a thunderous impact. But he tunes them out, eyes narrowing to the sounds of weapons being drawn and commands being shouted from all kinds of directions𑁋but he’s faster, way too fast. 

Mingyu moves before any of them can properly aim. A sharp whoosh penetrates through the air with every punch, every tackle, every bullet that harmlessly ricochets off his chest and into the walls. He lifts one man into the air and flings him into a nearby desk with enough restraint to incapacitate, but not to kill. Another one tries to foolishly sprint at him with a knife, but fails miserably as Mingyu grabs him by the wrist, twisting hard enough to make the man yelp and the knife crumpling down to the floor. With a clean punch, he sends the man flying across the room. 

The click of a gun heightens Mingyu’s senses, and he turns around to lunge forward into another armed man aiming directly at him, grabbing the barrel of the gun and bending it like it’s made of tinfoil. A swift punch to the gut is enough to send the man buckling down to the ground before having any time to react. 

At the corner of his eye, Mingyu spots another one of the men attempting to escape through the stairwell. He dashes forward, slamming the man straight into the wall, watching as his unconscious body slumps down the stairs. 

When the last attacker is down and the room finally stills, Mingyu turns his attention back to the bomb. It sits perched on a standing desk, ominous and pulsing faintly with a green glow.

Kryptonite. 

A wave of nausea claws up his throat as he nears it. It’s still ticking down.

00:00:40.

00:00:39.

00:00:38…

He has no time.

As a groan bubbles deep in his chest, Mingyu reaches out and encases the bomb in his arms, sweltering pain crawling up his arm as he tightens a grip around the cold metal, but he doesn’t let go. 

“Shit, come on, come on…” he hisses through his teeth, his cape dragging against the floor below.

He bends his knees and tries to push off the ground, but he barely lifts off.

The kryptonite’s grip tightens around his chest like a suffocating weight. His flight sputters like a broken engine, lifting him only a few feet off the ground before his strength falters. He slams back onto the floor with a harsh grunt, sweat beading over his forehead. 

The clock keeps ticking down. He squeezes his eyes shut. Focus, focus, focus.

He won’t fail. He can’t. 

Mingyu forces himself upright again, wrapping both arms around the bomb. His muscles turns into knots under the strain, but he wills his body to rise, fighting to cover every agonising inch off the ground.

Then with a sudden burst of energy, he rockets through the ceiling, debris exploding through the air as his cape snaps behind him through the wind. He flies higher and higher, struggling to not succumb to the kryptonite’s poison crawling through his veins.

00:00:17.

00:00:16.

00:00:15…

He breaks through the clouds and rears close to the stratosphere, the city below him stretching like a blanket. The bomb feels heavier than the entire world itself. His chest tightens even more; black spots dancing through his vision. 

00:00:06.

00:00:05.

00:00:04…

With one final roar, Mingyu hurls the bomb out of his grasp and straight up into the sky with every last ounce of his strength he could muster. It sails upwards like a shooting star, and as the seconds dial to zero, it explodes in a brilliant, blinding supernova of green light far above the Earth that sends him barreling back to the ground, though he manages to catch himself mid-air, hovering for a few seconds to catch his breath.

Back on the ground, a sudden shockwave nearly has you slipping on your feet, rumbling the ground like distant thunder. Gasps ripple through the air as you and everyone else’s eyes peer up to the skies, the explosion illuminating the heavens above before being swallowed by the clouds. 

And then… silence. Peace. But it isn’t as comforting as you hoped for. 

You scan the crowd desperately, spotting coworkers hugging each other, cameras aimed at the skies with reporters frantically speaking. But there’s no sign of the face you’re looking for𑁋where the hell is Mingyu?

He promised you. He promised. 

Your feet take a few staggering steps forward, continuing to skim every face in your peripheral vision, yet you still don’t see any sight of him. Worry swarms through every limb in your body as you clench your fists at your side, ready to defy his word if it means finding him. 

But then, suddenly, a cloth clamps over your mouth from behind. 

Your scream is muffled as your body jerks backward, and whatever the hell is laced in the cloth immediately burns down your throat the second you inhale its bitter, chemical smell. You try to thrash your legs, wildly flail your arms, but then an arm grips around your torso, leaving your efforts to no avail. 

Your vision spins. The world starts to tilt. Your limbs begin to grow weak, sluggish, your strength slipping away. 

“Shh, shh,” a low voice whispers eerily in your ear. “Don’t make this harder, sweetheart.”

The last thing you see and hear before the darkness consumes you is the blurry outline of the crowd cheering and the streaking colour of red and blue crossing the sky. 

The first thing you feel is a pulsating throb against your skull. Your eyelids flutter open slowly, vision swimming in and out of focus, but the world around you is completely disorientating. 

Harsh fluorescent lights glare down on you from above, and the sharp smell of something faintly chemical, acrid, metallic fill your lungs. It feels like weights are holding down all your limbs, only for you to realise you’re completely bound up𑁋both legs and wrists.

You tug helplessly at the bindings, but they don’t budge. Cold metal cuffs bite uncomfortably into your skin, anchoring you to the chair you’re sitting on. Your heart pounds anxiously against your ribcage as your vision starts to finally sharpen𑁋and that’s when you realise where you are. Or where you think you are.

A warehouse. Or something like that. Grey, windowless walls surround you on every side, illuminated by the few flickering light bulbs above. Stacks of crates line the walls containing serial numbers you don’t recognise, but you could only guess the one thing that may be housed in there.

Kryptonite. 

Dread gnaws at your core.

Somewhere, a low snicker taunts you from the shadows. 

“Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.”

You flinch as footsteps start to approach, a pair of heavy boots pounding against the concrete. Slowly, a man steps into your view𑁋middle-aged, a black fedora on his head, a jagged scar running from his temple and down to his jaw. A pistol is grasped in his hand, but what chills you more is the cutthroat glint to his eyes. Behind him stood a few men, rifles casually slung over their shoulders, their faces covered with masks. 

“Comfortable?” He crouches down to your level, close enough you literally taste the pungent smell of tobacco off him. “Apologies for the rude awakening, darling. Was concerned they put too much chloroform in you.” 

You spit at the ground near his boot. “Go to hell, prick.”

A dark grin spreads across the man’s scarred face. “Oh, honey, I’ve been living there for years.” The gun in his hand clicks loudly, raising the hairs on the back of your neck, pointing the barrel of the gun at your knee. “But don’t worry. You’ll be joining me soon enough.”

A ripple of chuckles dance around you mockingly. Scarface eventually stands up, pacing around you tauntingly. 

“Let’s cut to the chase, yeah?” he starts. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here, aren’t you?”

He stops directly behind you, and you feel the barrel of his gun knock against the back of your head. 

“Here’s the thing,” Scarface continues coldly. “This ain’t personal, sweetheart. Though, between you and me, it’s a hell of a bonus that you happen to be his plaything.”

Your blood runs cold. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He simply laughs, a bitter bark that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. “Come on, princess, don’t play dumb. You and Superman. Or whatever the hell he calls himself these days. We’ve seen you two.” 

You swallow hard, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re delusional.”

His grin widens, teeth yellow in the dim light. “Am I? Or did you think no one else would notice? Cameras are everywhere in this shithole city, darling. Tell me, doll𑁋does he fly straight to your apartment after a rescue? Whisper sweet nothings in your ear? Fuck you silly in the sky?”

You jerk frantically against the cuffs, wincing as the metal digs deeper into your skin. “You’re sick, you𑁋”

The sound of the gun cocking immediately makes you zip your mouth. 

“You wrote that little article, huh? Though you were some big hero exposing our kryptonite trade, eh?” He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve pissed off the wrong people with that one, princess. It almost makes me feel bad for you, honestly. But alas, you’ve signed your own death warrant with that.”

“If you want to kill me so badly, just do it,” You urge lowly.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Scarface spits hoarsely. “As much as it would be fun to put a bullet through your head, there are far more important things than that. Superman.”

“He’s not your enemy,” You attempt to reason, even though deep down you know it’s useless. “He’s saved this city more times than𑁋”

“I’ve heard all the PR bullshit,” he cuts you off sharply. “He’s a threat. A freak. An alien bastard. A ticking time bomb. You think this world is safe with him flying around? He can lift mountains and destroy an entire city with a fucking sneeze. And threats like that need to be neutralised.” 

Scarface looms above you once again, pointing the gun right between your eyes. 

“And what better way to lure him out by using the thing he loves most?” 

You battle the fear grappling at your chest, forcing your defiant gaze to shoot a dagger right through him. 

“Fuck you.”

What comes next is a loud slap that echoes across the room. Pain immediately burns through your cheek from the force, your vision momentarily blurring, the taste of copper falling on your tongue. Your teeth scrape against each other in your mouth as you hold back the heat sprouting in the corners of your eyes. 

“Tough girl, huh?” Scarface sneers amusedly, pulling away from you. “Makes things more fun.”

Before you can retort, you hear shots ringing out in the distance𑁋somewhere outside from wherever you are. It stuns the room in a brief, rigid silence, making the armed men in the room hoister their rifles. There’s a momentary wave of relief that hits you, a beat of hope that reverberates in your heart. 

Scarface curses lowly under his breath, his grip hardening around his pistol, signaling to the men in the room. You watch as they all give a nod before marching out the door, before Scarface flickers his gaze back to you. 

“You stay right here, yeah?” He gives you a forceful flick on the forehead. “Enjoy the show, princess.”

The rattling sound of keys jerks your attention upright. You watch with hazy eyes as two armed men stroll inside the room with heavy footsteps. Both of their faces are obscured and hidden by hats and masks, rifles slung across their shoulders as they approach you. They come to either side of you𑁋the man on the right reaches for a tight grip around your waist.

“Get up,” he orders gruffly. “Orders changed. We’re taking you outside.”

The man on the left is noticeably silent as you’re yanked off your chair and onto your feet. Your knees wobble from having been sitting for God knows how long, blood and adrenaline rushing throughout your body. 

You find yourself being forced towards the exit, entering into a shallow hallway. Exposed pipes and the heavy, unappealing scent of oil and gunpowder fill your lungs. You stumble against the uneven floor as you’re guided forward, their grips firm on your wrists.

The silence of the hallway feels deafening, seemingly endless before your eyes with no visible signs of escape. You overhear the man on the right mumbling something over what you assume to be a radio, then you allow your gaze to flit over to the man on the left. 

He’s stoic, composed, the low brim of his cap hiding his eyes. His grip on your wrist is not as bruising as the other man; in fact, it’s almost gentle, somewhat hesitant. It doesn’t feel like the kind of grip of someone dragging you down to your execution. Or maybe you’re just holding onto the end of some fragile thread of hope, because at this point, it’s slipping from your grasp way faster than you’re able to catch up with.

“Get moving.” The man on the right shoves you with the barrel of his gun.

You stumble forward with a sharp hiss, and you hardly realise that the grip on your left wrist tightens ever so slightly, preventing you from falling down to the ground.

“Watch it,” the man on the left grumbles.

“Shut your mouth.” The other man gives you another harsher push. 

And then, suddenly, the air shifts.

It happens like the blink of an eye𑁋a blur of movement catches you off-guard and before your brain could fully process what’s happening, the man on the left snaps into action.

With one fluid, impossible movement, he lets go of your wrist before swinging a hand directly into the other man’s gut. A sickening crunch echoes through the empty hallway as you watch the armed guard crumple down to the ground. Before he has any chance to recover, the man on your left knocks the rifle clean out of his hands, and in another flash of motion, slams him hard into the wall.

The impact leaves a deep dent in the drywall. 

You instinctively shield yourself with your cuffed hands, fear slithering up your shaky legs as the man turns directly towards you. For a moment, your heart nearly stops.

And then, you see it.

Though his face is still obscured, you catch a glimpse𑁋just a tiny glimpse𑁋of his eyes.

There’s no anger in them.

Or rage.

But warmth. 

Your lips part in disbelief as you scan him from head to toe. The brim of his hat is slightly askew from earlier, dark hair peeking out from underneath. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, his frame sending an unmistakable spark of recognition through your mind, and it takes everything in you not to cry or collapse from relief. 

Superman is here. He found you.

He steps up to you carefully while removing his mask, reaching an arm behind to snap the cuffs off your wrists like they’re made of tinfoil. They fall down the ground with a clank, and you find yourself instinctively leaning into him, feeling his arms immediately catch you. His warmth is enough to wash away more of the fear and adrenaline coursing within you. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is low, almost hoarse𑁋like it physically hurts to see you like this.

You give a subtle, vulnerable shake of your head. He doesn’t press you more about it. 

“There’s kryptonite here,” You tell him worriedly. “They talked about it𑁋said they were going to use it on you. To trap you. Kill you.”

You feel his body stiffen for a moment. Not out of fear, though. He’s not afraid, you think.

“I know,” he says quietly. 

He releases you a little, giving him room to slide one of his gloves off. Your eyes widen at the sight of blood on his knuckles. The imminent danger of kryptonite is fully shown right in front of you. Just like the heist at the National Bank, it’s enough to even make the Man of Steel bleed. 

You take his hand in yours. It tremors from your touch. “No, you can’t𑁋” You purse your lips together urgently. “They want you to walk into their trap. Into their goddamn execution chamber.”

He doesn’t pull his hand away. He lets you hold it, allowing your gaze to wash over the blooming scrape as if it’ll be enough to make it fade away. You feel the restraint in his body, as if he’s trying to hold in the imperceptible signs of pain he may be feeling. He’s breathing harder than he should, and still holding your hand like he doesn’t want to let go. 

Then he looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since stepping into this hellhole. And it nearly destroys him to see worry carved in your features. He’s never seen this look on you before, never seen you𑁋the Daily Planet’s most passionate and sharp-witted journalist𑁋this scared before. For him. 

His jaw tics.

“I have to stop them,” he mutters. “It’s what I have to do.”

He’s about to move. You can feel it in the way his body shifts. You still refuse to let him go. 

“There’s a vent, northside of the building,” he informs you softly. “It’s a tight squeeze, but it’ll take you outside. Reinforcements are already on their way. I’ll hold them off so you can get out.”

“No,” You insist desperately, clinging to his sleeve. “You’re hurt, you’re bleeding. They’ll𑁋”

“Please.”

His voice cracks from the singular word alone. God, you want to argue. To cry. To kiss him hoping that this entire thing was just a figment of your imagination. But you can’t. This nightmare is real. 

The realisation settles in your bones like ice. 

He bends down a little to press his forehead against yours. You relish the closeness, allowing your eyes to fall to a close. While the world has gone mad outside, there’s a brief period of stillness that makes standing in this quiet, grimy hallway less suffocating. Slowly, your fingers release his sleeve, one-by-one. 

“If you die in there, I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” You whisper shakily, trying to summon any semblance of strength in your voice𑁋yet, it wavers anyway. 

The barest twitch of his lips is the closest thing to a smile you get. “Deal.”

You open your eyes to look at him again𑁋just in case. Just in case this is the last time you get to. He doesn’t say anything, only leaning in to press the gentlest of kisses to your forehead which makes your heart squeeze tightly. It burns. Not from heat, but from the pain of goodbye disguised as tenderness. 

“Go. Run,” he demands. “Don’t look back.” 

You hesitate. Just for a second. And then you turn on your heel and bolt. 

Your footsteps echo down the corridor, fading faster than he’s ready for. You don’t look back. You can’t. Because you know that if you do, you’ll turn around and never leave. And he needs you to leave. Staying might only hurt him even more. 

Maybe that’s what love is sometimes: letting go of something, even when one piece of you is begging to stay. 

Superman𑁋no, Mingyu𑁋watches as your figure disappears around the corner. The softness in his gaze hardens back to steel. He brings his eyes down to the unconscious guard slumped down the wall, stepping over to crouch down. 

He begins to rifle through the man’s pockets swiftly. There’s no time to waste. At the corner of his eye, he spots one of the kryptonite pendants hidden underneath the man’s jacket. Other things that he finds are pretty standard: extra rounds of ammo, a pistol, a radio muttering purely static, a tactical knife. All of it is completely useless to him. But then, his hand brushes against something cold and metallic in one of the inner pockets.

He pulls it out𑁋a small, lead-lined case, which alone is already a red flag, and an access card. 

Mingyu pockets the card before flipping open the tiny hatch, bracing for what he already suspects. Inside, there’s kryptonite, but it seems to be purposely melted into a liquid, metallic state, pulsing green like a heartbeat. The buzz from the radiation itches at the edges of his strength. He digs a little deeper into the man’s pockets, and he flinches when something sharp caresses his skin. 

A syringe. It’s sleek, probably custom-made, the kind you don’t find in a standard military-grade medical kit. No, this was made for a purpose. They’d planned to get close to him, inject him. That’s why they needed you. You were the bait𑁋the knife they’d twist into his gut the moment his guard drops. 

And it nearly worked. 

Mingyu crushes the syringe in his hand without a second thought, the material melting inwardly before crumpling to the ground like a pile of dust. They used you. They took you from him. Toyed with your life and hurt you, left bruises on your wrists that he can still feel under his fingers.  

It’s not rage that powers him now. 

It’s you. 

A bullet barely grazes his cheek, flying past him and hitting the wall right behind him. 

He doesn’t flinch. He’s bleeding, but he hardly lets it phase him. 

Mingyu’s body moves before he could even think, instincts sharpened by fury. He lunges forward, grabbing the armed man by the collar and slamming him into the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs. The rifle clatters uselessly to the floor, and Mingyu crushes it with his foot. 

Another soldier comes up at Mingyu from behind𑁋the soft click of the safety being released heightens his senses𑁋and he spins, sweeping the attacker’s legs out from under him. Before the man could hit the ground, a loud crack bounces off the walls as Mingyu’s fists meets his jaw with a forceful punch. 

Pain rattles through his bones. He’s getting weaker by the minute, as if there’s some invisible noose tightening with every breath he takes. But he has to keep going. He has to. 

He limps past the carnage of unconscious bodies, his breath ragged, shoulders rising and falling heavily with the effort to stay upright. The hallway ahead of him stretches before his eyes, flickering lights buzzing overhead. He makes one turn. Then another. And another. 

He stops in his path.

A dead end, but it doesn’t forgo any sort of hope; in fact, quite the opposite. A steel, reforged door looms in front of him. Unlike the other doors in the place, there’s no handle for this one. A keypad glows faintly on the side𑁋red, locked tight. But he remembers the access card he pocketed earlier from the guard.

Taking it out of his pocket, he swipes it.

A soft beep. Then a hiss.

A gust of cold air meets his face as the door slides open slowly. For a moment, he doesn’t move𑁋his instincts scream at him that something is off, that something is wrong. But he steps forward anyway, walking inside the room as another wave of nausea courses through him. 

His eyes squeeze shut, and he takes a minute to labour his breathing. One exhale. Two exhales. Three exhales. It’s relieving, even for a little while.

Then he opens his eyes.

And his heart drops.

The room is vast and eerily silent. The walls are lined with what appear to be glass chambers, some sort of stasis pods. They’re large, cylindrical-shaped, condensation brewing through them so he’s unable to fully see inside. He makes his way over to one of the pods, running a bloodied hand over its icy surface. 

Mingyu nearly collapses down on his knees.

There’s a body inside. A woman, probably around his age. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, her skin pale. Yet as he gazes over her still form, his mind suddenly racks with memories, recognition. This woman was on the list of people who were reported as a missing cold case at the very beginning. She was here all along, and the thought makes frustration blaze through him.

Then, another feeling slithers up his spine. He can feel it right down to his core, and it makes him stagger a few steps backwards. The same physiology. The same dormant power thrumming beneath her skin𑁋except, it’s lifeless now. Pulseless. 

The people who were reported missing weren’t humans.

They’re Kryptonians. 

Kryptonians who had survived the fallout of the planet, just like him. Mingyu thought he was the only survivor, but he wasn’t. They were here this entire time, and he couldn’t save them. 

God, he had hoped. Somewhere, deep down, he had hoped that he wasn’t entirely alone, even if the loneliness was a fact he’d come to accept over the years. He had hoped that maybe one day, he’d find another Kryptonian out there who could tell him stories, or even what the stars looked like from his home planet because he was way too young to even remember. 

He anguishly dashes from one pod to another, spotting more familiar faces from the missing person photos. Faces that look like his𑁋that feel like home. Some older, some younger. All stolen from the world and stripped of the chance to live like him. They all contain the same lifeless visage as the others, the same fading look of longing that there was freedom out there, but he was too late. 

What had happened to them? Were they tortured? Experimented and researched on? Anger courses through him, and he shrugs off the disguise that had kept him alive this far. His cape unfurls behind him, and the crest on his suit is no longer hidden by grime and blood. 

The symbol of hope.

He stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by the shattered remains of his people. He feels the guilt eat away at his resolve as he kneels down to the ground. There’s a dreadful stillness in the room that follows, before he clenches his bare fists and slams harshly into the ground, the floor cracking slightly beneath him. 

It fucking hurts. 

The rage that rises in his chest is no longer a flame. It’s blazing, devouring. 

“It’s about time you showed up,” a voice says from behind, low and coiling around his nerves like the poison it is. “I was starting to think you’d turn on your tail and run away like your little girlfriend.”

Mingyu doesn’t turn around right away. His jaw tightens as he forces himself to rise to full height, pulling through the pain with gritted teeth. He doesn’t need strength to recognise the bastard standing behind him. 

He spins his head slowly, red-rimmed eyes meeting the smug, scarred face grinning at him from across the room.

Scarface is leaning against the doorframe, twirling a pistol between his fingertips. That ugly scar draws down his features like someone had tried to carve the smugness off his face and failed. Mingyu watches as he approaches him at a leisure pace, walking into the room like he’s the goddamn messiah of this butcher’s cathedral. 

“You piece of shit,” Mingyu rasps, chest heaving. “You killed them. You killed my people.”

Scarface clicks his tongue. “Killed? No, no.” He shakes his head amusedly. “We liberated them, sunshine. Gave them a purpose before their little brains shut down. You wouldn’t believe how much their bones would go for on the black market. Oh, you should’ve seen them, Kryptonian. Some of them lit up like fucking fireworks the second they got poked.”

Mingyu surges forward.

Or, he tries to.

But his knees buckle the moment he shifts his weight, a strangled noise escaping out of his throat as his legs give out beneath him. The green haze he’s been fighting since he stepped foot in this hellhole is suffocating him in. The very air is probably saturated in it. As he tries to lift himself again, it’s no use. His strength is barely there. The fire is there𑁋God, it’s there𑁋but his body is failing him. 

“Kryptonite’s a bitch, ain’t it?” Scarface squats down just a few feet away. “You know what’s really funny? I didn’t even need to do much. All I had to do was grab your girl, and you folded like a fucking piece of paper.”

Mingyu jerks his head up from that. “Don’t fucking talk about her.”

Scarface slams the butt of his pistol into Mingyu’s ribs, causing him to crumple down on the floor with a groan. 

“Struck a nerve, huh?” he sneers. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? So feisty too. All that attitude. It’s a shame, though. I can’t wait to see the sparkle leave her eyes when I’m finally done with you.”

That makes Mingyu snap again.

Mustering whatever strength he has, he manages to land a punch right at Scarface’s jaw. It catches the man off-guard, and Scarface stumbles back, momentarily stunned. But Mingyu watches as he recovers quickly, wiping the blood off his lips with a mocking smile. 

“That’s all you can do, eh?” Scarface spits angrily. “What a pity.”

“Why?” Mingyu pants heavily. “Why did you do this? To my people?” 

Scarface straightens his stance, letting out a dark, low chuckle. “Because you freaks don’t belong here.”

He gestures broadly to all the pods in the room, to all the still, frozen remnants of what Mingyu had once hoped were kin. 

“We let one of you walk among us𑁋fly above us𑁋and what do we get in return?” Scarface motions back to Mingyu. “We get broken cities, dead citizens, and a god playing dress-up in a cape thinking he knows what’s best for us.” 

“You slaughtered them,” Mingyu growls in frustration. God, he wants nothing more than to rip this man apart. “They were just trying to live. Trying to survive.” 

Scarface cocks his head to the side in amusement. “And look where that got them. Look where that got you. We took care of them before they had the chance to get power and control. You don’t get it, do you, alien? You think just because you can bleed and cry and kiss like the rest of us makes you human?”

The man steps closer to Mingyu, looming over him now, his footsteps brooding with each step. Scarface whistles annoyingly as he lowers his gun away, before pulling something out from his vest. Heat boils through Mingyu’s as another familiar syringe is summoned, the sickly glowing green of kryptonite reflecting on his skin. It’s almost as if the kryptonite itself is alive, hungry.

Mingyu doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. The veins in his neck pop from the pressure, but his eyes are made of steel. Unyielding. 

Scarface’s cracked lips twitch up into a smirk, taunting the fang of the needle closer and closer to his neck. 

“Finally! I can use this. Saved it for a special occasion, you see,” the man croons goadingly, letting the emerald fire of the kryptonite inside the syringe swirl. “Bullets and bombs are messy, but this? You’ll feel every second of it. And when it’s done, well… maybe I’ll put your corpse on display for the world to see that the perfect Superman can bleed. Can die. Can be humiliated.”

The tip of the syringe caresses over Mingyu’s carotid artery, just a whisper away from being injected into his body. If Scarface pressed a little harder, it would all be over. 

And then𑁋

A loud BOOM bursts through the room like thunder. 

A gun fires. 

But it doesn’t come from Scarface.

It comes from behind him, echoing like thunder across the room, the bullet lodging into the wall behind Mingyu.

“Get away from him,” a voice rings out shakily𑁋your voice. “Now.”

Scarface freezes, his entire body jerking as the bullet whooshes past him. His expression contorts from surprise to disbelieving amusement, the scar on his face contorting into a smirk. 

He turns his head slowly and spots you. You’re standing by the threshold, trembling hands gripping tightly onto a pistol that you snatched from one of his fallen minions. There’s a bruise to your cheek and your clothes and ID badge are covered with dirt, dried blood, and grime. Your chest is heaving with a mix of horror and fury, your body braced like the hells have cracked open beneath your feet and you’re struggling to stay above the surface. 

You’re terrified out of your mind, but you’re here.

And Superman𑁋no, Mingyu𑁋feels his heart stutter painfully in his chest, because damn, he’s never seen anything more braver in his life. 

Scarface’s eyes rake over you incredulously. “Well, look who decided to come and play the hero, hm?”

He places a singular foot in front of the other, and you aim your gun again.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” You threaten, trying to power through your sweaty palms and unsteady grip. 

Scarface raises his hands mockingly. “Sweetheart, I’m so scared. Look at you𑁋you’re trembling like a leaf.” He raises his gun back to you, which makes you stagger slightly. “Aren’t you just a journalist? Thinking you can play in the big leagues ‘cause you got a piece on the Daily Planet front page?” 

He stalks a little closer to you like a vulture, testing your nerves.

“Aliens like him don’t belong on this planet,” Scarface hisses. “And you? You think someone like him could ever really love someone like you? Come on, darling. Be honest with yourself. He’s a walking extinction event. One wrong move, and he burns you. He’s a threat to humanity.” 

The pistol in your grasp wavers. You feel it𑁋hesitation creeping through you like a dense, thick fog. The words prickle like the heat of a hot poker getting jabbed into your skin.

Scarface sees it. 

That tiny flicker of doubt. It’s all he needs to latch onto like a leech. His words seep through your body like venom. One wrong move, and he burns you. He’s a threat to humanity.

And on the side, Superman sees it as well.

The gun lowers in your hand. For a fraction of a second, you allow your thoughts to believe his words.

You’ve heard the rumours, watched the news, read the bylines that were initially published when Superman first came to light. The public loved him. Then feared him. Then loved him again. You always tried to remain neutral, like a good journalist always does. But somewhere between the time he had rescued your bag and to the kiss he gave you in the sky after the interview, your objectivity crumpled along with your heart. 

Wait. A bell rings in your head. The interview. 

“I’ve found my home here with people I care about,” he had said. “There’s something about this city that makes it hard not to love, you know?”

“Is that what you consider yourself?” You had asked him. “A symbol of hope?”

“Not exactly,” he had responded. “I think people deserve hope. I just want to remind them it’s still there.”

You remember it all𑁋the look of quiet sincerity in his eyes when he said it. The ache behind his words like he was carrying a galaxy of burdens, yet still managed to smile at you. 

“But here’s what I believe,” he had told you. “Even though I can’t save everyone, I know I saved someone. And maybe that person goes on to save others, and those others save more. That’s how hope survives𑁋it spreads, even in the places I can’t reach. And that… that’s worth the burden.”

Your gaze falls towards Superman, who is crumpled on the floor, veins bulging out of his neck, blood dripping at the corners of his mouth. He’s clutching his side with gritted teeth, practically at the verge of passing out; yet despite everything, despite how close death is wrapped around his ribs, his eyes𑁋God, his eyes𑁋are watching you like you’re the only other person in the room, like you’re the only goddamn star left in the sky. There’s no fear there. No regret. 

He’s still there. He’s still fighting.

“He’ll outlive you, sweetheart,” Scarface says with a chuckle. “He’ll outlive all of us. This stupid world is going to grow old and die, and he’ll be floating above the ashes looking down on us. And when you’re gone𑁋just another speck of dust in the wind𑁋he won’t even remember your name.”

You falter again. Just a blink. The words scratch at old insecurities like fingernails on scars. 

Your vision clouds, not from tears, but from uncertainty.

Scarface sees it like it’s his golden ticket. 

But then, there’s a cough. A weak one, yet it’s enough to break through the fog clouding your mind. Your gaze whips towards the source, and you’re met with an expression so heartbreakingly soft.

“Don’t listen to him,” Superman groans out, coughing hoarsely, and the utter familiarity of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Please. Don’t… let him in your head. I lo𑁋”

A gun fires. It happens in a blur: one second you’re frozen in place, the next your ears are ringing from the force of the shot, and there’s a pool of blood forming at your feet. The pistol clatters to the floor from your shaky hands as your steps stagger back slightly𑁋you don’t even recall pulling the trigger.

Scarface blinks.

He doesn’t fall. Not at first.

He just stares at you, stunned, as if you’ve grown a pair of wings or another head he hadn’t reckoned with before. Then there’s a twitch to his bloody mouth𑁋somewhere along the lines between a smirk or like he’s about to say one last vile, witty remark𑁋but his knees buckle beneath him, the kryptonite syringe falling from his hands and clattering to the ground. You watch in horror as his body collapses to the ground with a sickening thud. You’ve never seen blood pool faster than now, spreading throughout the steer floor below. 

You’re still holding your breath. You can’t even move, even breathe, your arms trembling at your sides 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

You stare at Scarface’s body, your mind completely blank, as if trying to reject the impossible deed you just committed. You just shot him. You killed someone. With the hands you used to type articles until dusk𑁋you used it to end a life. 

For some uneasy reason, you don’t feel heroic. You don’t feel strong. Gosh, you feel like you’re going to be sick. 

Then a low, pained grunt startles you out of your head. Superman. 

“You saved me.”

Your legs act before you could even catch up with it, finding yourself kneeling down to the ground, scrambling to pick him up on his feet, but you struggle. He’s heavier than he looks𑁋well, of course he is𑁋so you let your arms wrap around him instinctively, attempting to hoist him upright again. 

His body lurches in your hold as you’re barely able to drag him by a few feet to the door. It doesn’t take long for your effort to fail as he slumps back down to the floor again, dragging you down with him. Somewhere down the corridor, you can hear the rapid sounds of footsteps and radio chatter of emergency responders that you met when you escaped initially. You just need to hold him tighter for another minute. 

“Hey, hey, don’t do that𑁋shit, don’t close your eyes,” You plead desperately when you notice his eyes falling, brushing away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “Backup is coming. Stay with me. Please.”

“Fuck…” he croaks out weakly, and you feel his hand lace into yours. A weak grasp, but it’s there. It’s something. “Y/N, I…”

“Don’t talk,” You tell him softly, letting your free hand cradle his face to bring him into your chest. “You’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, Superman, you hear me?”

Superman breathes raggedly against your chest. You feel the way he’s burning up, see the way his eyelids are fluttering as he tries so goddamn hard to focus on your presence around him, hear the way he’s literally struggling to get his lungs to fucking work. But you still don’t let go. 

“He killed my… my people…” he rasps, a few dry coughs jolting out of him. “The missing people… they’re…”

If it was possible for your heart to physically break, you swear it does now. He doesn’t even need to finish the sentence for you to know exactly what he’s talking about. The room was entirely a blur when you stepped in initially, but with the quietness now and Scarface’s lifeless body on the floor, you can see it all. 

You remember all the photos in the files, all the reports about the missing people whose cases all went cold, unsolved, and discarded. They were never just missing people. They were survivors. And the two of you were too late to realise that. 

“I’m sorry.” You shelter him even closer to you, because you know there’s not much you can do except to hold him together as tightly as you can, even if he’s completely falling apart on the inside. “I’m so, so sorry…” 

You know that apologising could never bring his people back, yet Superman inhales your words even if it’s painful to do so, holding onto you even tighter, his warmth seeping into your skin. Blood and grime stains your shirt as he leans into you through the pain, his quiet sobs muffled as he buries his face in your chest. 

You press a warm, trembling kiss to the temple of his head. He doesn’t speak; no, he closes his eyes, dipping in and out of consciousness, and lets himself be held. 

“You’re safe now, Superman, okay? You’re safe with me.”

Above the two of you, the crest on Superman’s chest catches the overhead light, flickering weakly, but it never dims. Hope had barely survived. 

Beneath your feet, the city is peaceful. 

It’s been two weeks since the ordeal. Two weeks since Scarface’s body hit the floor. Two weeks since the sounds of gunfire etched itself permanently into your bones. Two weeks since the awful stench of sweat, blood, and gunpowder had stuck to your clothes no matter how many showers you took.

Two weeks since you saw Superman’s near-lifeless body being hauled through the hospital as the doctors and medical experts struggled to make sense of his alien biology𑁋every needle they poked through him broke on impact from his skin, but still, they didn’t give up on him. Refused to give up on him.  

Two weeks, and the city has begun to breathe again mostly. 

You haven’t slept much since.

The DOD have been working on reprimanding other criminals who had access to the kryptonite trade, and the kryptonite shipments that were found within the sketchy warehouses in Pier 13 had been confiscated as well. Details were still being poured in, but all you know is that the kryptonite is finally out of harm’s way. At least, for now.

People have been calling you a hero, a survivor. Some of your colleagues have written a little tribute column in you and Superman’s honour. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t exactly want it. The attention has been overwhelming, to say the least.

You had just gotten through your first day back after requesting some time off to recalibrate. Now, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the rooftop at the Daily Planet. You pull your cardigan tighter around you as the evening breeze rustles through your hair. You take a sip from a can of beer𑁋a second one at your feet for good measure. 

“Y/N?”

You turn around to the voice, a faint smile when you catch Mingyu walking up to you. The glasses on his face catch the faintest sparkle from the moonlight. He’s clad in his usual attire𑁋a denim jacket, a white shirt, and a pair of baggy denim jeans𑁋and his hands in his pockets as if he’s unsure of his own presence right now. You had sent him an email a few hours again telling him that you’d be staying late tonight.

It seems that showing up is his response. 

“Hey,” You greet him quietly.

Mingyu slowly saunters over to where you are. He doesn’t sit down at first, but then you nudge towards the second can of beer by your feet.

“Peace offering,” You say with a light chuckle. “It’s probably warm now, but whatever.”

A small laugh escapes him as he sits down beside you, the tip of his knee touching yours when he crosses his legs together. He takes the can of beer and opens it with a sharp click, taking a quick sip of his own. 

Mingyu shoots a quick glance at you, watching the way your gaze is lingering out to the mellow, peaceful, blissfully unaware city. He allows himself to look out to the world as well, with the stars hanging low in the sky as if they’re curiously eavesdropping on this strange little moment. The two of you take another sip from your cans, letting the silence stretch in the air. It’s not uncomfortable𑁋not entirely, anyway. It’s quiet, calm, like the city has exhaled for the first time in a long while. 

“Did you know I spent the night in juvie once?” You suddenly pop in.

Mingyu’s brow furrows in surprise. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” You confirm, shaking your head to the memory. “I was fourteen. Dumb, broke, and angry at the world like any other teenager. Stole some makeup from the local pharmacy. Got caught before I even stepped through the door.” 

Mingyu huffs a soft laugh beside you. It wasn’t mocking, just simple disbelief about this little detail of your life. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Well, I also had purple hair. Oh, and a lip piercing. Did it with a safety pen,” You add in with a dry laugh. “Wouldn’t recommend it at all.”

He grins softly at that. He tries to imagine it𑁋he really does𑁋but all he can see is you. Even with your past little rebel phase, you’re still the same person with a fire-lit soul he first saw when you were tackling this entire case, scribbling away in the depths of your cubicle and rummaging through endless files in the archive room with a sharp tongue and a guarded heart. 

You haven’t changed, not really. Just a little older, a little stronger. Maybe a little more tired. 

“I grew up in a place that never really felt like home,” You continue, cradling the can of beer in your hands. “Parents were always busy trying to keep the lights on. I bounced between schools and hardly stuck around enough to make proper friends.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you. He’s listening, steady and patient as always. 

“Then I started writing to keep myself sane,” You confess. “Started with dumb teenage poetry, angsty blog posts, then… it sort of turned into something more real. I stole a newspaper from the library, read this piece about corruption with the mayor at the time. Something about it just clicked for me.”

Mingyu notices the way your features soften with relief. 

“So, I cleaned myself up,” You continue with a smile. “Wrote shit for the newsletter in high school, got a few internships in college. One thing led to another and well… Here I am. I don’t know if Seungcheol even looked at my resume.”

“He did,” Mingyu chimes in playfully. “Well, not exactly. More like flaunted about you.”

You snort at that, clearly amused. “That so?”

“Clearly you’re good at what you do, or else he would’ve been accused of nepotism by now,” Mingyu says with a teasing grin, before it eases into something more bashful. “And… you are, um, good. Amazing, even. I admire you. I’m sure the rest of the world would agree, too.”

Your chest tightens at his words. It’s crazy how he’s able to disarm you just like that. Kim Mingyu, the guy who spilled coffee on your shirt the first day you met. Kim Mingyu, who brings you over sweetened coffee when he knows you’ve had a rough morning. Kim Mingyu, who caught you in his arms in the archive room when you nearly slipped on some fallen files. 

Kim Mingyu, who tried to protect you from publishing the exposé on the kryptonite trade. Who stupidly ran back into the Daily Planet even with the bomb threatening the entire building. Who promised to come back, but he didn’t, and then he did𑁋

Kim Mingyu, who… may or may not be Superman.

And Superman, who you’ve kissed.

“What were you like?” You suddenly ask, turning to Mingyu slightly. “Growing up?” 

Mingyu takes another sip of his beer, and you catch the way his shoulders stiffen before relaxing quickly. His eyes flicker𑁋not toward you, not toward the city𑁋to somewhere far away. There’s the faintest hint of hesitation when the can leaves his mouth. You don’t rush him. You know how to wait.

“I grew up on a farm,” he finally answers, a wistful look to his face. “I was, um… adopted when I was younger. It was just me, my parents, my sister, and our dog. They were good people. And it was nice living out in the countryside. Peaceful, even.” 

“You? On a farm?” 

Mingyu turns to you. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, of course I do. It’s just…” Your voice trails off, fondness glazing over your features. “Just trying to imagine it, you know. Little Kim Mingyu running around in the cornfields with mud on his knees and a head too big for his body.”

A genuine laugh bubbles out of him. “Well, you aren’t that far off, I guess. Used to trip over my own feet all the time.”  

You hum against the rim of the can. “Explains the permanent clumsiness.”

Mingyu huffs in mock offense at that, wearing that familiar, warm, boyish grin to his lips. 

“And science journalism?” You question curiously. “What made you want to get into that?”

“Always had this sort of… curiosity about the world.” He gives a small shrug, fingers tapping against the can. “I was, uh… really into astronomy too. I used to stay up all night looking through this janky telescope my dad snagged from a yard sale. Guess I just wanted to know what’s out there, how things worked and whatnot.”

What Mingyu doesn’t tell you is that he used to look through the telescope in the hopes of finding any remnants of his origins, of his home. Not the little farmhouse with the creaky porch swing or the kind faces who raised him with warm hands and warmer hearts. No, he means the kind of home that stretched light years away, a place that echoed in his bones with a certain ache he couldn’t name. A home he had never truly seen, but felt nonetheless. 

He doesn’t say any of it; instead, he tucks it away with a remorseful sip of beer. When he glances back to you, you seem almost lost in thought again.

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol buzzing through your veins or something else. “Yeah. Just… rough couple of weeks.”

Mingyu lets his eyes trail over you. The bruise to your cheek has almost entirely faded𑁋a clear reminder of the hell you’ve been through𑁋but the memory of everything hasn’t. Though to him, you still look stronger and more beautiful than ever. 

“We survived a bombing, I got fucking kidnapped, then I shot a horrible man in cold blood and it just𑁋” Your lips form a tight line. “And yet, despite all of that, I… The only thing that’s been making me stay up these nights is the fact that I fell in love with two different men.”

Mingyu freezes beside you. You don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s panicking. The breezes seem to pick up a little harder, tucking and sending strands of your hair flying that you don’t bother to fix. 

“God, I-I sound like an absolute homewrecker,” You mutter in disbelief, clicking your tongue, before fully turning to face him. “Because how is it possible that I’m able to fall for you, and him𑁋Superman𑁋at the same time?”

The words hang in the air like lightning preparing to strike. And suddenly, Mingyu forgets how to breathe. 

“I kissed him𑁋he kissed me after the interview.” Your voice grows louder now, more certain. “It wasn’t just a quick peck. It was real. Then I looked at him, and maybe it was the adrenaline, or that I’ve gone insane. But for a split second, I swear to God, I saw you, Mingyu.” 

Mingyu’s lips part as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. You watch the way his fingers tighten around the can, the soft crinkle of aluminum breaking under his grip. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. His gaze only lingers straight ahead. 

You keep going. 

“I thought I was going crazy,” You go on, powering through your shaky voice. “That maybe this stupid crush I’ve had on you since the day we met was getting to me. But then I thought more𑁋how you showed up late for meetings, how you disappeared after the heist, how you caught me in the archive room, how you tried to stop me from publishing the exposé… how you look at me.” 

The silence between you both is probably more deafening and terrifying then when you shot Scarface, but this silence is filled with revelation. It means everything. 

“You’re him, aren’t you?”

He still doesn’t say anything. The only sound you hear is the crumple of the beer can from his tight grip. 

“Mingyu.” The way his name rolls out of your mouth hits Mingyu more painful than anything else. “Say something, please. Tell me I’m just projecting, or that I’m drunk or delusional or traumatised𑁋just something.” 

Mingyu’s throat bobs. His jaw clenches. His eyes close and reopen slowly, and he exhales a breath as if it hurts. 

“I’m not him, Y/N,” he admits finally, voice careful𑁋too careful.

But it doesn’t sound convincing. Not even a little.

And he knows it.

You know it, too.

A part of you wants to laugh, or cry. Or to shake him, kiss him, and hold him all at once. You barely even register standing up, your near-empty beer can forgotten on the floor.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” You retort back bitterly.

He stands up as well. “I’m not lying.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not𑁋”

“I’m a goddamn journalist, Mingyu.” You throw your arms out dramatically. “I live off of facts, off truths. I know when I’m being lied to.”

You hate how your voice cracks at the end. You’re not even mad, not in the way you thought you’d be. You’re hurt. You’re exhausted. And still, you love him. Even if you can’t provide definitive proof that the guy you kissed in the sky felt exactly like the man you love on the ground, your heart knows. It knows, and it’s pounding so damn hard it may as well crack through your ribs and scream it all out. 

Mingyu feels so torn, like he’s standing between two burning buildings collapsing in on him. This awful lump is lodged in his throat, his fists clenched at his side, but his feet won’t move, even if his own heart is telling him to. He’s still trying to protect something𑁋maybe you, maybe himself, maybe from this paper-thin illusion that he can still tape up, even with the tears showing.

Then, he watches in shock when you take a step backwards, near the edge of the rooftop. The rush of air from being thirty stories up teases up and down your back. 

“Y/N,” he warns in panic, his body tensing. “Don’t you dare.”

You don’t know what kind of madness is possessing you right now. Perhaps it’s from the lack of sleep the past two weeks, the fact you drank an entire can of warm beer, or from the sheer desperation of needing him to tell you the truth. The real truth that has been digging in the crevices of your bones ever since you looked into Superman’s eyes and saw Kim Mingyu staring back at you. 

Your heel bumps the ledge.

“I trust you, Mingyu,” You mutter shakily. “I always have.”

You take a breath.

And then you do the most stupidest, bravest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life: you fall.

The world tilts before your eyes, the rush of wind overpowering the scream of your name that Mingyu yells out. 

The city below rushes up to meet you, the air roaring like a wind turbine through your ears, the gravity tearing your stomach inside out. You can’t breathe and can hardly think; hell, you don’t even scream. Time slows just enough for a single thought to push through: This is how I die. This is how I find out I’m wrong.

The windows of the Daily Planet all become a kaleidoscope of blurred lights as you plummet past them. The rooftop disappears into the tiniest speck in your vision, the ledge you just stood on now impossibly far away. You’re starting to feel the inevitable cold claw of death latching around you.

You feel weightless and heavy all at once.

Your heart clenches in your chest, your eyelids fluttering to a close. Your limbs are flailing around on instinct to reach for something, anything. Then, you brace yourself to hit the ground because you’re falling, fuck, you’re actually falling, and there’s no going back now𑁋that maybe this was all just delusion disguised as hope, that maybe𑁋

The world suddenly halts.

A gasp flies out of your mouth, ripping out of your lungs like they’ve just remembered how to function. You find your chest pressed against another body. Firm. Familiar. Powerful. Your eyes fly open as your entire form jolts against the abrupt stop, the wind rushing around you more calmly as you realise you’re ascending, not descending. 

Then you finally look at him. His glasses are still on somehow, dark hair messed up from the force of the wind, his eyes wide with fear and panic𑁋but unmistakably Kim Mingyu. Superman.

Warmth radiates off his skin as he clings onto you, his arms tightened like a lock around your waist. You feel the way his chest rises and falls with each panicked, shallow breath he takes. There’s a tremble to his body𑁋not from exertion or the flight𑁋but from the sheer terror that he nearly lost you. 

You let your arms circle around his neck, pressing closer to him. 

“Are you insane?!” Mingyu chokes out, the clouds around the two of you billowing as he slows to a hover, away from the city, the noise, the doubt. “What the hell was that?!”

You don’t answer at first. You simply just stare up at him, the high from your adrenaline receding into something more softer, tender, raw. The city is practically swallowed by the clouds underneath you as the two of you hover in the air, existing in this space between heaven and earth, between truth and lie. 

“You caught me,” You whisper. 

“Of course, I did𑁋Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Mingyu rasps breathlessly. “If I was just a second too late, you could’ve𑁋fuck𑁋”

“But I didn’t,” You cut him off gently. “Because I was right. I knew you’d catch me.”

Mingyu swallows hard. His eyes search yours like he’s trying to find some other outcome, still hoping that in some way, you don’t see the truth and that he can walk away from all of this. But it’s over. You know, and he knows you know. You’ve always dug deeper, looked harder than anyone else𑁋hell, it’s your job.

And maybe in some twisted, beautiful way, you were meant to find him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly. “I… I wanted to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t. Because if I told you, you’d see me differently. I would’ve put you in danger. God, I just wanted to be normal for you. To be Mingyu for you. Not the guy who can fly or lift buildings for a living.”

“We already lived through the danger, and survived,” You tell him desperately, your fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes. “And I’m still here. I never left and I don’t plan to. You don’t have to be so brave around me, you know.”

His body goes rigid from your words as if someone had punched him in the gut with a force that could rival a hundred bullets being shot at him. His grip on you never eases; if anything, he holds you even tighter, fingers tracing aimlessly circles at your waist as if trying to remind himself that you’re here. You’re real.

Mingyu hears your heartbeat thundering your chest, and he swears to himself it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“You terrify me.” His lips twitch upwards. “And dammit, I love you for it.”

Your breath hitches at that. The air around you grows silent, like the world itself is holding its breath as well. You reach up to trail a finger down his cheek, before tenderly cupping his face in your hand. Mingyu leans into your warmth as if he’s waited a hundred lifetimes to be allowed this. 

His eyes fall to a close before reopening again to look at you. But it isn’t just a glance𑁋no, he’s looking like he’s trying to memorise you, like he’s afraid to even blink. 

“I love you too,” You confess quietly.

Then you kiss him.

It’s soft, almost uncertain at first𑁋just a tentative brush of your mouth against his. Mingyu’s breath catches the second your lips meet his, his eyes widening for a split moment as he peers down at you with nothing but longing.

Then he simply just chuckles, low and breathless. His hands slowly trail their way up your spine, his other hand wrapping around more protectively around your waist. He tilts his head adoringly, pauses to blink, before leaning to press his mouth back to yours. This time, the kiss is deeper. Slower. And so impossibly gentle it nearly breaks you.

He’s kissing you like Kim Mingyu, and holding you like Superman.

Your hand reaches up to cradle the nape of his neck, fingers lightly threading through his hair. A sigh leaves him from your touch𑁋a breath of surrender, of relief, of finally, sending trembles all the way down to your toes. His nose barely brushes against yours as the angle shifts slightly, his chapped lips molding more fully into yours, coaxing your mouth open with a sweetness that sets your skin ablaze in the softest, most devastating way. 

The clouds hug dreamily around the two of you as you part away for air. You find your foreheads pressed against one another, your hand drifting to rest on his chest. You feel the way his heart is pounding, as if it’s overfilled to the brim with nothing but love. He’s holding you like you’re something fragile, precious, his. 

“You make me feel human,” Mingyu whispers shakily. “Like I belong somewhere.”

You tenderly brush the tip of your finger over his cheekbone. 

“You are human, Mingyu,” You tell him reassuringly. “Because only someone truly human would love the way you do.”

He stares at you like he doesn’t deserve to be looked this way. All his life he’s always been… different. He was the third grader who’d run away into the janitor’s closet crying because he accidentally broke the swing set at recess. The teenager who couldn’t join any sports due to the fear he’d break someone’s ribs. The adult who could save the world but never fully belong in it. 

But here, in your arms and under your gaze, he’s never felt more safe, wanted, and loved. 

Mingyu leans in again, littering tiny kisses over your skin𑁋from your forehead, to your nose, your cheek, a lingering one to your lips, each one eliciting a low giggle out of you. The sound makes his heart swell.

When he pulls back, there’s a breath of hesitation in the air. His gaze silently flickers between your eyes, to your mouth, and back up to your eyes again.

“Can I, uh…” He swallows thickly. “Can I… take you home?”

You blink dazedly at that, but as the words register, the corners of your lips twitch upwards. 

“Take me home?” You echo teasingly. “Is this your way of seducing me?” 

Mingyu’s ears instantly grow red.

“What? No𑁋I mean, yes𑁋wait, shit, that’s not what I𑁋” He fumbles over his words like he’s completely short-circuiting. And honestly, he really is. “I didn’t mean it like that𑁋okay, maybe I did, but𑁋fuck.”

You can’t help but laugh. Like really laugh. The kind of laugh that bubbles from deep within your chest and makes you throw your head back at his sheer adorableness. He’s literally stammering like a teenage boy trying to ask out his crush to prom. The sound of your laughter curls around Mingyu like sunlight, the tips of ears growing warmer from embarrassment. 

“Mingyu,” You call his name after taking a minute to recover. “Relax. I’m just teasing.”

A sheepish pout crosses his features. “You’re evil, you know that? You’re gonna kill me one day.”

“You’re literally invincible.”

“Not to you.”

His words make your smile falter𑁋just for a second, your heartbeat thudding unevenly in your chest.

“I just… I want to be real with you,” Mingyu continues bashfully. “I want to hold you when I fall asleep and wake up to you in the morning. I want to take you on a thousand dates and argue about who left the dishes in the sink. I want… more than just saving the world. I want to do everything with you.”

Then his voice dips just slightly lower, still plagued with that certain shyness.

“And yeah, I want to kiss you. A lot. Probably for the rest of my life,” he adds in with a smile, before it softens. “And maybe more than that. If… if you want that, too.”

Your lips part slowly, warmth blooming throughout your body. You simply stare at him. Not because you’re surprised𑁋as you literally fell off a building just to prove your stupid heart right𑁋but because of how goddamn earnestly, nervously, hopefully he says it. Like the thought of having you is still something he doesn’t deserve.

You want it all with him, too.

“Okay,” is all you say.

His eyes widen. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You cup his face again, caressing a finger over the corner of his lip. “Take me home, Superman.”

Mingyu’s arms only tighten around you, and he presses one last kiss to your temple.

“Hold on tight.”

And then, the two of you are soaring through the skies.

Mingyu lands you back at your apartment.

It’s quiet inside. Your feet brush against the old wooden flooring, which is scruffed and faded in some spots. The walls are pretty much bare of any childhood relics except for an old photograph or two. Mingyu spots shelves of old case files, stacked notebooks, and a tiny little succulent plant. The couch appears second-hand, a little sunken in the middle, with a blanket on the arm that’s seen better days. 

There’s a kind of loneliness in the walls that Mingyu picks up immediately. It’s lived in, but barely. You’ve never really let anyone in here.

Still, Mingyu doesn’t say a word.

You watch the way his gaze trails over every crevice of your apartment, as if he’s stepping into a secret, into your own heart. And in a way, he is. He’s been to the edges of space and seen the worst humanity has to offer𑁋yet being in your little half-empty apartment is what feels the most real.

You find yourself pouring a glass of water in the kitchen as Mingyu’s fingers curiously trail over some of your old investigative journalism textbooks on the shelf.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not much,” You mutter, placing the glass back on the counter. “Never really felt the need to decorate, honestly.”

The emptiness of your apartment doesn’t bother him𑁋it never could. Mingyu crosses the room without a word, and you hardly have time to process his presence as his arms wrap around you from behind. You melt into him naturally, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and caressing over your skin. 

As his breath hits the shell of your ear, tingles run up and down your spine.

“It’s perfect,” he mutters. “You let me in. That’s more than enough.” 

Before you have a chance to respond, he kisses you.

Not on the lips, not yet𑁋he presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, then another one to your shoulder, tracing his little constellations on your skin along the way. You shudder from his touch, knees almost buckling, and you feel the smile on his face as he chuckles into your neck. 

“Mingyu…”

Mingyu hums against your skin. “Mhm?”

You nearly combust when his kiss lands near your collarbone.

“Do you, uh…” You start, already breathless. “...want to go to my bedroom?”

Mingyu lifts his head at your question. You don’t even have to turn to know he’s already smiling.

Before you can say anything more, he’s spinning you around and scooping you up in his arms effortlessly like you weigh literally nothing. Your legs instinctively wrap around his torso, a surprised yelp leaving your lips.

“Jeez! Warn a girl first!” You gasp, half-panicked, half-excited.

“Sorry, baby,” he mutters with a grin, arms wrapped securely around your thighs. “Perks of the job.”

He carries you through your little apartment with confidence. Your head rests on his shoulder, your giggles mingling in the heavy air together as he strides down a small hallway. When he arrives in front of a door, he nudges it open with his foot𑁋before realising it’s your bathroom.

“Mingyu! That’s the bathroom!”

“Shit, sorry!” He backtracks quickly, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he tightens his hold on you. “My glasses don’t let me use my x-ray vision here! I’m working with human eyes right now.” 

You practically die of laughter in his arms, hearing him grumble something under his breath before arriving at the correct door. He gives the door a little poke with his shoulder, and as he steps over the threshold into your bedroom, the air seems to thicken even more.

Just like the rest of your apartment, there’s nothing much here either. Just a bed, with disheveled mismatched sheets that you didn’t bother to fix in the morning, and a singular lamp flickering right next to it. Under the window, moonlight pours all over a small desk that has a bunch of scattered papers and an unopened laptop. A few pieces of clothing are sprawled out on the floor, and you silently curse at yourself for not being more prepared for this. 

Even then, Mingyu treats it as if it’s your palace, and that you’re the queen within it. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed, bringing you snugly into his lap. His arms don’t let go of your waist, and his eyes never leave your face. 

You’re straddling him now, knees pressing into the bed on either side of his thighs. Your hands rest lightly on his shadows, and he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes as if he’s in complete awe of you. As if he can’t believe you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re his. 

“You’re shaking.”

“I know,” he breathes out. “I just… don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head at that. “You won’t. I trust you.”

That makes Mingyu pause for a moment, as if your words hit him square in the goddamn chest. Mingyu hardly trusts his own strength, and especially in a situation like this, he would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you. Whether it’s intimately, emotionally, anything, he’s never been more afraid of breaking something so precious as you. 

But you said you trust him, and that makes him want to be better, softer, stronger all at once. Just for you.

He leans in to kiss you again. This time, it’s a lot less playful, less teasing. Just slow, deliberate, and so goddamn soft you might as well spontaneously combust. Your hands instinctively wrap around him, his denim jacket falling off his shoulders and landing somewhere on the floor. You barely even register it coming off𑁋too lost in the way his lips mold sweetly and perfectly against yours. 

When he pulls back, his eyes remain peering up at you through those dorky glasses, at the way your lips are kiss-swollen and body heaving with shallow breaths. You don’t even have to hear him say anything, but you understand what he’s trying to convey: I want this, but only if you want it too. There’s a flicker of hesitation, before he reaches down to grab the hem of his white shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

You immediately freeze up.

Because holy shit.

He’s sculpted like a statue. Like Michelangelo said fuck this, let’s sculpt Mingyu. Even in your shitty apartment lighting, his golden skin radiates. You know that he’s strong𑁋you’ve seen the way his suit hugs his figure and how he walks around at work not realising he’s built like a Calvin Klein supermodel𑁋but nothing could’ve prepared you for this. 

Your eyes trace over the smooth lines of muscle over his body, over his chiseled torso and abs that look as if they’re carved from literal stone, over his stupidly kissable collarbones. You’re not even sure what to do with your hands. Or your lungs, at this point. 

When Mingyu notices how stunned you are, he blushes. Blushes.  

“I𑁋was that too fast?” he questions bashfully. “Sorry, I just thought𑁋”

“No,” You respond too quickly, still practically gawking at him like a Victorian woman seeing an ankle for the first time. “It’s okay. You’re just… a lot to take in.”

“Do you want me to put it back on?” he asks sheepishly.

A scandalised look crosses your face. “No. God, no. Don’t you dare.” You lean in to press a kiss over the skin covering his heart, one of your hands caressing down his stomach. You hear the sharp inhale that escapes him, and you smirk against his skin. “I love seeing you like this.”

You meet him back eye-level, reaching to grab the frames of his glasses, pausing for a moment to ask permission with your eyes. When he gives you the faintest of nods, you slide the glasses off his face and set them aside, and you’re met with the most beautiful, warmest, honey-brown eyes ever. 

You’ve seen his eyes before, obviously. But without the glasses, without the disguise, they’re more piercing than ever. You feel as if you’re staring into a pair of galaxies, and you could pinpoint all the stars within them. He isn’t just Superman. He’s also Mingyu. Your Mingyu.

“Hi,” You whisper.

He smiles bashfully. “Hi.”

You almost want to laugh. You’re both ridiculous. Because here you are, nervous like two hormonal teenagers and blushing like you weren’t close to dying not that long ago. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

Mingyu kisses the inside of your palm. “I think I’m freaking out. In a good way, of course.”

You smile at that, leaning in to press your forehead against his. You hear the shaky exhale that leaves him, before his head tilts to meet your lips again. You feel his fingers trail up your waist, pushing off the cardigan you’re wearing off your shoulders, as his mouth moves down even further.

Your breath hitches when you feel his lips meet the corner of your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck, his fingertips hesitantly slipping underneath the hem of your top like he’s asking for permission to keep going. He’s giving you time to stop this if you want, but you don’t. You don’t want him to stop. 

You answer by lifting your arms up, letting him pull your shirt off to join the other clothes on the floor. You’re left in just your bra now, and Mingyu just stares.

He doesn’t pounce on you𑁋just lets his gaze roam over your form like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His jaw tightens with restraint as he drinks you in, taking in even the tiniest imperfections that dot all over you, his hands adoring every sight of new skin being revealed to him. You barely have any sort of chance to feel self-conscious when he kisses you again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against your neck, pressing a line of kisses over your collarbone, the curve above your breast, and one above your heart. “Every part of you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m half-naked on top of you,” You retort playfully.

His brows draw together at that as he glances up at you mischievously. “I’m saying it because it’s true, sweetheart. The half-naked part is just a bonus.” 

Your laughter dissolves into a breathy sigh as his thumbs tread tenderly over your ribcage. You move your hips again𑁋just a subtle, completely unintentional grind on his lap, enough to have a sound that nearly resembles a whimper tumbling out of his throat, and his hands gripping onto your hips a little more tighter. 

“Sorry,” You murmur breathlessly, though there’s a sparkle of mischief in your eyes. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he breathes out, voice low and wrecked. “Never be sorry𑁋fuck, angel, you’re driving me crazy…”

It’s so hard to take in the fact that someone so powerful𑁋someone who literally has the power to lift up a tank on his shoulders as if it’s light as a feather𑁋is trying so hard to be so gentle with you. Like he’s terrified that one wrong move shatters you, when all you want him to do is pull you closer. 

Your fingers comb through his hair as he nuzzles his face in your shoulder, taking in the way you feel, smell, and taste. 

“Superman always takes care of everybody,” You start when it’s your turn to be littering kisses at the skin of his neck. “Saves the world, the city, strangers, me𑁋but… who takes care of you?”

He stills. Just for a second. His grip on your waist loosens imperceptibly, before tightening back. You see the way the question runs around his head as if it’s his first time ever being asked something so vulnerable. 

“I… I don’t know,” he answers unsurely. 

Your heart breaks and comes back together all at once.

“Then let me,” You insist softly. “From now on, from however long you want me, let me.”

Mingyu looks up at you with hopeful, puppy eyes. 

“And if I want forever?”

You give him a smile.

“I can do forever.”

You don’t know who leans in first. You don’t exactly know how the straps of your bra have fallen over your shoulder either. All you do know is that you’re suddenly underneath him this time, and he’s still kissing you. Hungrier. Needier. 

The bed dips slightly as Mingyu fully climbs on top now, one leg slotted between yours as you find yourself practically melting into the mattress. His body is the personification of a living furnace as his chest presses against yours, skin against skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You roll your hips against him once more to chase that particular friction over the hardness of his jeans, and he has to muffle away a groan into your shoulder. He rocks himself up to meet you halfway with a low sigh into your neck, the two of you finding a rhythm that has heat spiraling down both of your bodies and for your brains to grow foggy. 

“You’re so𑁋shit, you’re so perfect,” he rasps, voice barely audible from the needy sighs spilling out of your mouth. “You feel so good, baby.”

The muscles on his back tense when he feels your hands explore themselves over them, breath hitching against your throat. Your fingertips caress over the ridges of his spine, tracing the slope of his shoulder blades, curling into the soft messiness of his hair. Mingyu swears that perhaps you have your own kind of superpower𑁋of making him so undeniably, fondly, helpless for you. 

Bullets break in half when they hit him, he’s prevented literal buildings from falling over, and could bend steel with the singular twirl of his fingers. But when you’re here, underneath him, kissing him and making noises he’ll replay in his mind for the rest of his days, he turns into literal mush. Kryptonite isn’t the only thing that weakens him.

It’s you. 

“I think I understand it now,” he mutters against your skin.

Your body buzzes with heat as you look at him. “What?”

Mingyu pulls back to look at you, a lump bobbing in his throat. 

“Desire.”

He says the word like it’s some otherworldly discovery. As if he’s heard it from somewhere, maybe read about it, seen it when lovers skip down the streets with their hands clasped together. But he’s never felt it like this. Not until now. Not until you. 

“I never knew it could feel like this,” he says quietly. “This need to… touch you. Be close with you. Not just physically, but gosh, hearing your heartbeat makes me go insane.”

You giggle at that, and it sends a cheeky, silly smile crawling over Mingyu’s face. He watches the way your face lights up when you laugh. You’re always so scarily serious all the time when you’re in your zone, but now? Now you’re all soft and radiant and so unfairly sexy in a way that makes him ache to know what other things he can make you feel. 

“Mingyu?”

Mingyu hovers above you, one hand propping him up beside your head and the other drawing circles near the waistband of your pants. “Yeah?”

“I want you,” You confess. It doesn’t come off shy, not anymore. “You… don’t have to hold back with me, okay? You can let go𑁋I want you to.”

That’s what undoes him right there. He gives you the most affectionate grin known to mankind. 

“Okay,” Mingyu breathes, a singular breath away from your lips. “Okay. Letting go. I… I can do that.”

This time, when he kisses you, it feels like you’re flying again.

Mingyu makes love to you just like how he fights𑁋with the same passionate fire in his veins and the protectiveness of someone willing to break himself before he ever lets harm touch you. And it isn’t just about pleasure; no, it’s about safety. It’s about surrender. Vulnerability. 

It’s about loving you with the same unrelenting force he uses to save the world𑁋this time, only softer. Sweeter. And only a certain type of love that belongs to you.

The second you check the time on your watch, the elevator dings in front of you. 

Your heels clack against the floor as you step inside with a sigh, pressing a button to your desired floor. Your bag is slung loosely over your shoulder, the strap threatening to fall off from the weight of your laptop and whatever the hell you have inside is. You’re too busy scrolling through your upcoming meeting agenda on your phone. The Daily Planet is as alive as ever for a Monday morning, but here, you’re lucky you can breathe for once. 

You catch sight of your reflection on the mirrored walls on the elevator before leaning back against the cold metal with a sigh, letting your eyes flicker close for a moment as the door starts to close. 

But before the doors are able to seal shut, there’s a sudden clang, and the metal shudders as if it’s been crushed with some kind of forceful pressure. 

You jolt in surprise as the elevator doors groan back open, revealing none other than Kim Mingyu clambering clumsily inside wearing an extremely apologetic expression on his face. He takes his hand off the elevator door, where you notice a visible dent had formed from what you assume to be how hard he grabbed the damn thing. 

“Shit,” Mingyu mutters, staring at the dent like a guilty puppy as the elevators struggle to close back again. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear.”

You roll your eyes. “Gyu, that is literally government property.”

He winces at that. “I got too excited!”

“For what?”

“...seeing you.”

Your expression softens despite yourself, struggling to bite back a smile as Mingyu places himself right next to you, your shoulders momentarily brushing. His hair is a tad bit windswept from probably flying here, and his glasses slightly askew on his nose. Half of his dress shirt is tucked into a pair of dark slacks, his tie half-done, and yet, he still looks like the most kissable man on Earth right now.

As the elevator begins to rise slowly, Mingyu glances over at you too. 

“You look nice today,” he points out casually.

You blink, peering down at your own outfit. It wasn’t too much out of the ordinary𑁋just a more structured blazer, a formal blouse, a bit more effort in your makeup, and your hair styled in a way when you actually want to appear like you have your shit together.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat, warmth sprouting in your cheeks. “Got a meeting later in the afternoon with out-of-town journalists. Thought looking intimidating would make it go by faster.”

A grin crosses Mingyu’s face as his eyes roam over you once more. “Well, you do look intimidatingly hot, if I do say so myself.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Mingyu.”

“What?” His grin only widens. “Is flirting with my girlfriend a crime now?”

You try to glare at him, but it’s not effective at all with the way you’re suppressing a stupidly fond smile. “Flattery won’t fix this elevator door.”

“That’s totally unrelated.”

“It looks like a rhino charged head first into it.”

Mingyu chuckles sheepishly. “I’ll… fix it tomorrow, maybe. After hours. No one will know. Or I can bribe maintenance with cookies again.”

You could only scoff. He’s such a dork.

The elevator hums as it continues its ascent into the upper floors of the building. Right next to you, Mingyu’s hand brushes against yours. First by complete accident, second on purpose. You don’t pull away when his pinky nudges against yours. Instead, you allow your fingers to lace around his, and you immediately feel the way he relaxes. 

It’s quiet in the moments that follow, yet your heart is completely betraying you and you know he can hear it.

The two of you have been together for almost five months at this point, and yet, it feels like it’s only ever been day one. The hardest part was keeping your relationship a secret at first, especially from the newsroom, but then Minghao told you that you both have been fairly obvious ever since the kryptonite case. You didn’t even try to deny it because there was no point.

Especially not when Mingyu would sometimes hover outside your bedroom window, tapping gently on the glass to say hi before flying off on another rescue mission. Or when your coworkers always noticed the two of you walking in and out of the building together. Or when you’d randomly go missing for lunch and return all flushed, hair tousled, and somehow in a better mood. 

You turn to face him, letting go of his hand momentarily to fix his tie, tugging gently at the silk resting at the base of his throat. You feel his hands trail down your waist as he stands still while you tighten it. When your fingers brush over his collarbones, he tenses naturally, though he still wears that boyish smile to his face.

“Still meeting me for dinner tonight?” he asks.

You smooth out his dress shirt over his chest. “Depends. Are you flying me to Paris or Italy this time?” 

Mingyu hums contemplatively, his fingers tightening a little more around your waist. “Hm, I was thinking more like Greece. Or Japan, maybe. I know you’ve always wanted to go there. Heard it’s cherry blossom season over there.”

You tilt your head as you pretend to think. “Tough choice. Greek sunsets or Japanese cherry blossoms?”

“Baby, I could take you to both, you know.”

You snort, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Clearly you forgot we have actual jobs that require us to, I don’t know, show up.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically, pushing back some loose strands of hair behind your ear. “Right. Damn capitalism.” He lets his eyes roam over you adoringly. “Okay, how about just my place tonight?”

“Isn’t Wonwoo going to be there?”

“Don’t worry. He’s grown into the art of minding his own business.”

You grin at that. 

The ding of the elevator interrupts your banter, the doors𑁋still dented from his overly enthusiastic entrance𑁋sliding open to reveal the classic chaotic routines of the bullpen. Mingyu retracts his hand from your waist, straightening his posture in the hopes of masking away his besotted features. You flip back into your professional stance too, fixing your blazer and flicking a glance to the time on your watch.

The two of you step out onto the floor together. The frantic morning bustle of the newsroom quickly fills your senses: interns rushing by, the clattering of keyboards, a printer breaking down somewhere in the corner, and people yelling out deadlines in your ears. When you stop at your desk, you watch for a few seconds as Mingyu sidles past you to head to his own cubicle just a few steps down. 

However, just as you’re about to sit, a loud voice booms through the newsroom: Seungcheol.

“Mingyu! Y/N! Office now!” 

You freeze halfway in the seat, meeting Mingyu’s equally startled gaze across the room, his hand gripped around his rolling chair. Letting out an exhale, you set your bag down on your desk with Mingyu following behind you over to Seungcheol’s office.

The blinds of Seungcheol’s office are halfway drawn as the two of you step inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Seungcheol is sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pragmatic look to his face. He doesn’t even have to glance up as he cracks a manila folder open on the desk. 

“Alright, Bonnie and Clyde,” he starts as you and Mingyu sit down. “I’m pairing you up again.”

You raise a suspicious eyebrow, shooting a side-glance toward Mingyu, who looks just as curious and baffled as you are. It hasn’t even been long since the two of you were paired up on the kryptonite trafficking and Scarface incident, where near-death was just a slip away from your fingers.

Seungcheol opens the folder, revealing a cluster of surveillance photos from what look to be press conferences, a particular figure standing out in every single one.

“Recently, the President-elect has been appearing in places he shouldn’t be,” Seungcheol states, sliding the photos over the two of you.

“The President-elect?” You repeat, staring down at the images. “As in, President-elect Yoon Jeonghan?”

“Precisely,” Seungcheol responds eagerly. “He’s been spotted here in Seoul, then Metropolis, Gotham, Beijing, nearly everywhere.”

You lean in closer to photos, feeling Mingyu beside you do the same. Sure enough, there he is𑁋President-elect Yoon Jeonghan wearing his signature dark suit, waving gracefully at crowds, shaking hands with sick children in a hospital, all with that perfect charming smile on his face. He appears undeniably poised, pristine, and politically untouchable. There’s something quite eerie about it. 

However, there are also some photos taken from security cameras in the middle of inconspicuous dark alleyways, military divisions, and unregistered facilities. All the photos were taken in different locations around the world. But what catches your eyes are the timestamps on the photos.

They’re all merely hours or even minutes apart.

“That’s not humanly possible,” You remark incredulously. “Any information on travel records?”

Seungcheol shakes his head grimly. “Nope. His press team claims he’s been prepping for his inauguration in Seoul and only travelled three times the past five months. The intelligence team is pretty divided on digging even more about this. But I know when something isn’t right, and clearly this𑁋” He motions over the photos. “𑁋isn’t just normal presidential shenanigans. I need to know if the man who is about to lead this country is actually who he says he is.”

You and Mingyu exchange another look. He’s frowning now, jaw tense. You can practically see the gears turning in your head. It’s clear he’s thinking the same thing you are. 

This isn’t just a scandal, or a simple case of political corruption. It’s a threat waiting to detonate.

“Alright,” You say, clasping your hands together. “We’ll take it.”

“Good.” Seungcheol leans back in his chair. “But keep this off the record for now. We don’t want to cause a nationwide panic. Whatever you plan to write, take it up with me first. He’s still the goddamn President-elect, so watch your backs. Both of you.” 

“Yes, sir,” Mingyu states solemnly, already gathering back the photos in the folder.

“And look, I don’t care what the hell is going on between the two of you,” Seungcheol starts, eyes flitting between the two of you. “But I do know the last time I partnered you two, we broke the damn site’s traffic record and scored a Pulizter nomination in the process. So don’t disappoint me, alright? Meeting’s over.”

The two of you start to saunter your way out of Seungcheol’s office with materials gathered under both of your arms. However, just as Mingyu is about to close the door, Seungcheol calls out to him again.

“Kim! One more thing.”

Mingyu pauses with his hand still on the doorframe, poking a head back in the office. “Yes, sir?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his papers he’s scavenging through, but his voice cuts through the room like a knife. 

“Try not to die this time, yeah?” 

It comes off way too casual for Mingyu’s liking, laced with that familiar gruff Seungcheol charm that’s gotten him through years of leading the newsroom and dealing with incorrigible employees. The man basically implied that he knows in some way, somehow. Mingyu’s jaw twitches from nerves, before easing into a tight-lipped smile. 

“Noted… uh, sir.”

Seungcheol waves him off curtly. “Amazing. Now get back to work.”

And so he does. Mingyu quietly shuts the door before sheepishly meandering his way over to where you’re already perched at your desk and setting the files down. You smile when you catch him coming up to you, and the look on your pretty face is quick to dissolve any lingering nerves he has.

“So, partner.” You place a hand on your hip. “Guess we’re working together again.”

“That seems to be the case, Cronkite,” Mingyu retorts teasingly. 

You tilt your head fondly at the nickname, peering up at him curiously.

“Are you ready for this?” 

Mingyu glances down at you. He doesn’t answer, not at first𑁋just takes you in with warm eyes as if you’re the centre of the damn universe, noticing every flicker of excitement and hint of worry that paints your features. He may be Superman, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel scared sometimes. 

Especially when it comes to you𑁋someone who he doesn’t just love, but someone who he would quite literally move through heaven and hell for. Someone who makes every mission worth surviving. Someone who he chooses again and again every damn day. 

You’re standing there in front of him with your lips pressed in that determined line he knows all too well. Brave. Brilliant. Unafraid to chase the truth even if it kills you. And God, he swears he falls in love with you all over again.

“With you by my side?” Mingyu starts, lips quirked up as he steps up closer to you. “I’m ready to take on anything, my love.” 

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[starshuas]

firstr off. ily rania. i think i've told u this many times already.

also here is my live reaction (as texted to u on discord LMAO):

"New case. Green mineral trafficking, multiple disappearances, possible government cover-up. Sounds like your kind of party." kryponite omfg

MINGYU

KIMNFUCKING MINGYU

why the FUCK

whould u accept the KYRPTONITE aryicle

u dumb dumb ho

-

and then he touched the necklace from the guy on the truck.

mingyu u absolute DUMBASS

how are you goint to go near the whole TRUCk mf you will DIEEEEEE

-

"'You’re lucky it was only a pendant. If it were something bigger, you’d probably be in the ER, and it would be a whole other shitshow when they find out about your weird alien space blood. Or worst case scenario, dead.'”

CLOCK HIM WONUUUUU

-

omg yn is onto him

'“This is definitely something deeper, isn’t it?” You question pensively'

AUGH

-

BANK ROBBERY

HOLY FUCK

MINGYU

WTF IS SUPERMAN GONNA DOUBLE OVER AND COLLAPSE

FUUUUCKKKKKK MINGYU NO

-

HELLO DARK TALL FIGURE.

GET AWAY FROM MINGYU

PLEASE DONT HURT MY BF

-

oh kim mingyu ur down bad -

“They wanted Superman to show up.” (insert that joshua clip where he gets a 'cramp' while trying to guess uhm junghwa) AYGHJSGAJGSHASGHHHGHG

-

omg hes spilling the beans about kryptonite

-

FLIRTY I SEE

mingyu dont make me feel sad rn.

im supposed to be doing physics rn. DO NOTTTTTT

"And before you can second-guess yourself, he steps off the edge. With you in his arms" HELLO

we are flying FLYING?

i am scared of heights superman

-

omfg

mingyu

A KISS

KISS SCENE

-

"Superman𑁋no, Mingyu?" GOD FUCKING BYE RANIA WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME

"That you kissed Superman? That you probably kissed Mingyu? And that you’re 90% sure are the same person?" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

-

"STUBBORN BASTARD" UGGHHHHHHSDFGDSHFH

off the record | kim mingyu {part one}

SYNOPSIS. Kim Mingyu lives a double life. On one end, he’s the perfectly charming yet clumsy coworker at the Daily Planet. On the other, he’s saving the world. But when you–a guarded yet sharp-witted journalist–are paired up with him on solving a mysterious case of kryptonite trafficking, Mingyu finds it harder and harder to keep his secret at bay. And falling for you only makes it worse, when he’s only given two choices: protect his identity, or risk everything by letting you in.  PAIRING. superman!kim mingyu x journalist!fem!reader (ft. editor-in-chief!seungcheol, photojournalist!wonwoo, editor!minghao, barista!seulgi) GENRE. superman au, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humour, slow burn, suggestive WARNINGS. cursing, suggestive themes (kissing, making out, lil grinding, vague nudity, implied sex, shirtless mingyu ofc), violence, blood, illegal crimes (kryptonite trafficking, robbery, theft, hijacking, bombing, kidnapping), drinking, mention of tobacco, mingyu has hella plot armour, idk how to write a whole crime case for the life of me i was struggling w that whole part so it prob makes no sense lol WORD COUNT. 25.1k (for part one); 43k (in total)

notes: hello everyone it's finally here!!!! we cheered!! sadly i have to separate this fic into 2, but part 2 will either be posted either tomorrow (june 7th) or sunday (june 8th). ty guys for being so patient with me as this is the longest fic i've written so far on this blog. i hope you all enjoy the story! this is my gift to you all for 3k followers!! ty to @tomodachiii and @slytherinshua for reading over this for me hehe. pls don't forget to reblog as well i'd love to know your thoughts 🙂‍↕️

part one | part two

“Surely a young man like you would be settling down with marriage at your age!” 

Kim Mingyu elicits a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he watches Mrs. Moon place a couple of her famously harvested tangerines inside a brown bag. He pushes up the pair of dainty glasses that sit on his face. He flashes the old lady that particular disarming smile𑁋one that seems to win over anyone on the street.

“Ah, you already know me, Mrs. Moon,” Mingyu begins, sending a small wink. “Work keeps me quite preoccupied these days.”

(Yesterday, he had to save this speeding train from derailing off the tracks and crashing into a platform full of people in France. And the day before that, he heard cries from a few families who were trapped within a burning apartment building in Brazil and barely made it out with a little girl clutched in his arms before the top floor collapsed entirely.)

But Mrs. Moon doesn’t need to know that. To her and the rest of the world, he’s just Kim Mingyu𑁋the clumsy, always smiling, ever-so-slightly late to everything Kim Mingyu. But the truth is, between dodging falling satellites in space and struggling to file articles on time, he doesn’t exactly have the time for something as ordinary as love. 

Mrs. Moon clicks her tongue and lets out a cackle, shaking her head while placing the final tangerine in the bag. “Work, work, work. Excuses, excuses. You should find a nice girl before someone else snatches her up! Cherish your youth.”

Mingyu laughs at the woman’s words before opening up his wallet and giving her some spare cash as a friendly tip. He clutches the bag of tangerines in his grasp as he exits the grocery store, his thoughts lingering to Mrs. Moon’s words as he enters back into the regular flow of the city he’s been tasked with protecting for the past few years. 

It’s a relatively peaceful morning so far. The sky is painted in the most perfect shade of blue, clouds lazily drifting across its surface. Mingyu allows himself to relax for a moment as he approaches the incoming intersection, shooting a glance down at his watch to ensure he’s still on the right track with coming into work. 

A breeze brushes past his hair. Passerbys come and go past him, all heading towards their own work duties as he is. He’s gotten the hang of pretending to be ordinary. Just an ordinary guy heading on his way to his desk job. Just another journalist at the Daily Planet. 

But then, he hears it.

A sudden commotion. A shout. 

Sharp. Frantic. Close. 

His head darts towards the source of the sound𑁋it’s right across the large intersection he’s currently standing in. His eyes laser in on focus: a woman across the street, breathless and wide-eyed as another man barrels down the sidewalk dodging people left and right with a worn leather bag clutched in his hands. Her bag.

Instinct takes over.

Mingyu peers around before ducking into a nearby alleyway, his heart already racing𑁋not from fear, but from adrenaline. His glasses are off as he rounds the corner, the brown paper bag of tangerines abandoned on top of a garbage bin as he shrugs off his coat and unbuttons his shirt. 

And within seconds, the familiar sight of a red cape flares into the sky like an open flame. 

You’ve never been a runner. At least, definitely not in heels. Yet you try anyway, bolting forward a few steps to catch up with the thief before nearly stumbling when one of your heels gets trapped in a hidden crack in the pavement. And when you try to move it, you hear the slight sound of a crack, though it’s loud enough to crush your dignity like a slap to the face. 

Frustrating stings at your eyes, because of course, this just has to happen on the first day of your new job. You can still see the damn thief up ahead𑁋with your bag, your wallet, your ID, your everything. 

You don’t even have time to scream.

And then𑁋

A gust of wind rushes past your face. A whoosh so fast it rattles the windows of the nearby stores that surround you. You barely register the colours of blue and red that streaks across your vision, and everyone else around you seems to take a halt all at once, their gazes stalking up at the skies with a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

“Was that𑁋?”

“Oh, my God. It’s him𑁋!”

Meanwhile, Mingyu soars just above the streets, spotting the thief tripping into a narrow alley. A slight smirk crosses his face as he picks up speed. Like the blink of an eye, he cuts the man off at the end of the alley, hovering mid-air with folded arms as his cape behind him lazily billows through the heavy, mildew-scented air. 

The thief skids to a stop, his shoes squeaking distressfully against the ground. “No fucking way𑁋” 

And in an unlucky attempt to escape from the other way, Mingyu appears right in front of him. Again. 

With an almost bored look, Mingyu leans in to snatch the bag from the man’s grasp as if plucking an apple off a tree. 

“Thank you for your service,” he tells the man with a roll of his eyes, showing off the leather bag in his hand. “But this doesn’t belong to you.”

And then, with a flash of movement and a gentle, almost slothful toss, the thief finds himself landing face-first into a nasty pile of garbage cans, only to be surrounded by a few police officers who come dashing around the corner into the alleyway. 

Mingyu casually hovers in place for a few moments, offering a mock salute to the baffled officers before zooming back up towards the sky.

By the time you’ve managed to shuffle your near-broken heel out of the crack and catch your breath, he appears right in front of you.

Superman. The one who’s been plastered all over the news and articles now. The one who lifts buses and stops meteors from crashing into Earth with the simple power of his heat vision. The one your skeptical friend called a “silly government hoax” until she saw the hero in action right before her eyes saving an entire school from collapsing into itself from a record-broken earthquake. 

And now he’s standing in front of you.

With your bag.

“This yours?” Superman asks, holding it out towards you with a certain calmness that highly contradicts the way your heart is practically thundering in your chest.

You stare at him𑁋like, really stare𑁋because there’s no real way for someone to mentally prepare themselves for what it feels like to be face-to-face with him. Superman. Cape, emblem, and everything. He appears almost sculpted by someone with far too much time and a love for perfect symmetry. And gosh, he’s tall. 

You blink. Once. Twice, as if it’ll somehow get rid of whatever illusion your brain is tossing towards you and the sheer embarrassment your morning has been raining down on you so far. But alas, no. He’s still here, with his cape fluttering behind him like a damn Renaissance painting come to life, hair tousled in a perfect way, and his eyes warm like the colour of chocolate, waiting for a response from you.

Letting out an exhale, you grab the bag from his grasp, giving a small nod.

“Yeah,” You say quietly, voice slightly tight. “Thank you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Even in your hunched-over form, you can tell his eyes are roaming over you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head with a particular smile you’re sure many people have fawned over while eating their breakfast. 

“Oh, I’m doing grand, you know,” You respond snarkily. “My heel is probably broken. Mild public humiliation. The usual.”

His smile stretches a little at your words, his eyes glinting with something that nearly resembles amusement. It’s not the kind of politeness someone gives as a way to be nice𑁋he actually seems entertained. Which only annoys you even more, because now you’re hyper aware of how ridiculously disheveled you must look. 

“Want me to fly you somewhere?” Superman offers like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You lift a brow at that, blinking again. Superman is offering to fly you? “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely to the sidewalk. “Well, your shoe is busted. Figured I could help.”

“You mean carry me?”

“I mean, I won’t be dragging you by the ankles, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he affirms, the corners of his lips twitching up like he’s trying to suppress a few laughs.

You give him a long, pointed look. “And you just go around offering free rides to random civilians? Don’t you have galaxies to save or kittens stuck in trees somewhere?”

Superman chuckles at that. “Actually, I did save a few kittens just last week, but I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

You cross your arms together, eyeing him warily. You find your thoughts running throughout your head𑁋how your first day is already going to hell, how ridiculous this entire situation is, how unfairly attractive this literal superhero is up close; and how, despite your guarded nature, you’re almost tempted to say yes. 

But you don’t.

Instead, you straighten your posture and offer a somewhat dry, polite smile.

“Tempting, but I think I’ll pass,” You give him as a response. “I’d rather wobble to work with whatever pride I have left.”

Something flickers across his chiseled features𑁋surprise, maybe? It’s almost as if he’s not used to hearing those words, or being casually declined. But even with that, you catch the way he musters up an accepting look. For a moment or two, your eyes lock, perhaps a bit longer than the two of you intended, and you can definitely tell that he wants to say more. 

And then he just grins.

It’s not the usual professional one he shares within his workplace. No, this time, it’s smaller. Bashful, even. 

“Well, if your pride ever gets too hard to carry,” he starts, voice dropping to a lower, more quiet tone. “This area is my usual route to fly over.”

You nearly snort at that. “I… Are you hitting on me right now?”

“Is it working?”

Your lips part, and whatever witty remark lingering on your tongue swallows down your throat in an instant. Because this was not how you expected your day to go. Not how any day is supposed to go, honestly. 

You can’t help but let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I think it’s concerningly close.”

Then he gives you that smile again. “I’ll take it.” 

And before he can say anything more, you catch the way his expression shifts, switching back to an almost scarily serious look. He shifts his eyes back to you, as if hesitant to move, slowly hovering off the ground. 

“Duty calls,” he tells you, a hint of disappointment in his words. Then he pauses, and adds in, “Take care. Try not to get your bag stolen, yeah?”

And then in an instant, he’s soaring back up towards the skies faster than any jet you can imagine and vanishes between the clouds. The force is enough to send your hair ruffling in the air, leaving you standing on the ground with a few unsuccessful attempts at processing whatever the hell just happened.

You stand there for a few moments, your bag clutched tightly in your hands. Just like everyone else, you know about him. You’ve watched countless clips on the news, read printed articles from other inspiring journalists in your field documenting his adventures. You’ve listened to a variety of debates talking about his otherworldly existence𑁋is he an alien spawn? Some government experiment gone wrong? Is he really invincible? Too many questions; too little answers.

But none of those can remotely compare to the way he simply asked if you were okay, or the way he’s able to effortlessly crack jokes at will. 

Or even the infuriating way he smiled. 

Your bad luck streak seems to have lessened. For now, at least.

The Daily Planet hosts a little coffee shop on the ground floor, and you trudge your way in, heels in one hand, sporting an unflattering pair of loafers you managed to find at a local thrifting place on the way to the office. Your hair is a tiny bit unkempt, your shirt adorning a wrinkle you swear wasn’t there earlier, and you feel all kinds of eyes on you as you stand in line.

The comforting scent of roasted espresso beans and fresh muffins hits you like a warm blanket. You exhale slowly. It helps a little.

When you approach the counter, however, the barista𑁋Seulgi, you read on her nametag𑁋looks up at you with all-too-knowing smirk.

“You’re the bag girl, right?” she asks.

You freeze. “Sorry?”

Seulgi motions towards the ceiling, where a mounted television is currently playing the local news. A paused still frame captures none other than you𑁋well, more like a blurry shot𑁋angled from a store security camera, yet still clear enough for you to recognise yourself. And then right in front of you, of course, is unmistakably the city’s famous heroic heartthrob. 

“You’re practically famous. For a few hours, technically,” Seulgi’s voice pops back in. 

You let out a groan, muttering, “Kill me.”

“Unfortunately, no can do,” she replies cheerfully. “But I can offer you a free drink, courtesy of our friendly neighbourhood superhero.”

You blink at that. “Wait. He paid for it?”

Seulgi shakes her head. “No, but he does come by sometimes and donates some extra cash. Says it’s for ‘emergencies’, so… I guess you abide by that.”

As you open your mouth to protest, Seulgi merely hands you over a warm, fresh cup of espresso. 

You could only mumble a quick thanks as you saunter away, still a bit dazed and confused. The warmth of the coffee spreads throughout your fingers, anchoring you in a way, especially after your whirlwind of a morning. 

You turn around, letting your feet carry you aimlessly towards the lobby. And just as you think you’re starting to relax, it appears that fate has other ideas on its side. 

You bump into something𑁋no, someone𑁋hard. A sharp gasp hisses from your lips as hot coffee stains onto your shirt and the skin of your hand, as well as splashing onto someone else’s literal chest. You stagger back, nearly losing balance, the stranger in front of you letting out a curse of surprise.

“Shit, I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t see you there,” a man’s voice says, reaching out his hands as if to steady you.

You pick your head back up, ready to release a tumble of apologies as the guilt blooms in your chest, but all that comes out is nothing.

The man in front of you is tall. Broad. Stupidly handsome in a way that makes your brain lag for a split second. A pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses sports over his sheepish face, and you swear his jawline is sharp enough to cut through glass. He’s holding an identical cup of coffee in his own hands, which was now half-full thanks to your ordeal. 

Finally, you manage to speak. “Are you𑁋”

“Burnt?” he guesses, a warm, tiny laugh leaving him, which somehow makes your embarrassment worse. He glances down at the brown stain running over his white shirt. “Maybe a little, but it’s all good.”

Your eyebrows knit together in frustration. “God, I’m sorry, I’m such a disaster right now...”

“No, it-it was me,” the man chimes in reassuringly. “I forgot something in my car and then boom. Don’t worry about it. Are… are you okay? You look kind of…”

You give a few nods of your head. “I’m fine, just, uh… Not having the best day, clearly.”

The man’s eyes wash over you, and briefly, there’s a sparkle of recognition in them.

“Oh! You’re…” His lips tighten inquisitively for a moment. “You’re the, um… girl from the news, right?”

Perhaps sinking into the floor is your best opportunity to escape.

“The one and only,” You mutter with a dramatic gesture of your hands, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

The man continues to loom over you, and there’s a certain genuine, albeit awkward charm that surrounds him. Maybe it’s the glasses or the way his voice doesn’t match at all with his intimidating build𑁋soft, friendly, perhaps a bit shy. It’s sort of refreshing, in a sense.

“Here, uh…” You watch as he strolls away to retrieve some napkins from the coffee shop, handing a few over to you. 

“Thanks,” You mumble, beginning to dab helplessly at your shirt. “Ugh, and this was one of my favourite shirts too.”

“I think it still looks good,” he offers with a shrug, then immediately spluttering, “I mean, not that I was, um, staring. Just𑁋objectively speaking.”

You blink up at him, and even despite the chaos of your morning, a smile finds its way across your lips. “Objectively, huh?”

The man just chuckles, running a hand through his slightly tousled dark hair. 

“I’m Mingyu, by the way. Kim Mingyu.”

You nod at his little introduction, filing the information into the back of your brain, before a tiny bell of recognition dings in your mind. Kim Mingyu. For some reason, the name sounds oddly familiar, perhaps you’ve read it somewhere? Maybe in some news article or𑁋

Wait.

You look back up to meet his eyes. “You’re Kim Mingyu?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen slightly, his body stiffening. “Yeah. Uh… guilty?”

You let out a small breath of relief. “You’re the guy who writes the science features! You just published that piece of the whole… lunar water discovery two weeks ago, right?”

Mingyu blinks a few times. Then he lets out a bashful laugh, the kind of laugh that’s caught between flattered and embarrassed. “No way, you actually read that?”

You arch a playful brow. “Duh, do you think no one reads science journalism anymore?”

“No, no, I mean𑁋maybe a little.” He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks pinking enough for you to notice. “It’s just nice to meet someone who did.” 

A couple moments of silence pass. You tilt your head to look at him again, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks you look like a creep doing so. Science journalist. Right. That would probably explain the gentle voice and the easygoing tone that’s somehow more comforting than you expected. 

But maybe it doesn’t explain how he’s not built like the kind of guy who sits behind a desk all day and writes about moon water. Maybe. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”

Mingyu flinches. Not a lot. Barely noticeable, but you catch it anyway. He pushes up his glasses on his nose awkwardly.

“Uh, no? I don’t think so,” he answers quickly. A little too quickly.

You squint at him.

Mingyu shifts his weight between his feet. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“Have you ever done any modeling?” You ask instead, almost too casually.

His ears grow endearingly red at your words. “Uh, maybe once? My friend Wonwoo needed someone to pose for his photography portfolio back in college, so… Why?”

You wave him off dismissively, crumpling the napkin in your hand. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

“Well, I’ll take it as a compliment, nonetheless,” Mingyu says brightly, before reaching into his pocket to glance at his phone. “Shoot, I’m late. Got a meeting with the tech editor. It was nice running into you. Literally. Uh…”

“Y/N,” You finish for him. “Y/N L/N. Investigative journalist.”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically. “Right, Y/N. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you around?” His voice carries that familiar warmth, and it sends your head abuzz. “Take care of that shirt too. And sorry for bumping into you earlier.”

Then he gives an awkward wave and one final lingering glance before making a beeline dash towards the elevators. A strange flutter settles in your chest as he runs off.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What the hell is going on today?

“Choi Seungcheol,” Mingyu deadpans, striding into the private office room of where his editor-in-chief, Choi Seungcheol, resides. “I already got approval to interview that quantum physicist for the piece due next Friday. You can’t seriously be calling another penalty on me right now, or yell at me about another missing Oxford comma.”

Seungcheol doesn’t even look up from his computer as he takes a sip from his mug, steam curling into the air. 

“Good morning to you too, Kim,” he says dryly, scrolling through what looks like an email thread gone to the depths of hell. “And no, this isn’t about grammar. Or physicists. Although, I am impressed you remembered the deadline for once. You’re not in trouble.”

Mingyu lifts a frazzled brow. “I’m… not?”

“Nope.”

A beat of silence. Then Mingyu crosses his arms. “Alright, who died?”

“No one. Yet.” A pleasant hum leaves Seungcheol as he places a manila folder on the table. “New case. Green mineral trafficking, multiple disappearances, possible government cover-up. Sounds like your kind of party.”

Mingyu tenses.

Green mineral trafficking? The only word he could possibly think of is…

Kryptonite.

He attempts to keep his expression neutral, unfazed, but his pulse quickens loud enough to echo in his ears. Most people don’t even know that kryptonite exists, let alone know how dangerous it can be. To anyone else, it’s just a strange name for a rock. To him? It’s a death sentence.

Mingyu clears his throat, stepping forward to grab the folder on Seungcheol’s desk. “Are you sure this isn’t a job for the police? Or the FBI?”

“Nope.” Seungcheol shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “It’s already been classified as a fringe case. Everyone in this building thinks it’s nothing more than just conspiracy fluff, but you’ve been here long enough. You know how we operate. If there’s something to dig, we dig. Besides, your science background is especially helpful.”

When Mingyu flips open the folder, he spots a few grainy pictures. But there’s a particular surveillance photo that catches his eyes. It’s blurry, but his vision is sharp enough to catch the sight of a figure with something glowing in their hands.

Definitely kryptonite.

Finally, he exhales. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

Seungcheol smirks, and Mingyu knows for certain that there is a catch to this.

“Now that that is out of the way.” Seungcheol clasps his hands together and places his elbows on top of the desk. “You won’t be flying solo for this one.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightens at that. “What?”

“You heard me,” Seungcheol remarks with that shit-eating grin. “I’m pairing you up. Joint assignment.”

The folder nearly slips from Mingyu’s grasp at his words. “Since when do I get a partner? You already know I work better alone.”

“You also tend to disappear way longer than you need to be during your breaks,” Seungcheol retorts flatly. “And while I usually could give crap as long as you turn in Pulitzer-worthy articles, I think this case is different. Bigger.”

Mingyu presses his lips together, biting back the million responses aching to jump off his tongue, but he knows Choi Seungcheol all too well. Once he’s made up his mind, there’s no going back from there.

Still, he tries, even if it’s hopeless. “You do know I have a system, right? I research, I write, I investigate𑁋”

“You also vanish every time there’s a major break in the news and then show up three hours later claiming you were stuck in the elevator.”

“That was one time,” Mingyu grumbles.

“It’s always the damn elevator.”

Mingyu lets his head fall to the ground. “I get… claustrophobic sometimes.”

Seungcheol snorts. “Sure you do, buddy. Alright, I don’t care if you need to get yourself a therapy llama or whatever to cope𑁋all I care about is getting to the bottom of this and for someone to keep your ass in check. Now, chop chop. I’ve set up a meeting time for the two of you on Thursday.”

A long, long, contemplative pause. 

“...wait, there are therapy llamas?”

“Kim Mingyu!”

“Okay, sorry! Just𑁋can you at least tell me who my partner is?”

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose, before reaching into a drawer to pull out a file. When he opens it, the first thing Mingyu sees is a photo stapled at the corner of the first page. It only takes a matter of seconds for the recognition to dawn on him, because not only does he know the woman in the photo, the dread that pools in his stomach is something only you could cause. 

Coffee girl. Bag girl. Why-has-your-smile-been-stuck-in-my-head-the-whole-week girl.

“Y/N L/N. Investigative journalist. Recently transferred here from halfway across the country,” Seungcheol explains. “I’ve seen her portfolio. She’s quite good at what she does. I figured she could balance you out, you know. She’s already got the nose for shady ordeals with her exposé on that real estate company two years ago.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, opens it back up, then closes it again. You, of all people. You’re his partner. For a case potentially involving kryptonite. And just last week, he retrieved your stolen bag from a thief; bumped into you and spilled coffee on your shirt; said that your shirt looked good; got flustered like some hopeless nerd. And you… not-so-subtly called him model worthy.

Oh, he’s doomed. The universe truly had a sense of humour, after all.

“Cool. Great. Fantastic,” Mingyu says finally, his shoulders slumping.

Seungcheol shoots him an eye. “What? Refuting already?”

Mingyu’s mind could only race, because he knows how investigative journalists work. They’re always sharp, observant, perceptive, and have those particularly expressive eyes. The kind of eyes that could probably read into him. Past all the words, the excuses… the disguise.

“Nope. No complaints here. Just…” Mingyu bites his bottom lip. “What if she gets too close?” 

Seungcheol lifts up a brow. “Close to what, exactly?”

“To the story.”

Seungcheol watches him for a moment too long. “Then she’s doing her job.”

Mingyu nods slowly, gathering the file in his arms. “Right. Got it.”

A truck hijacking on the highway was certainly not on Mingyu’s to-do list, especially since he has a meeting scheduled with you.

He’s already late, and there’s no way he can simply send a polite sorry, running a little behind and definitely not the a truck was hijacked on I-17 and I had to take care of it email to your inbox, especially when he’s currently hanging off the side of the highway holding onto the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler like he’s helping a neighbour move some furniture.

He grunts, his teeth gritted as the metal steels in his tight hold. The tires of the truck screech loudly against highway roads. The initial driver of the truck is knocked out from the attack by the hijackers, but Mingyu can still hear the faintest thrum of his heartbeat. He overhears another man in the cabin cursing and trying to figure out how the hell this large truck is not moving even with the gas pedal through the floor.

But here he is. Midair. 

His cape flaps elegantly behind him as he carries the truck back to where all the police cars were coming in on the highway. Slowly, he lowers the truck back down onto the ground, a loud slam screaming through the air. At the corner of his eye, he notices one of the hijackers attempting to crawl through the broken window, but Mingyu is faster.

He yanks the man out of the truck by the collar and heaves him to the ground, but there’s something about the man’s close presence that physically makes Mingyu recoil back, and his eyes keenly focus on the faintest glow of green underneath the man’s shirt. 

Is that a… kryptonite pendant?

“Who the hell gave that to you?” Mingyu questions angrily, gripping the man by the collar of his shirt.

“I-I don’t know!” the guy sputters weakly. “I just drive the truck, man! I was supposed to leave it at Pier 13𑁋”

“I didn’t ask where you park the damn thing,” Mingyu interjects furiously. “Tell me who gave it to you.”

“I don’t know anything! I swear, dude!”

Before Mingyu could do anymore questioning, the police are beginning to swarm them now. He gives the man one last glare, and reaches over to grip the pendant in his hand, ripping it from around the man’s neck. A stinging ache settles in his muscles, but it wasn’t any normal kind of soreness𑁋it’s the kryptonite kind. 

Yet with every ounce of strength he could muster, he tosses the pendant into the hands of an incoming officer. He already feels the pain lift off his skin as he bastardly drops the man back onto the ground, a fleet of other police officers coming to apprehend him.

“Put that thing into a lead case and to a lab immediately,” Mingyu groans out towards the dazed officer. 

Before anyone could say another word, he’s already shot himself up towards the skies, leaving nothing but a gust of wind behind.

He’s back in his civilian clothes and landing on the roof of the Daily Planet within a few short minutes. His glasses are on, his tie straightened, hair still a bit windswept which he brushes back with his hands. He wipes away some dust off his clothes before sneaking back into the building, resuming his normal routine.

Mingyu already knows he’s late, and at this point, he’s accepted defeat. He could only hope an extra cup of coffee that he might have put a bit too much sugar in would be enough to make up for his unexpected detour.

When he arrives at the conference room𑁋six minutes late𑁋you’re already sitting there in one of the seats, flipping through the case files with your brows slightly furrowed. A pen is tucked behind your ear, and he swears he can smell your perfume from where he’s standing at the door. It’s like a scent of lavender, and something else. Perhaps warm and sharp, just like you.

Mingyu takes a singular step forward, and your head snaps back up.

“Hey,” You greet him. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Mingyu breathes out, trying to keep casual. “Elevator broke down.”

You chuckle at that, pulling a chair out for him. “Does it break down often?”

He smiles faintly at your gesture, sitting down next to you. “You have no idea.” He slides one of the cups over to you. “For you, by the way.”

You glance inquisitively at the cup. “Oh. Thank you. Trying to bribe your way out of being late?”

“Depends if it works or not,” Mingyu remarks back, and he tries not to notice the way the corners of your lips twitch up into a small smile. 

A soft laugh leaves you, and it makes something flutter beneath his ribs. 

You take a sip from the coffee, and nearly choke it out. “Wow, that is dangerously sweet.”

“Ah, crap,” Mingyu mutters in embarrassment. “Sorry, I wasn’t, uh, paying attention to how much sugar I poured in.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still coughing through a laugh. “It’s all good. I needed the sugar rush anyway.”

“Still,” Mingyu chimes back in. “I’ll get the ratio right next time, don’t worry.”

Next time.

The morning light shining in through the conference room windows shine on your cheekbones, casting flecks of gold across your skin and over the smile you were still wearing. His breath nearly catches in his throat at the sight𑁋the kind of smile that makes Mingyu almost forget he was mid-air just ten minutes ago and lifting a stolen truck with his own bare hands, freaking out about how you’d react to him showing up late. 

“It’s funny, right?” You start, turning your body to face him. “How we went from a stupid coffee incident to being paired up for a case like this. Who would’ve thought?” 

Mingyu hums thoughtfully, taking a sip of his own overly sweet coffee. “If I knew you were an A-list journalist, I probably would’ve risked being late to that meeting when we first met.”

You roll your eyes at him, tiling your head a little. “Why?”

Mingyu swallows a lump down in his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose shyly. “Uh… first impression, you know? It was your first day that week, so… I could’ve shown you the ropes of this place.”

Amusement glitters in your eyes, and you lean in, settling your chin on your hand. “We spilled coffee on each other, then you complimented my shirt. I don’t think anything is salvageable after that.”

“Okay, well, technically…” Mingyu starts, but his resolve falters quickly when he catches your gaze on him. “I didn’t plan to spill it on you. I was just nervous.”

“You? Nervous?” You repeat. “Why would you be nervous?”

Mingyu stiffens a little in his seat. “I mean, not nervous because of you, exactly. I mean, yes. You’re just kind of… I don’t know, intimidating?”

You stare at him.

“I’m saying you’re…” he pauses, knowing all too well he’s digging himself deeper into this hole he’s making. “...very cool. Like, cool-cool. Like, you have that unbothered, domineering energy𑁋okay, let me shut up.”

Your shoulders shakes with a lighthearted laugh, and it seems to fill the large room more than it should. Mingyu only sinks down further into the chair, hoping that it could swallow him whole, as the heat spreads up to the tip of his ears. But even despite the embarrassment radiating off him, he can’t bring himself to look away from you for that long. 

“That was probably the best trainwreck of a compliment I’ve heard ever,” You tease playfully while tapping your pen on the table as if to stabilise yourself.

Mingyu groans into his hand. “Please forget I said any of that.”

“Oh no.” You grin. “Sorry, I’m filing that away in our case notes.”

His mouth flies open. “You’re joking.”

You merely shrug. “You’ll never know.”

That silence that follows after is strangely comfortable. Maybe a bit awkward, but not in a bad way. It’s quiet enough for Mingyu to realise this is probably the most peace he’s felt in a while. The adrenaline from the hijacking and discovery of the kryptonite pendant is momentarily forgotten, dulled by the sunlight falling on your face and a smile that crawls right under his skin. 

“Listen,” You begin, your tone turning a bit more serious, though sincere. “I know how people around here work. Trust is a weird currency nowadays. People hold their cards close to their chest, and sometimes, it doesn’t end well. We don’t have to share our life stories with each other. I just need to know…”

You pause for a moment. Mingyu is still waiting for you to continue.

“...that if things ever get messy, you’ll have my back.”

The weight of your words settle heavily on his chest. And there’s something about the way you’re looking at him𑁋steadily, hopeful𑁋that makes his stomach flutter. The same kind of feelings he gets when he’s flying too fast or perched at the edge of space and staring down at the place he’s dedicated to protect. 

He’s not used to this kind of vulnerability. Not from others, and definitely not from himself. 

“I will,” he finally says, voice low yet certain. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Mingyu notices the way you study him for a moment, as if you’re trying to read between the lines of his words and expressions. But then, the curve at your lips fades into something more softer, less amused, reassured. 

“Good,” You murmur, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Because I’ll have yours, too.”

And in the back of his mind, Mingyu knows one thing for sure: that he’ll protect you. From thieves, criminals, and the quiet threats that no one else sees.

Even from himself, if it ever comes to that.

God, especially from himself. 

“Seriously? You kept this from me for an entire week? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Mingyu’s mouth falls open. “Wonwoo𑁋”

“You touched a kryptonite pendant barehanded and now you expect me to assist you on this report that’ll probably end with a front-cover newsletter covering the untimely demise of Superman,” Wonwoo snaps as he paces across the shared living room. “What part of ‘you’re not fully invincible’ do you not understand?”

Jeon Wonwoo is the only other person that knows of Mingyu’s… extracurricular activities. The man has been for him since the very beginning. It was during a particular night during their college days where he had stumbled upon Mingyu levitating in the middle of their dorm room, freaking out about how he could quite literally see through the wall into the next room, and freaking out even more when he was able to see Wonwoo’s entire skeletal system. 

Wonwoo had the opportunity to probably blackmail him to the entire campus, but all he did was simply sigh, and muttered something about always getting the weird roommates before sauntering back into his room. 

Ever since that night, they’ve been inseparable. Wonwoo had silently mingled his way into the role of confidant, cover-up artist, and occasionally, accomplice. He didn’t ask for the job, honestly. He didn’t even like it half the time. But he does his duties anyway, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Mingyu can definitely say that he’s the closest thing to family that he’s ever had.

Wonwoo may not have superhuman strength or have literal lasers shooting out of his eyes, but he had something else: a brain filled with logic, the ability to knock some sense into Mingyu, and a camera always slung around his neck that somehow captured the city more truthfully and beautifully than any headline could ever do. 

“Well, I didn’t plan on touching the kryptonite, okay?” Mingyu defends weakly. “The guy was trying to escape out of the truck! What was I supposed to do? Let him get away?”

“No, you call me, or literally anyone else not allergic to space rocks,” Wonwoo grumbles in response. “You’re lucky it was only a pendant. If it were something bigger, you’d probably be in the ER, and it would be a whole other shitshow when they find out about your weird alien space blood. Or worst case scenario, dead.”

Mingyu flops back down on the couch, running a hand over his face with a heavy sigh. It’s almost as if he’s carrying the weight of the entire planet on his shoulders. 

His mind feels like it’s folding into itself, because he really shouldn’t have accepted this case, yet on the other hand, was there anyone else more capable of handling it? 

Later that week, Mingyu stumbles upon you in the archive room. Your face is practically half-buried in a box full of case files, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your hands rummaging through the box like a raccoon going dumpster-diving. 

He stalls in the doorway for a moment, briefly forgetting why he was coming down here in the first place. 

Then, he clears his throat. “Y/N?”

You spin your head towards the doorway, and the way your face softens at the sight of him makes something ache a little in his chest. His inhuman abilities to be able to discern those little details is either a blessing or a curse. Or both. 

“Hey,” You breathe out, almost as if you’ve run a marathon, brushing away your dusty hands on your pants. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Mingyu slowly inserts himself more into the room, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “Would… you have stopped me?”

Your lips twitch in amusement. “Would you want me to?”

Your words send an abnormal jolt down his spine. Mingyu clears his throat, and shakes his head.

“No.”

“Then you got your answer.” A proud look briefly passes over your features before you turn your attention back towards the box of case files in front of you. “Come here. Found some stuff you might want to take a look at.”

You feel his shoulder brush against yours as he leans over beside you, the warmth radiating through the sleeves of his flannel hitting your arms. He smells faintly like rain and something earthy, as if he was just a step away from being into the clouds, even though the forecast outside has been sunny the entire day. But you don’t comment about it.

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, his attention mainly fixed on the way you’re quietly scanning through the files. There’s a hint of exhaustion plaguing your face, judging by the subtle sag to your shoulders and crease between your eyebrows as you silently scan the words on the files, hoping to absorb them better.

“Have you been down here for long?” he finally asks.

You take that as a chance to straighten your posture, wincing slightly. “Yeah. Long enough for my back to start complaining.” 

Mingyu chuckles softly. “You could’ve called me down here, you know.” 

“I thought I was the investigative journalist in this partnership,” You remark wittily without looking up, continuing to sift through the files. 

“Not necessarily for that stuff, I mean…” Mingyu shrugs sheepishly. “...to just be here with you, I guess. So you wouldn’t be alone.”

His words alone are enough to make you momentarily pause. You glance up at him, and a millisecond is enough for Mingyu to catch that flicker of surprise to your eyes, quickly followed by something softer, perhaps fond, and a pinch of nervousness. But it fades just as swiftly as it came. 

You don’t smile, not exactly, but your features soften noticeably. The archive room suddenly feels as if it’s shrunken three times in size. You clear your throat.

“I’ll make note of that then,” You say quietly, before sliding over a few papers in his direction𑁋surveillance pictures, specifically. “I found something strange while looking at the list of disappearances.”

Mingyu narrows his eyes, studying the photos in front of him. Most of which are simply blurry photos of random civilians he doesn’t recognise, taken in grocery stores, restaurants, or simply walking down the street. 

“These people… They don’t have any background,” You explain. “Some of them don’t have any official documentation in any databases. Only a name, and that’s it.”

Mingyu bites at his bottom lip in thought. “So it’s like they appeared out of nowhere?”

“Exactly.” You brighten from his words. “Which, obviously, can be a motive of some sorts. Whoever is taking them knows that these people don’t actually exist, even though they do, making them easy targets, more difficult to track down and find. Because… they wouldn’t have anybody to look for them. They knew their cases would eventually be dropped.”

His heart sinks at the thought. You slide more photos over to him, looking at him curiously. 

“Do you know anything about what this… green mineral thing is?” 

Mingyu’s brain stutters. 

“There was a biotech company back then𑁋CARAT Corp𑁋which was suspected of using these green minerals in their experiments and machines,” You explain casually. “Then they got accused of several counts of illegal experimentation. Rumours of black-market robotics, AI enhancements, which prompted its inevitable demolition and arrest of the owner. Heard he got bailed out of jail not even a year later and fled the country.”

You motion a finger over some of the photos, and there’s clearly that familiar green glow around some of the blurry figures, and Mingyu immediately recalls the pendant he found on that hijacker. 

“Someone’s been collecting this stuff again. Quietly. Systematically. And selling it off.”

Selling it off. It’s definitely a likely explanation to why that hijacker had a kryptonite pendant on. But the more important question is why? 

“From what I’ve read about this stuff back then, it’s definitely… otherworldly. It reacts differently compared to other minerals on Earth,” Mingyu explains. “It’s supposedly radioactive as well. Definitely not something you’d find on the periodic table, for sure.”

You nod your head slowly, trying to process the information. “That’s… definitely a case.”

“But there’s not much research on it, from what I know at least. Heard a lot of scientists and physicists these days don’t even want to touch that stuff,” Mingyu finishes with a tilt of his head. “Too unstable. Too unknown. I’ll try to look into what this stuff is.”

A sudden, loud click of your pen is enough to make anyone in the room flinch. Mingyu hears a snicker leave your mouth.

“This is definitely something deeper, isn’t it?” You question pensively, mostly to yourself, your gaze lingering over the various photos spread out on the table. 

Mingyu watches you closely. To the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip as you think, to the way your fingers are hovering over the photos, aching to pull the truth out of them. It’s impossible to look away from you. 

“It definitely is,” he mutters, taking in a deep breath. “But we’ll figure it out, right?”

You turn to him expectantly, eyes locking onto him. “Together?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu answers, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Together.”

Your shoulders relax to his words. “Great. Let’s get these things upstairs so we could cross-reference them. I forgot my stupid eye drops at my desk.”

You bend over to lift the box, planting firm hands on both sides, preparing to hoist it up in your arms. The files inside the box shift inside, some of them nearly tumbling out and falling to the floor, but you manage to adjust your position.

Mingyu finds himself reaching over instinctively, but he hesitates for a moment. “Y/N, I can carry𑁋”

“I’ve got it,” You insist cheekily, shooting him a determined look. “Don’t think I can carry a little box?”

“It’s not that𑁋”

But just as you get the box in a comfortable hold, the bottom corner clips against the table, and it shifts your entire balance, making the box tilt violently in your grasp, a rain of documents preparing to dampen the ground. Unknowingly, your foot catches onto a loose folder you didn’t notice had fallen onto the smooth tile floor, and everything happens all at once. A started yelp leaves your lips before you could even register it.

And you’re stumbling backwards, your backside threatening to land on the ground.

Mingyu moves before he even realises it. 

One second, he’s watching you stumbling backwards; in the next, he’s secured the box in his left arm while his right hand rests tightly around your waist. You take a few seconds to blink, suddenly no longer falling but coming back upright𑁋and very much pressed against Mingyu’s broad chest, who was peering down at you, wide-eyed. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a slight tremble to his voice.

You could only stare back up at him, suddenly very aware of how close he is as your brain struggles to catch up with what just happened. His hand is still around your waist𑁋warm, steady, protective𑁋and you don’t make any sort of move to shrug it off. And neither does he.

“I𑁋yeah,” You breathe out shakily, clearing your throat loudly. “Thanks.”

You still don’t move. Same as him.

His glasses have slipped the tiniest amount down the bridge of his nose, and his hair has fallen in front of his eyes a bit, but his gaze barely wavers from yours. Finally, after a few long moments, you release yourself from his hold, rubbing away the sweat that has somehow accumulated on your hands on your pants. 

Mingyu steps back as well, giving you some space, and fixes his glasses on his face before letting his hand fall back awkwardly to his side. The tension still makes the air around the two of you heavy, but there’s no sense in hurry between you both of dispeling it𑁋perhaps because neither of you really want to. 

Then, his voice cuts through the air. “I’ll, uh… carry the box, if that’s fine.”

You give a quick nod. “Yeah. Sure. Probably smarter.”

You watch as he carries the box out of the archive room with minimal effort, or no effort, specifically, as if it weighed no more than a paperclip. The two of you file your way back into the hallways of the Daily Planet and towards the elevators. 

As the two of you stand silently in the elevator, your mind can’t help but linger on the way how easily he caught you𑁋how steady his grip was on your body, how warm he felt, how he moved as fast as the blink of an eye. Too fast, maybe. 

“Do you have any plans later?”

You turn towards him, shaking your thoughts away. “What?”

Mingyu keeps his eyes forward, though you notice the imperceptible curve forming at the corner of his mouth. 

“I was just wondering if you… you know, did stuff after working hours,” he says lamely. “Like, any hobbies, or…”

You let out a faint chuckle. “Is this another one of your brilliantly horrible attempts at making small talk with me?”

Mingyu visibly stutters at that, a soft laugh leaving him. “Well, I mean𑁋maybe?” He shakes his head, a little embarrassed. “I just want to get to know you a little bit, that’s all.” 

You tilt your head to the side, studying over him as you both ride up the elevator. It’s somewhat… endearing at the way he looks right now. His posture is straightened like a stick as if he’s attempting to appear cool, but the twitch of nerves to his fingers tapping against the cardboard box is pretty much a dead giveaway. It still makes your heart skip a beat, regardless.

“I knit,” You respond suddenly, making Mingyu shift his attention to you. “On occasion. Badly, most of the time. I also cook𑁋horrible at that too. And I read, probably too much to the point my eyes feel like sandpaper.”

It’s only a tiny sliver of information, but it’s enough to hit him with a wave of relief. It’s kind of absurd imagining you𑁋an A-list investigative journalist who’s always on her feet𑁋to be bad at anything. But he likes knowing you have those sides of you as well. Unlike him, you’re human, after all. 

“Cute,” he mutters quietly without realising it.

You lift a brow. “‘Cute’? Seriously?”

His mouth falls agape. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that𑁋”

“It’s fine, Mingyu,” You reassure him calmly. “I liked it.”

Mingyu swears he feels his heart stop.

“And how about you?” Confidence fills up your voice. “Any hobbies that I should know from you?”

Oh, you know, he answers in his head. I like to fly up to the stratosphere and breathe in space fumes, punch criminals straight to Pluto, and use my heat vision to warm up my cups of instant ramen. 

“I… like to go to the gym,” he answers instead, but it comes out as if it was the only thing he could think about. “Other than that, um… nothing much. Just work and research, you know?”

The elevator dings, signaling that the two of you are close to the floor you’re supposed to step off on. You snicker a little.

“I see,” You say, smirking to yourself. “Keep being your little mysterious self then, Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu blinks dazedly. “Huh?”

The elevator dings again, and the doors swing open. It’s time to get back to work. 

“But lucky for you,” You continue, stepping ahead of him and onto the floor. “it’s my favourite genre to read.”

Alarms loudly blare out of the Seoul National Bank, their sharp wails cutting through the late afternoon rush of the city. Red and blue lights flash across the marble pillars of the large building, helicopters swerve frantically through the skies, and crowds outside begin to cluster on the sidewalks outside, held back by the barricades and arms of police officers.

Inside the bank, it’s absolute chaos. Frantic and frightened shouts echo from hostages locked inside, scattered with threats by masked figures armed with weapons and bags containing large sums of money. 

Mingyu is already mid-air when the call goes out.

Within seconds, he’s descending from the sky. He slices through the clouds as his cape pillows behind him. The moment he sets foot on the concrete stairs leading up to the bank, the ground itself shakes with his presence. Gasps erupt from onlookers behind the police barricades. Phones are raised, cameras are flashing, news outlets are reporting. The world is watching. Superman is here.

All it takes is a singular inhale before he’s barrelling headfirst through the solid entrance of the bank. Debris flies in all sorts of directions, crumbling down all over the floor. Mingyu spots the robbers immediately: four of them, their identities shrouded with masks and hoods, armed weapons in their hands. Frightened civilians and families all scramble to the corners of the buildings, cowering in fear. 

“He’s here!” a civilian shouts from the side. “It’s Superman!”

Pride swells in his chest as he speeds towards two of the robbers, who were uselessly scrambling for their weapons. With his super-speed, Mingyu swipes the first one and throws away his gun like a toy, and knocks the second one unconscious with the gentlest flick of a finger. 

He dodges a panicked swing of a knife that comes from the third robber, and Mingyu responds with a hard kick to the robber’s stomach. A choked groan leaves the robber’s lips, before he’s completely forced to the ground with a loud thud, and the force of the punch is probably enough to knock some teeth out. 

Just from all that, there were no visible signs of struggle to Mingyu’s body. His fists clench together at his side. All who is left standing is the final robber, who was positioned right at the open entrance to the vault. 

However, as Mingyu trails closer, he finds himself suddenly… disorientated, as if the world has tilted slightly off-axis.

“What the…” he moans out as a pulse of nausea hits him. Tightness coils in his stomach, and his shoulders feel as if they’re carrying the weight of boulders. It’s like his strength is being sucked away from him by the seconds that are passing. 

His vision swarms with a burning, sickly green hue, his knees buckling beneath him. Ahead of him, the fourth robber doesn’t even flinch and simply stands still, calm, too calm, arms relaxed as his sides as if this was just an ordinary day. 

“Fuck…” Mingyu curses, staggering back a step, his breath hitching in his throat.

The metallic taste of weakness is bitter on his tongue. The pain of acid slithers up his bloodstream. It takes every ounce of his strength to focus on the robber looming over him, and he notices it immediately.

The kryptonite pendant. The same pendant from the truck hijacker, and now, this robber was wearing it. But it wasn’t just one robber who has it on𑁋all of them do. The others that Mingyu knocked down earlier all reach inside their clothes, revealing their glowing pendant in their hands, exposing Mingyu to more pain. 

Phones are still rolling. Cameras are still clicking. 

And exposing his pain to the entire world. 

All he can see and hear around him are the loud shutters of cameras clicking, mouths whispering, and sirens booming from outside. News outlets are about to have the absolute field day of their entire careers. 

His stomach physically churns at the sight. 

Then the robber lunges forward, hitting him square in the ribs with the butt of his rifle, and for the first time in years𑁋it hurts. 

The shock in his eyes mirrors the horror in every single hostage in the building. He’s Superman. He doesn’t get hurt.

“Not so tough, ay?” the robber sneers, a malicious smirk forming under his mask. “Looks like everyone’s favourite superhero can bleed after all.”

With a tight purse of his lips, Mingyu fires two rays of heat vision from his eyes, aiming with precision𑁋not directly at the robber himself, but down to the floor𑁋and with a loud crack, the marble floor splits beneath his feet. It’s enough to buy Mingyu some time, especially as he can hear the SWAT team and police force making their way up towards the entrance. 

He grits his teeth, forcing himself to remain upright as he fights the waves of radiation from the kryptonite. Sweat beads down his forehead. The pain is searing and hot, like flames dancing over his skin, but he has to push through as much as he can𑁋he has to. People are watching. People are hoping. 

“You see this here, Superman?” the robber spits hoarsely, appearing above him once again with the pendant in his hand. “You can’t win this one. It’s just the beginning.”

If he had his super-strength, or his super-speed, he would’ve punched this robber straight to Mars at this point. But he can’t, especially not with the kryptonite dangling off the man’s neck, taunting him, painfully blurring and mashing together his mind and thoughts. 

But he also can’t let these people die. He’s made a promise to the world: to protect it and its people. 

Channeling every last bit of his strength, Mingyu throws his weight forward onto the robber, collapsing onto the ground and pinning the man right below him. 

“Tell me… who your dealer is,” Mingyu threatens lowly, his voice weak. “Or I’ll fucking end you right here.”

The robber squirms in his hold, kicking and thrashing, refusing to answer. 

“Answer me, dammit!” Mingyu demands again, harsher this time.

But before the robber can answer, the SWAT force finally enters the bank, their guns aimed and shields positioned. Bullets fire deafeningly through the room as the officers non-lethally shoot at the other robbers, forcing their weapons down to the ground. 

Mingyu only groans to himself, giving the man in his hold one more death glare before letting go, and he could only stand and watch as the robber’s eyes remain on him until he disappears out of the building. He can’t bring himself to meet eyes with the hostages as they’re all escorted out of the bank and back outside. 

Paramedics and firefighters start rushing into the bank as Mingyu finds himself leaning against the crumpled doorway, the remnants of the kryptonite still lingering in the air like a poisonous gas. Even as the robbers are taken away, it still doesn’t rid of the burdened guilt threatening to swallow him whole.

“Superman?” an officer’s voice suddenly chimes in.

“I’m fine,” he lies flatly. “Make sure to take the pendants from those bastards and send them to a lab.”

The officer nods before briskly moving away. He can only watch the scene unfold in front of his eyes in trepidation, a sigh of defeat leaving him. He knows he’s already overstayed his welcome in this fight. 

As he exits the bank and prepares to take off, though, a swarm of reporters come rushing in like a harsh wave crashing onto the shore. Incessant flashes of their cameras surround him as they shout over each other to get a single word in. 

“Superman! Superman! Did you really sustain injuries from today’s robbery?”

“Over here! Superman!”

“Were you affected by the robbers’ weapons? Can you explain why?”

Mingyu’s eyes dart around as he forces a strained smile to the cameras. He tries to search for a chance to escape, but the reporters are relentless. But he knows if he reveals remotely anything, there will be somebody already out there watching, waiting, for the moment to exploit him. 

Until a bombshell is dropped.

“Is it true that you have a weakness? What would that mean for the people? The country? The world?”

The mass crowd of reporters fall silent for a few seconds as they anticipate any sort of answer, like time itself has come to a pause. Mingyu feels his heart completely sink. His secret wasn’t just a risk threatening to be expelled anymore𑁋it was happening right before his eyes. The blood rushes to his ears. Cameras continue to roll. Microphones are thrusted in his direction.

His jaw clenches. The silence is enough to offer an answer to the media.

“Superman! How do we know if you’re still able to protect us?”

He doesn’t say a single word. He can’t. There’s no right answer.

Even if he lies or denies it, the world has seen too much.

Every inch of the footage would be dissected frame-by-frame. Everyone would see the pained expression on his face, to the way he literally fell down to his knees, how he was knocked down by a singular punch to the ribs. Everyone would see the glowing green pendants strapped around the robbers like trophies. 

And in some dark spot in the world, someone would see it as an opportunity. 

His heart races with anxiety as he scans over the crowd one final time. He catches every panicked face, every worried look, every pitiful glance in his direction from children and adults alike. But he also spots anger and fear. 

Then his eyes linger on a particular figure.

It’s a man. He’s wearing an all black suit, which appears pressed to perfection, along with a fedora that creates a shadow to shroud over a good chunk of his face. He’s simply just standing there at the edge of the crowd, watching him amidst the chaos surrounding him. Mingyu squints just slightly, allowing his vision to sharpen in on him, and he catches sight of the cold smirk forming at the man’s jagged lips. 

Mingyu feels his fists clench at his sides𑁋not from fear, but from rage. This wasn’t just a robbery; it was planned. 

The crowd only continues to press him, shoving their microphones and flashlights in his face and yelling the same questions over and over again. 

So he makes the only move he can: he flies off, sending a few people almost stumbling to the ground from the force of the launch. 

The voices of the crowd of bystanders and reports fade away as he takes to the skies, the city blurring right beneath him.

When he lands onto the rooftop of the Daily Planet, he’s already trembling. He thinks about everything: the kryptonite, the robbery, the people…

And his thoughts land on you.

His eyes flutter shut.

Mingyu thinks about you, and for some reason, it’s the only thing that’s keeping him grounded right now. He thinks about that particular sparkle in your eyes when you’re working on the case; he thinks about your laughter whenever he fails in his dumb attempts at talking to you; he thinks about your intimidating passion for justice; he thinks about how when he’s with you, he feels like… he can be himself. 

He shouldn’t be thinking about you. He shouldn’t be feeling this much for you.

But he is.

BREAKING: Superman Weakened In National Bank Heist – Mysterious Green Objects To Be Identified The Re-emergence of Green Minerals, From CARAT Corp to Present Day: A National Security Concern Superman’s Weakness Exposed: What Does This Mean For The World?

“Are you just going to be sitting around moping all day like a lost puppy?” Wonwoo’s voice interrupts.

Mingyu just groans. “What else should I be doing when I’m exposed to the entire world?”

“They still don’t know it’s you,” Wonwoo replies evenly, stepping further into the living room with two glasses of water, offering one to him. “They know Superman got hurt; they didn’t know it was you. Your lucky glasses still work as a disguise, somehow.”

Mingyu only continues to silently brood, taking the glass of water from Wonwoo’s hands and chugging it down before placing it back firmly on the coffee table. 

“They were scared,” he says quietly. “The people. I saw it all in their eyes. They looked at me like I… like I failed them, because I did.”

“No,” Wonwoo retorts sharply. “They were scared because they care. Because they’ve come to rely on you when things go to shit in this cesspool of a city. You’re human, Mingyu.”

“I’m not,” Mingyu snaps back, then falters. “I mean… not exactly. Not completely.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wonwoo shoots him a fixed, stern look. “I mean that you feel things like one. Happiness. Sadness. Everything in between. You care a little too much, and honestly? That’s a good thing, and probably a bad thing.”

Wonwoo’s words settle within the crevices of his bones, because he’s right. He always is. Mingyu isn’t human𑁋he wasn’t organically brought upon this world like everyone else. And yet… Here he is, wearing his sensitive little Kryptonian heart on his sleeve, while feeling guilt, shame, fear, and hurting like any other person would. 

Mingyu slumps further down in the couch, staring at the muted television screen, all of which were constantly replaying the footage of Superman, of him, falling weakly to his knees and grimacing in pain from the kryptonite. There were also several news outlets broadcasting about how Superman seemed to have completely vanished after the incident, and it deepens the fear even more. 

“And what if I can’t save them next time?” Mingyu asks, voice wavering. “What if someone dies because I was too weak enough to save them?”

“Then you grieve, and show up again,” Wonwoo responds like it was the easiest question in the world. “That’s what heroes do.”

Mingyu leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. His mind still aches. 

And then, he hears a soft knock on the apartment door.

He shoots Wonwoo a puzzled look, but Wonwoo only gives him a helpless shrug. Mingyu stands up and heads towards the door, and he feels his heart drop to the floor when he peers through the peephole.

It’s you.

Panicking slightly, he makes sure that he looks slightly presentable𑁋fixing his unkempt hair, putting on his glasses and smoothing out his clothes, even though he sure as hell knows he looks like shit. He clears his throat dramatically a few times and reaches for the lock.

And then he hesitates.

He stares at the door like it’s a ticking time bomb, his pulse rattling loudly in his ears. Why have you come? How did you know where he lives? Either way, you shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not when his weakness is still plastered across every television screen in the country. Not when there’s people out there probably analysing the grainy pictures of his face. And especially not when he’s sure that if you look at him for more than a few seconds, you’ll know that something is off.

But you came anyway.

Mingyu curses under his breath and finally turns the lock, slowly pulling open the door just enough to peek his head out.

“Y/N?”

Your hand is suspended mid-air when the door opens, and you bring it back down to your side.

“Hey,” You greet him all-too-casually, but there’s something else there too𑁋almost like concern.

“Hey,” Mingyu greets back, forcing on a small smile. “How, uh… did you know where I lived?”

You chuckle quietly. “Well, you haven’t stopped by the office to review the case in a few days, so I got… worried, naturally. You’re my partner in this after all. Seungcheol started pestering me about it, and he sort of gave me your address to hunt you down and well… here I am.”

Mingyu’s brows knit together in disbelief. Seungcheol, that bastard. Of course he would be the one to initiate this sort of intervention for him, and of course it would be you who would actually follow through with it. 

“Right,” Mingyu murmurs awkwardly. “That makes sense. Yeah.”

You shift your weight between your two feet, still looking up at him. Mingyu thinks it’s his first time ever seeing you like this𑁋not as the passionate investigative journalist he’s become familiar with, but uncertain and hesitant. You’re not wearing your usual professional and confident front; there’s no sharp gleam in your eye like there is when you’re chasing a lead, no teasing lift at your lips when you’re making fun of him. 

“So,” You continue, carrying your words carefully. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a few feigned coughs. “Yeah, I… I was just feeling under the weather, you know? I know I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to worry you, I guess.”

You smile at that, and there’s that little lift to your lips. Maybe he’s the only one who could bring that out of you. 

“Look where that worrying has got me then,” You say, motioning towards the empty hallway. “But you’re alive, so that’s good enough for now.”

You try to keep your tone light, like it’s just a simple check-in between co-workers, but it doesn’t seem as hidden with the way you’re fiddling your fingers aimlessly at the hems of your sleeves. And from the way you can’t let your eyes drift away from his face.

Mingyu feels something in his chest ache. You shouldn’t care this much for him. But you do. And he… he shouldn’t want you to. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come by unannounced, especially if you don’t feel well,” You suddenly say, taking a small step back. “I just thought𑁋Nevermind. I’ll go.”

You turn slightly, already preparing to walk away, when Mingyu opens the door a little farther.

“Wait.”

You stop.

He doesn’t think. He just speaks.

“Do you… want to come inside?” 

Your eyes widen, caught off-guard by the question. “Are you sure?”

Mingyu’s expression stalls for a moment, searching over your face for any unsureness𑁋because if there is, he’ll let you go. He’ll watch you walk away from him even if every fibre and cell in his alien being is fighting to pull you closer. 

But he doesn’t see any of that on you. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.

“Yeah,” he relents. “I’m sure.” 

You fully face yourself towards him. “Okay.”

You step inside his apartment, your eyes scanning around as Mingyu closes the door behind you. It’s clearly lived-in, but tidy. There’s an empty glass and a few cans of beer on the coffee table, a blanket tossed over the couch, and on mute, the TV displaying the information that had taken the world by storm: Superman. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t prepared for any company at all.” Mingyu breaks the silence with an embarrassed laugh. “I live here with Wonwoo𑁋I’ve mentioned him before, he’s over there in the kitchen. He’s on the photojournalism floor. Been helping a little with the case too.”

“Guilty,” Wonwoo adds in while shutting the refrigerator door. 

“Actually, that’s… what I wanted to talk about. The case,” You chime in, turning to Mingyu. “If you have time for it, at least.”

Mingyu hesitates, his fists clenching at his side.

Of course. The case.

“Did you find any leads?” he asks warily.

You smile grimly, clasping your hands together like you’re about to announce a ment, and Mingyu knows that he’s in trouble𑁋not the kind of trouble that involves possible planetary destruction, but the kind that reaches in, pulls at his ribs, and settles somewhere quietly in his heart. 

Or in other words, he may or may not be screwed. 

“After those robbers were arrested, I ran a background check,” You explain. “Found some sketchy things in their financial histories, all linked to the same offshore account. Someone must be literally selling and manufacturing these things like they’re goods. It might explain the pendants they were wearing during the heist.”

Mingyu stiffens.

Wonwoo chimes in from the kitchen. “You believe that someone is possibly selling them to the public?”

“More likely to criminals,” You say with a sigh. “Probably embedding them in cheap-looking metal and selling it under the guise of crystals or pendants. Who knows how many people are wearing this stuff without fully knowing what they are.”

“And they do now.” Wonwoo points towards the muted television. “and they know what it does.”

“Which makes them all the more dangerous,” You continue affirmatively. “And get this. There’s a place that’s been popping up in these records. Pier 13. Do any of you know about that place?” 

Mingyu and Wonwoo exchange a particular look between each other. 

“It’s where CARAT Corp was originally established before it got demolished,” Wonwoo clarifies. “Place has been off-limits for years, but that wouldn’t stop people from snooping around.”

You nod. “I figured as much. They had all kinds of unconfirmed rumours. I pulled up old building records and chemical logs. Whatever they were doing there before it went under, they left behind traces. And someone is deciding to keep it alive.” 

Mingyu bites down at his bottom lip. His eyes are still on you as you continue to explain the leads and information you found, speaking with the confidence of the journalist that the world knows and admires. 

“I don’t think this was just a robbery,” he mutters under his breath.

You glance at him, brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“It was… too deliberate. Coordinated. I don’t think they were there just for the money. Who shows up to rob a vault in broad daylight wearing experimental pendants?” Mingyu questions, voice tight with the barest hints of restraint. “They wanted Superman to show up.”

It’s almost as if a bombshell had dropped to the floor. It all makes sense now. 

The news of the heist and Superman has been dominating the news for the past few days. It’s all everyone at the office has been talking and publishing about. You admit that it’s been sticking in your mind as well, especially the footage of him𑁋of Superman, knees down to the ground, breath laboured, the face of fear he wore𑁋collapsing. 

That image hasn’t left your head since you saw it. 

“Superman has always been quite the phenomenon, hasn’t he?” You murmur, more to yourself. “I mean, I’ve hardly ever been interested in writing pieces about him𑁋I usually leave those to the cocky columnists. He’s done a lot of good things, for sure. People idolise him. His name would always top the headlines for even the smallest things.”

In the background, Mingyu chuckles nervously. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a grudge against him.”

You look over at him, quirking up a brow. “Not a grudge. Just a healthy level of skepticism. Comes with the job, you know? Even when he saved my bag from being stolen that one time, I’d never put him on a pedestal like that𑁋never wrote his name in glittering gold like the rest of the city does.”

Mingyu snorts at that. “You’re different.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. Well… Everyone I’ve ever talked to has always looked up at him in that way𑁋like he’s some sort of god. Untouchable. But you…” Mingyu trails off, eyes flickering to yours for just a second before looking away. “You don’t see him that way.” 

You tilt your head, watching him closely. “And is that a bad thing?”

Mingyu pauses. Considering. Hesitation and awe spiraling around him. He shakes his head.

“No,” he answers meekly. “I don’t think it is.” 

You smile at that, and Mingyu thinks he could kiss you right now. His chest aches, and it’s ridiculous to think that it feels more painful than damn kryptonite radiation.

“Good,” You muse softly, then you add in playfully, “Besides, if he were perfect, I think I’d hate him a little bit. It’s the flaws that make people interesting, anyway.”

The two of you exchange a bit of laughter at that, and it’s almost as if for once, the world feels at peace. And it doesn’t help that you’re looking at him with such an easy smile as well. Gosh, the things he would do to just rip his glasses off right now and confess everything to you, and yet, he knows that he has to protect you.

Even if it meant hiding the biggest secret of his life right in front of you. 

“Well, I… I should probably get going now. I’ll head to the office and update Seungcheol with everything,” You say. “I already got some people working on trying to trace a source for these accounts. I’ll call you if I get any more leads.”

Mingyu clears his throat, snapping himself out of a daze, scrambling to go open the door. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

When you step back into the hallway of the apartment building, you turn back towards him.

“Take care, alright?” You tell him, and the way you say it so sincerely, so softly, undoes something in him. “Come back when you’re feeling well. Just… don’t disappear on me like that again, okay?”

Mingyu watches as you start walking down the hallway, your back facing him as he feels his throat tighten. A defeated sigh leaves him as he steps back into his apartment, closing the door with a quiet lock. He stares at it for a few moments like it held all the answers to the universe.

Wonwoo appears behind him, arms crossed.

“She’s going to figure it out eventually, you know.”

Mingyu hopelessly rests his forehead against the cold door. “I know.”

“Then what?”

A simple question. A difficult answer.

“Then I just hope… she still sees me.”

Even if the world doesn’t know his identity, Mingyu swears he can feel every pair of eyes on him in the room.

The entire morning he’s been hearing all the mutters about Superman’s lack of… presence lately, to put it lightly. He hasn’t exactly shown his face to the public, or done any of his classic superhero deeds ever since the heist at the bank, and it’s obvious that it has been taking a toll on people, on everyone, on him. 

The world is losing faith in Superman. In him. 

He finds himself staring anxiously at the two cups of coffee sitting on his desk𑁋one for himself, and one for you. His eyes flit to the clock that’s sitting intimidatingly on the wall of the office. You seem to be running a few minutes behind𑁋not that he’s counting or anything. It’s only the fifth time he’s checked the time in the last three minutes.

The elevator dings.

Mingyu’s posture immediately straightens at the sound, and he looks up sharply, just as you step through the doors. Your coat looks slightly askew, your hair somewhat tousled, as if you failed at fighting the wind on the way here. A small stack of folders is tucked underneath your arms. You look a little frazzled. Still, when his eyes land on you, he doesn’t realise he’s already smiling.

Your eyes glance around the room, and then you spot Mingyu immediately𑁋of course you do. It’s hard not to miss him. The sunlight cowering in through the windows shines a faint halo around his head, and he wears that familiar, stupidly nice smile you can’t unsee once when it’s aimed directly at you. 

“Hey,” You breathe out as you approach, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, I was late. Heavy detour from a car accident on 17th. City traffic was hell.”

Mingyu simply shakes his head, already offering your cup of coffee. “It’s all good.”

You raise a brow as you take it from his hand, fingers brushing against his as you take the cup. “For me?”

“Who else would it be for?”

You roll your eyes at that, taking a sip. Mingyu watches you carefully. 

“With all your trials and tribulations,” You start, taking another sip of the coffee. “I’d say you got the coffee-to-sugar ratio about sixty-five percent correct. Well done.”

Mingyu lets out a relieved sigh. “Sixty-five is a passing grade, you know.”

“According to your terms.” You flash a smile behind your cup, and it makes his chest thrum unevenly. “On mine, it’s barely passing.” 

“So, technically, I still passed,” Mingyu remarks playfully, leaning against the side of his desk.

He’s gotten more confident around you, you consider. It’s cute. 

“Barely,” You shoot back again. “but I’ll let it slide for now. You’ll have to work a little harder.”

Mingyu laughs, and it comes out so effortlessly, so genuine. It’s enough to momentarily silence all the worry that’s been swirling around his head the past few days. You do that to him𑁋ease the tension, smooth the sharp edges with your natural brilliance and determination. He’s painfully aware of the irony: the only person who makes him feel human is also the one he has to keep the biggest truth from. 

Before he can say anything else, a voice booms across the office. It’s Seungcheol. 

“Y/N! Mingyu! Office in five!” 

You give Mingyu a look. “Guess that’s our cue.”

He nods, reaching for his own notes as he falls in step beside you. The two of you wordlessly make your way over to Seungcheol’s office, shoulder-to-shoulder. He hopes you don’t mind the closeness. And upon entering, Seungcheol gestures for you both to sit down. Sunlight bleeds across the table as the two of you take a seat. 

At the corner of Mingyu’s vision, he spots something pulled up on Seungcheol’s monitor: pictures of Superman, of him. His blood grows cold. 

“I’ve been going through your latest reports,” Seungcheol begins. “Both of you have been neck-deep in the green mineral case, and I’ve gotta say, I’m impressed. The idea that whatever this is being sold and distributed like cheap souvenirs is insane. Dangerous. And if it’s true… it could change everything.”

You nod slowly. “I’ve got people trying to work on confirming a direct supplier and checking out Pier 13. There’s definitely a trail somewhere. Hopefully we’ll mark it down without losing it in all the noise recently.”

Seungcheol leans in from his chair, stapling his hands together. “Exactly. Which brings me something I wanted to run by with you.”

The air takes in a visible inhale.

“No one’s seen or heard from Superman since the heist,” Seungcheol starts to explain, and Mingyu sure as hell doesn’t like where this is going already. “No appearances. No saves. The car accident from this morning? When it happened, the peoples’ first thoughts started with Superman. But now? They think he’s abandoned them. Fear is turning into anger.”

Mingyu shifts beside you, his heart plummeting and racing at the same time. You clear your throat loudly.

“Alright, what are you proposing?” You ask curiously.

“There’s the golden question,” Seungcheol says with a smirk. “I want an interview with Superman, and I want you to do it, Y/N.”

Mingyu chokes on air from that, nearly dropping a pen he’s been nervously fiddling with between his fingers. His eyes quickly dart to you, then back to Seungcheol, wondering if he even heard the man correctly.

You blink. “You want… me to interview Superman?”

“I want you to try,” Seungcheol replies ardently. “We don’t know where he is. He’s gone quiet. People are starting to panic. This green mineral situation isn’t helping in the slightest. We need answers, his insight about what this stuff is, and you’re one of the few people I trust to ask the right questions.”

You give a brief pause, unsure if you should feel flattered or not. “I’ve never even talked to him before. Not really.”

Seungcheol lifts a brow. “Didn’t he save your bag once?”

“That doesn’t exactly make us close friends. I had to suffer through an entire day’s worth of being referred to as ‘bag girl’. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mingyu feels a little guilty for that. He slumps even deeper in the chair, trying hold himself back from saying something𑁋to tell you and Seungcheol this is a terrible idea, that maybe Superman isn’t ready to face the world like that, to face you like that. But, instead, he chooses to say nothing. 

He’s too deep in his head to notice the way you sideways glance at him. 

“How would I even get in contact with him?” You ask. “It’s not like he has a press secretary or a hotline I could call.”

Seungcheol leans back helplessly, though his lips lift up into the kind of smile that always spells trouble. “That’s the thing. We don’t know. But if there’s anyone who can figure out how to get his attention, it’s you.”

You raise your brows at him, mouth parting in disbelief. “What, you just want me to shout into the sky and hope he hears me?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried it,” Seungcheol says jokingly, before his expression turns back to serious. “Look, I get it. It’s a shot in the dark. But the Daily Planet is trusted, more than any government agency and broadcast network these days. And you’ve gathered yourself a respected reputation already. Maybe if you write a column, an open letter, or get your bag snagged again, he’ll show.”

You chuckle at the last idea as your tongue presses into your cheek, thinking, thoughts already joggling through possible ideas without even meaning to. That always happens when a story itches at the back of your brain. You hate that Seungcheol𑁋and this ridiculous suggestion𑁋might be right.

Beside you, Mingyu remains unusually quiet.

“Let me sleep on it,” You finally say after a long moment. “I’m not saying no. Just let me think it through. But if I do this… I want full independence. No one breathing down my neck, no pre-written questions. If he even agrees to the interview, it has to be on his terms. Not the Planet’s.”

Seungcheol nods, as if he was already half-expecting for you to suggest that. “You’ve got the microphone.” Then his eyes flicker to the clock, and he claps a hand on the desk. “Alright. Meeting’s over. We’ve got a story to chase. Keep me updated, you two. You’re doing great.”

As you and Mingyu gather your belongings and exit out of Seungcheol’s office, you turn to him with a sigh.

“So.” Your shoulders relax. “Guess I gotta dress up pretty for a date with the Man of Steel.”

Mingyu chuckles softly at that𑁋almost too softly that he nearly regrets it. A reluctant smile stretches across his face, a glimmer of panic flashing behind his eyes that you miss as you face forward to place your cup of coffee and files on your desk. 

“A date, huh?” he says, an attempt at lightness, though his chest tightens at the word.

You shoot him a teasing look. “What? Jealous already?”

He clears his throat. “No. Just… didn’t expect you to call it a date.”

“Well,” You muse with a shrug. “I mean, if I’m risking my career and sanity tracking down a metaman who doesn’t even have a phone number or any line of contact, I should at least get a drink out of it, don’t you think?”

Mingyu fixes his glasses, heat rushing up his neck. “Right. Drinks. Maybe he’ll fly you to Italy for an espresso.”

You grin lightly at the thought, sliding back into your chair, and he tries his best to pretend his entire world isn’t crumbling by the seconds that tick by. There’s no good way to stop this now, and the worst part is that he wants to be interviewed by you. He wants to know how it feels to sit down with you as himself𑁋or, rather, his other self𑁋and answer all your questions, the easy ones and the hard ones, just to see that admiring sparkle in your eyes when you’re in your element.

Just to be with you. 

“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Mingyu asks after a second.

You glance over at him as you power on your computer, offering a shrug. “If it helps the people, and helps us get more information, then it might be worth it.”

Mingyu takes a nervous sip of his coffee. “Do you think he’d say yes?”

“To the interview?”

“Yeah.”

You cross one leg over the other, rotating your chair to face him. “Well, if you were Superman, hypothetically, would you say yes?”

He stares at you𑁋really stares at you𑁋catching sight of that intimidating fire behind your eyes, the curve of your smile, the slight lift of your brow as you wait for his answer. 

“If I were Superman…” he echoes slowly, dragging his words carefully. “...and it was you asking?’

You nod. “That’s the premise.”

He pretends to think. Pretends to put his own thoughts into the person who is him. Pretends to not already know the answer, despite the hammering of his heart in his chest telling him to avoid the topic altogether. 

“If it’s you asking,” Mingyu begins, eyes locking with yours. “I don’t think I could say no.”

There’s a quiet stillness that follows. No one else in the office seems to notice it but him, and maybe you do too, because your lips part𑁋maybe to tease, maybe to question𑁋yet nothing comes out of it. 

However, a smile, one full of amusement, blooms across your lips.

“Then I hope Superman is as receptive as you are, Mingyu.”

Hope is Missing: An Open Letter to Superman By Y/N L/N Investigative Journalist, Daily Planet 

The wind is cool tonight. Brisk enough to have the loose ends of your clothes ruffle through the night air, but not so cold that you mind waiting. You’ve been sitting at the rooftop of the Daily Planet for over an hour at this point, way longer than you had intended, as the clock dials close to midnight. A notepad and recorder sits in front of you, empty just like the seat across. 

You glance down at your shoes, then back up to the darkened sky.

No sign of him. Of anything, really. 

The open letter had been published yesterday morning, a few days after Seungcheol had proposed the idea. It had gone viral almost instantly. People talked, speculated, wondered. And yet here you are, alone on the rooftop, and talking to the stars.

There’s a part of you that feels rather foolish. If anything, at least the view of the city is decent enough to fill you up with a sense of peace𑁋you hardly ever come up to the rooftop, and you think there’s something quite beautiful about seeing the world asleep beneath your feet. You wonder if Superman feels this way when he flies through the skies. 

You click your pen shut as you pull your coat tighter around you, a sudden rush of wind running past your skin. The feeling leaves as fast as it came in, and the sigh that escapes your mouth follows along with it. 

You should really go home. 

But you don’t.

Because as you start to gather your things, there’s another near-silent whoosh that stops you in  your place. It’s subtle, yet far from natural, brushing against the nape of your neck like the ghost of a caress. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

You nearly jump from the voice.

It’s soft, deep, and so alarmingly close that it has you whipping your head around, your notepad clutched at your chest like some makeshift shield. 

And there he is.

Superman. In the flesh, standing with that iconic posture and wearing the famous colours of red and blue of his suit, cape fluttering behind him in the wind. Moonlight drapes over his figure, and he appears almost otherworldly. Somehow, it’s different from the last time you saw him that morning when your bag got stolen. 

That time, he was confident and poise𑁋you briefly recall the moment he shamelessly flirted you too𑁋as if the world was his greatest trophy. But now, there’s something… softer, fonder.

Vulnerable, even.

“Hi,” You manage to croak out, because it’s the only word your mind is able to process at this moment. 

Superman smiles. It isn’t the big, flashy one that the tabloids like to plaster across every news article, but a small, almost boyish curve of his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You feel a strange buzz underneath your skin.

“Hello, Miss L/N,” he greets back calmly, taking a few steps towards you, eyeing the empty seat at the table. “This seat taken?”

You blink, before it all registers back. “Oh, no, it’s not. Here, um, let me𑁋” You quickly scramble to pull the seat open for him. “Take a seat.”

You watch as he gives a short laugh before moving to the empty seat. He moves with grace, with purpose, with power; and yet, there’s something oddly humble in the way he folds himself into the chair, like he’s trying not to take up too much of your space. 

When you take the seat in front of him, his eyes briefly shoot down at the recorder that you place between the two of you, but you don’t hit the record button yet. 

“You picked the weirdest time to show up for an interview,” You remark lightly as you prepare your notes. 

“And you picked the most obvious location to have it in,” Superman declares back as he lets his gaze drift down to the constellation of city lights below. “It’s nice, though. I’ll give you credit for that.”

You glance up, the corner of your lip twitching at the comment. “Figured out it was symbolic, you know. Being high up, close to the stars. Maybe you’d feel more at home.” 

Your eyes are drawn back to your notepad of questions, scanning over each one slowly and carefully. You don’t catch the way his gaze locks back onto you. 

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly. “Home.”

As you finish reviewing your notes, you pick your head back up. “Alright, before we start, are there any boundaries you want to set? Anything in particular you want me to not ask?”

Superman considers your words for a moment, tilting his head. “Not exactly, I would say. But if I did want something… what is it that journalists say again? If I want something𑁋”

“Off the record?”

“Right. Off the record,” he echoes back proudly. “If I wanted something off the record, you’d respect that, right?” 

“Of course,” You answer as you nod without hesitation. “I’m not here to trap you, don’t worry. I’m here to understand you.” 

He hums amusedly, a gentle sound that slips from his throat like a sigh of relief. Then, he offers you a nod of his own, signaling that you could start. 

You reach over tentatively to hit the record button on the recorder. A click reverberates through the air. 

“Time is… 11:43PM. This is Y/N L/N, reporting for the Daily Planet, speaking with𑁋well, I suppose you don’t need an introduction, do you?” 

Superman chuckles at that, a bit raspier at the edges like he’s been holding it in for a while. His hand brushes over the table briefly, before it stills.

“I guess not,” he murmurs. “But you can call me Superman, if it’s easier for you.”

You force yourself to bite back a smile at that, before returning back to the task at hand, adjusting your posture just slightly. Across from you, he mirrors the movement without even thinking. 

“Right. Well, tonight I’ll be speaking with Superman.” You lock a steady gaze on him. “First off, I wanted to thank you for agreeing to this, considering the circumstances lately.”

“It’s a pleasure to be speaking with you, Miss L/N.” Then his eyes soften𑁋the way he addresses you sends a flip to your stomach. “I should be thanking you. I… read the letter that you published. Every word. It was honest, and I owe the people an explanation. An apology, perhaps.” 

You lift a brow at his humility, the tip of your pen roaming over the surface of your notes. “Some might say you disappeared when people needed you most. After the heist at the National Bank, your absence wasn’t just felt, it caused panic. Do you regret it?”

There’s a pause.

His gaze drops to the space between you, hands clasped loosely in front of him on the table. His thumbs brush together in slow, deliberate circles, and when he lifts his eyes back up again, there's something unguarded in them.

“I do,” Superman answers quietly. “I didn’t plan to disappear. I wasn’t trying to… abandon anyone. But during the heist, I was hurt. The green minerals used by the robbers is called kryptonite. And it isn’t just dangerous𑁋it weakens me, my strength, my powers.”

You swiftly write on your notepad as you ask the next question, “What can you tell me about kryptonite? Its origin? What does it do to you, exactly?”

His brows furrow slightly, trying to find the right words. “It’s… hard to describe. It originally came from my home planet, Krypton. Its fragments of what’s left of it after it ceased to exist, scattered it all over space. Your earth’s sun makes it radioactive to me. When I’m near it, the radiation simply… strips those powers away from me. It’s like breathing in poison.”

You take in his words carefully, writing down the information on your notes with cadence. He simply observes you as you write, with your head bent over the paper, lips pursed in concentration, your hair slipping endearingly over your forehead. It’s almost too much to you have this close, yet he could only admire you𑁋this is probably the closest he’ll ever have you, anyway. 

“Krypton… is your home planet, you said?” You glance back up at him for confirmation, and he forces himself to concentrate back on the interview.

“Correct,” Superman affirms, his features wistfully fading into something sad, nostalgic. “I crash-landed here on Earth after it was destroyed. From what I know, not… not one of my people had survived, except me. I was just a baby, so Earth is the only home I really remember. Raised here, pretty much.”

Your pen hovers over the paper hesitantly, considerately. “Do you miss it?”

An unscripted question. 

Mingyu𑁋no, Superman, he mentally reminds himself𑁋hesitates for a few seconds. Not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he knows how much of himself he potentially risks giving it away. 

“I… don’t know, honestly,” he starts, voice lower now. “I guess you could say I miss the idea of it sometimes. But I’ve found my home here with people I care about. There’s something about this city that makes it hard not to love, you know?”

He looks at you when he says it.

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and weightless all at once. 

You don’t write that one down; instead, you file it into a safe space in the back of your mind. 

“Never picked you to be the sentimental type, Superman,” You tease lightly with a pleased shake of your head. 

A playful glint catches in his dark eyes. “You bring that out of me, I suppose.” 

“Do I now?” You counter back playfully, clicking your pen shut. “And do you always flirt with every person you save?”

Superman grins cheesily at that. “Only certain ones, especially if their bags get stolen.” Then his eyes brighten up mischievously. “Keep that off the record, though.”

Petals of warmth bloom throughout your chest at that, and gosh, you already know you would have to cut out so many parts in this recording when you update Seungcheol about the case, because you really don’t want to be accused of fraternising with Superman, as ridiculous as it sounds. 

It’s strange, really𑁋how you’re casually sitting here interviewing a literal alien superhero with powers that defies the laws of anything, and yet, the two of you are sitting here like you’ve known each other for months.

For a few moments, you don’t know how to respond to that, and the only thing you can do is to clear your obnoxiously dry throat. You partly blame the cold air for it.

“Anyways, well𑁋next question.” You snap your pen open again. “The kryptonite. We’ve received multiple sources proving that it’s being distributed in bulk to criminals around the city under the disguise of those pendants from the heist. Criminals are wearing them when committing their crimes. Do you have any insights on that?” 

He sobers up instantly, expression turning serious. 

“My only guess is that they’re using the kryptonite to bring me down.”

You hum approvingly. “And do you have a reason why they would want to bring you down?”

He stills briefly, then answers carefully, “For power. For leverage. Fear. I’m the biggest obstacle between standing between them and their ambitions, so getting rid of me would offer less resistance. Fear is easier to spread when hope is chipped away.”

You give a thoughtful nod as you digest his words. Your pen scratches softly against the paper as you scribble down his responses. When you pick your head back up, he holds a steady gaze on you already, and it’s making it harder and harder for you to stay objective. 

“Is that what you consider yourself, Superman?” You ask lightly. “A symbol of hope?”

Something flickers across his eyes, before he shakes his head.

“Not exactly,” he responds quietly. “I think people deserve hope. I just want to remind them it’s still there.”

Those words seem to hit you𑁋an unexpected vulnerability from someone who appears untouchable to anything. The answer makes you smile, however, although very faintly. 

“Some people argue that the world is too dependent on you. That humanity relies on you too much to fix things when we should be fixing it ourselves,” You begin to ask. “What is your response to that?”

Superman doesn’t answer right away. His head hangs low, but it’s not from defeat. Far from it.

“I want humanity to fix itself. I’ve never wanted to stand above anyone else. My role on Earth has… never been about solving problems.” He looks back up, eyes shining with something fierce, passionate, and kind. “It’s about standing with the people. Reminding them that they can fight. I don’t rescue people because they are weak𑁋I rescue them because they deserve a chance to keep going.”

“Then why stay?” You press a little more, writing as you ask. “Why keep risking yourself if there’s no realistic way for humanity to fix its own issues? Doesn’t it ever make you feel… hopeless, in a way?”

The silence stretches a little. The only sound comes from the recorder whirring between the two of you, recording every word. 

“I do have days where I wonder if I’m really making a difference,” he admits. “But then I see a firefighter run up to a burning building without hesitation. I see a kid stand up to a bully. I see people love each other, even through the messiness and brokenness that comes with it.”

He leans in slightly, folding his arms across the table. 

“You don’t have to be indestructible to protect people. You just have to be willing. Courage doesn’t come from having powers𑁋it comes from choices and actions. I didn’t choose to have these abilities, but I did choose what I wanted to do with them. Which, to answer that, is doing the greater good.” 

Quietness floats through the air as you write down his answers. You can barely feel the cold on your skin anymore. When your gaze roams over the next question, you nearly debate skipping it entirely, but that wouldn’t be honest𑁋not as a journalist. And not with him.

You take in an inhale. “Superman.”

“Miss L/N.”

The corners of your lips quiver from hearing him call you that. 

“How do you choose who to save?”

His face doesn’t change. But if you looked at him even closer, the stillness that settles over him is a different kind. More heavy. 

“I mean,” You continue carefully. “When the world is falling apart in five places at once, when lives are on the line in different corners of the city… how do you live knowing you can’t be everywhere? How do you pick? And how do you carry the burden of the ones you don’t get to in time?” 

It’s probably the toughest, most human question you’ve asked this entire night. You watch him closely. 

“Sometimes, when I fly, I can hear almost everything,” Superman begins. “Sirens. Screams. Prayers. I hear them all. At times, it becomes overwhelming𑁋sort of crushes me with all this pressure. And it hurts physically, emotionally, mentally.”

You say nothing, letting your pen stay still to listen.

“It’s unbearable knowing I can’t reach them all. There are times where I’m five seconds too late.” His voice is tighter now. “I don’t choose who to save based on who matters more. I pick because someone needs help, and I move as fast as I can, wherever I can. But it doesn’t make the ones I couldn’t reach any easier to forget.”

The way he’s looking at you while answering almost makes you feel like you’re being stripped bare. It’s not invasive, but honest. Raw honesty. 

“But here’s what I believe,” he continues modestly. “Even though I can’t save everyone, I know I saved someone. And maybe that person goes on to save others, and those others save more. That’s how hope survives𑁋it spreads, even in the places I can’t reach. And that… that’s worth the burden.”

You hardly notice how close his hand is to yours on the table now, but you can’t will yourself to move. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he speaks so achingly human about the way he carries his pain, about the way he speaks not like some saviour or god𑁋just as a man learning to navigate with the weight of the world on his shoulders constantly. Just a man trying to do what’s right. 

It makes your curiosities wander as well, because who exactly is Superman? 

“So, um, in light of all things,” You begin, readying your pen up once more. “What is your plan? How do you intend to stop the kryptonite distribution around the city?”

He shifts in his chair, his body language becoming more focused, determined, while the city lights dance across his eyes. There’s a pause as you observe the way he searches for the right words, his jaw tightening a fraction as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ll stop them, no matter what it takes,” he answers with certainty. 

You jot all of this down on your notepad. Then you gaze back up at him, and you feel a pinch of worry. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?”

He laughs halfheartedly at that. “I’ve handled worse things.”

Yet your face remains steady with concern. “What about the kryptonite? What if… it doesn’t go your way? If they succeed, what happens then?”

Mingyu𑁋no, Superman, shit𑁋feels an odd tug at his heartstrings at the way you ask it. It’s unsettling, yet comforting all at once. Because you care, the same kind of care you expressed to him when you showed up at his doorstep the other week as he gave you the lame excuse of being sick for his absence. You’ve shown care to both sides of his coin, even if you don’t fully realise it, and that means something.

It’s so, so hard. He has to constantly remind himself that in moments like these, he’s supposed to be Superman, not Mingyu, even if his instincts ache to scream at you. 

“No matter what happens to me, or how dark it gets,” Superman finally says after a long beat, his tone bittersweet. “I’ll never stop fighting.”

With a final, firm nod, you document down his responses and let the silence settle between the two of you. You managed to cover a lot of ground, and there’s definitely a lot of information you can work with for the case as well as the article that you plan to write surrounding the interview. When you finish writing, you reach a finger over to click stop on the recorder. 

“Right. Thank you for your time, Superman. I believe that’s all the questions I have for you for tonight,” You say as you close your notepad and begin to gather your things.

“For tonight?” he repeats with a sly look. “So there will be… other nights?”

You scoff at that while shoving your notepad and recorder back into your bag, but the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrays you. 

“Don’t push your luck, Superman,” You say teasingly, slinging your bag over your shoulder, already taking a few steps towards the door back into the building. “I’m going to start thinking you’re interested in me.”

“And what if I am?”

You freeze in place at that, your grip tightening around the strap of your bag. When you turn around, he’s already stood up, his red cape flying behind him in the cool, nighttime breeze. Despite the banter, there’s something about the way he’s looking at you𑁋something soft and devastatingly earnest. 

“There’s a city that needs saving out there,” You assure him as calmly as you can be. “I’m sure you have better things to do than to entertain… this. Don’t put me on your priority list.”

And yet, some deep part of your heart aches at your own words.

Superman only steps closer to you. Your feet stay planted heavily on the ground. 

“Five minutes,” he says.

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Five minutes. That’s all I ask for,” he mutters, quieter this time. “The city can wait five minutes, can it?”

This earns him a narrowed gaze from you as you peer at him carefully. You could leave. You could leave this moment behind and carry on with your life, investigate and finish the case, and forget the fact that a man who has the power to wield the Earth in his own hands is standing right in front of you, asking for something as simple as five minutes of your time. 

You know what you’re getting into if you allow your feelings to get the better of you. You can’t possibly be this careless with your heart without knowing all the pieces of who he is. It’s risky𑁋so, so risky. 

But the other part of you, the part that’s been slowly falling into his orbit, tells you to stay. It’s just five minutes. Only five minutes. 

“Five minutes,” You repeat softly. “No more, no less.”

Superman grins knowingly from where he stands. “You have my word.”

You watch as he takes a few more steps towards you, and suddenly, without warning, he extends a hand to you. An open invitation. You stare at him in disbelief for a few moments.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he says with confidence, his hand unwavering in the space between you. “Do you trust me?”

You stand there in hesitation, the question lingering in the air, as your eyes flicker between his outstretched hand and the twinkling lights of the city skyline. When your gaze flits back up to him, he’s still waiting, eyes hopeful but not demanding. It’s crazy how easy it is to get swept up in the charm of a superhero. 

But… there’s more to him, isn’t there?

Taking a deep breath, you meet him halfway, and let your fingertips graze against his palm, before your hand finally settles in his. The warmth from his hand sends a strange wave of flutters throughout your body, and it’s almost as if the world around the two of you softened into something more… safer. 

You catch the way he smiles at the contact, and he lets his own hand fully embrace yours. With a gentle tug, he drags you towards the end of the rooftop. The wind kisses your face a little harder, the sleeping city stretching beneath your feet. 

You stiffen instinctively when your toes reach close to the edge, but you feel his grip tighten in your eyes. 

He turns to face you, and even under the sliver of moonlight that casts on his face, you still see the softness in his expression.

“Ready?” he asks.

You shoot him a flat look. “Define ready.”

All he does is chuckle. And before you can second-guess yourself, he steps off the edge. With you in his arms. 

A sharp yelp leaves you as the wind roars past your ears. Your free hand shoots up to grasp onto the front of his suit so tightly you swear you could probably tear it. Your heart slams against your ribs, nothing but pure fear spreading through your veins. 

Then you feel the sudden shift in air, a rush of gravity failing away𑁋and then, impossibly, you’re rising.

Flying.

Beneath you, the city starts to blur into nothing but tiny pinpricks of light. The feeling that your feet are touching virtually nothing is enough to send a wave of adrenaline crashing through you as you realise how high you’ve gone, and you cling to him even more, completely afraid to let go.

“You’re okay,” Superman reassures you, voice nearly fading in the wind. “I’ve got you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging helplessly into his suit. “That’s easy for you to say! You’re used to flying!”

Even with your eyes closed, you swear you still know that he’s smiling. The gusts of air rushing past your ear start to slow, and you feel his hand begin to snake around your waist to secure you even more. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he could hear it. You stay clamped against him, too afraid to open your eyes, too aware of how close he is to you without fully seeing it.

“Hey,” he coaxes gently. “Open your eyes.”

You shake your head furiously. “No way in hell. I’m good here, thanks.”

“Come on, you’re missing the best part,” he says, laughter tucked in his voice. “Just trust me.”

With gritted teeth, you peek open one eye. Just barely.

And you gasp.

Below you, the city sprawls out in a blanket of gold and silver. You can’t even tell the buildings apart since they appear mashed together. Above, the stars are so much closer than you could remember𑁋close enough you could probably touch it if you’ve reached for them. It’s breathtaking, overwhelming, dizzying, and yet, you don’t have it in you to look away.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you𑁋that we’re𑁋” You purse your lips together for a moment, unable to form proper words. “You’re insane. Absolutely, recklessly, insane.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches painfully in your throat at his words.

You blink up at him in surprise. Superman’s eyes𑁋no, Mingyu’s eyes, but you don’t know that yet𑁋are trained on you, disarming you from the fact that you’re suspended probably thousands of feet in the air that death is beyond inevitable if there’s even one wrong move. He can see the way your heart is racing in your ribcage, the way you’re shaking in his grasp. But none of that matters because you’re in his arms, and you don’t feel like you’re going to fall.

You don’t even realise that you’re staring at him, attempting to decipher through every detail of his face that seems so familiar, and yet so different.

However, your thoughts are clouded the moment he tilts his head slightly, and naturally, your eyes briefly shoot down at his lips before immediately snapping back at his eyes. But he notices. Of course, he notices. 

Then, he leans in closer, and you feel the slightest touch of the tip of his nose onto yours, and he pauses. He’s giving you the opportunity to pull away, to tell him to stop and that this was a bad idea. But you don’t. You can’t.

And then, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft, so soft, like he’s afraid of breaking you, afraid of letting you go more than you letting go of him. It starts off slow, questioning, asking for permission. And the second you kiss him back, he pulls you closer against him and deepens the kiss just slightly more, your chest meeting his. He’s warm. Solid. Real. 

It’s exhilarating, albeit terrifying in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re hovering in the middle of the vast, endless night sky. The stars above burn a little brighter, the wind hums around you in quiet awe, and for the first time tonight, you feel weightless not because you’re flying𑁋but because you’re his; at least, for however long this five minutes will be. 

You’re kissing Superman𑁋the thought is as ridiculous as it sounds𑁋but with the stars and sky as your witnesses, you don’t care.

When the kiss breaks, you’re met with his unsure gaze, like he’s waiting for something, anything, to give him a sense of what you’re thinking. His shaky breath fans against your warm skin. He’s still so close to you.

“I…” His voice trails off. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You’re still clinging onto him, his hand is still on your waist, and the world is still somehow spinning on its axis like everything about this moment is normal. But it’s not. 

Your mind races too fast to be able to catch up with it the more you stare up at him. There’s something, just something about the goddamn way he’s looking at you that feels so familiar. 

There’s something about his eyes.

About the curve of his lips, the slope of his cheekbones, the warmth of his voice, the care in his touch. 

There’s something about him telling you, merely screaming at you𑁋that you’ve seen his face before. The thought is gnawing at the edges of your thoughts like a parasite, refusing to let go. It won’t stop.

And then it hits you. You probably stop breathing altogether.

Because if you focused with whatever strength you have, you’ve seen that face. You’ve seen it nearly every day ever since you started working at the Daily Planet, sitting across from you at the office or next to you in the conference room while you’re neck-deep in case files. You’ve seen it wear that particular lopsided smile whenever you tease him. You’ve seen that face whenever his glasses accidentally lower too much on his nose. You’ve seen him.

You almost want to laugh𑁋because that’s absolutely absurd, right? 

But it could be him. If you imagined him without the glasses, with his hair slicked back perfectly, then it could be him. If you focused on the voice, his large build, his hands…

God, the hands.

You swear your heart trips over itself.

“Yeah, I’m…” You mutter, voice unsteady, trying to pull yourself together when you’re everything but okay. “I’m okay.”

An exhale of relief leaves him.

“Okay,” he whispers, pulling you a little closer again. “Five minutes are up. Here, let me… Let me take you back down.”

As the wind starts rushing through your hair once more, you find yourself descending back onto the rooftop of the Daily Planet. Your feet land back on the ground with the lightness of a feather. Superman𑁋no, Mingyu?𑁋doesn’t let go of you right away, but when he reluctantly does, the cold that replaces his touch instantly hugs around you. 

He steps back just slightly, and you watch him with uncertainty, confusion tightening its knots in your chest. Your heart wants to say something, and maybe he does too, from the way his expression softens into a bittersweet look. 

His back is almost turned towards you when you finally call back out to him, “Wait.”

He pauses, stiffening, and turns back toward you. 

You swallow a thick lump down your throat. “Will I… see you again?”

There’s a beat𑁋a long, torturous beat𑁋where you think you may have said something wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t want this, whatever this is supposed to be. Maybe you’re so stubborn to think you could be with someone like him. Maybe Superman isn’t supposed to belong to anyone but the world. 

But then… he smiles. You know that smile, you swear you do.

“If you need me,” he starts quietly. “I’ll be here.”

It’s not much. It’s barely even an answer.

Before you can say anything more, he’s bending his knees and pushing up towards the sky. You watch as he turns into nothing more than a speck in the clouds as the night and stars swallow him whole.

The rooftop feels a lot emptier now as you’re left standing alone. 

If your speculations are right, and you’re not just losing your mind over stress and a severe lack of sleep, then what the hell does that even mean?

For the investigation?

For your partnership?

For… you?

“These were images taken from Wonwoo in photojournalism and… See?” You motion to the grainy picture in front of you on Seungcheol’s desk. “Shipments were reported to have an odd green glow around them while being transported to Pier 13. These guys aren’t slick at all.”

Seungcheol squints down at the photo. “That is definitely kryptonite alien tech right there.”

“Exactly,” You affirm with confidence. “I’ve already cross-checked all the logs from the pier’s cargo records for the past six months. There isn’t any official documentation, no scheduled deliveries, or inputs from customs. It’s all ghost shipment.” 

“And you pulled all these conclusions just from that interview with Superman alone?” Seungcheol questions, clearly impressed.

You nod once. “You could say so. The pieces started coming together after that night.”

That night. You don’t elaborate, and Seungcheol doesn’t press any further about it, thankfully. He’s already heard the recording of the interview𑁋the blatant, cut version, of course𑁋so he knows the basics. He doesn’t need to know all the nitty-gritty details of what happened after the recorder clicked off. 

“Good work, Y/N,” Seungcheol says with a look of approval. “Draft up all your findings that you got from the interview. I want it on my desk by the end of the day. Then we’ll pitch it to the evening editors. Superman seems to be back in business because of you.”

Superman, Superman, Superman. You remember walking into the building and seeing the news playing on the television, detailing live about Superman saving an elderly pedestrian in danger from walking into oncoming traffic. Your thoughts drift back to Mingyu instinctively. 

“On it, sir.” You nod again. “Do you also want me to𑁋”

The door to Seungcheol’s office suddenly bursts open with a loud thud, cutting you off and making you and Seungcheol simultaneously jump in your seats. The sound of heavy breathing, and an unmistakable mop of dark hair stumble in all at once. 

Mingyu. He looks absolutely winded, as if he had just run an entire marathon through the city just to get here. 

“Sorry𑁋I’m so sorry for being late,” he sputters out all-too-quickly. “Morning rush was… insane. Total nightmare.”

You blink.

Seungcheol also blinks.

“Don’t you live, like, five blocks away, Kim?” Seungcheol asks with his arms crossed.

Mingyu freezes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something clever, before shutting it close again. You notice a thin layer of sweat on his brow, like he preferred to sprint up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. His tie hangs loosely off his neck as if he gave up mid-tying it, and his glasses are slightly askew, which he adjusts swiftly. 

Right, You think. The glasses.

“Anyway, other than being…” Seungcheol briefly checks his watch. “...thirteen minutes late, you’re here in one piece. Better than some of the interns this week.” The man gestures towards the seat right next to you. “Sit down. Don’t sweat on my carpet, please.”

Mingyu gives a short, apologetic bow before sliding into the seat right next to you. 

You stiffen when his arms momentarily brush against yours. It’s not the first time he’s sat beside you, obviously𑁋but this is the first time since, and your body is reacting like he’s never been this close to you before, when he definitely has. 

He grows unusually quiet as Seungcheol starts talking about the case𑁋about writing up an article based on the findings the two of you have gotten so far, integrating everything together into one sharp exposé, potential ideas for headline titles, and expectations from the editors. He merely nods here and there as you and Seungcheol exchange ideas back and forth.

You can feel his presence at your side. Familiar, too familiar.

You try not to glance up at him. But you can’t help it.

“Y/N, you’ll write up a narrative draft,” Seungcheol’s voice chimes back in. “Mingyu, I need you to get me more details on the kryptonite samples that got sent to the lab for analysis. Cross-reference them with any other materials if needed. I want all these pieces put together by this evening. Got it?”

Mingyu’s lips form a thin, contemplative line. “Are you sure that Y/N should… publish the article?”

The question slices through the already-thick air of the room like a knife. 

Seungcheol lifts his head up from his notes. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Mingyu knows you’re already staring at him, and he tries not to meet your eyes. He tries to focus on Seungcheol instead, with his tense jaw and knitted brows.

“It’s… it’s dangerous,” he mutters. “She’s exposing an illegal black market deal involving risky alien tech. People don’t just walk away from that kind of exposé.”

Beside him, your breath hitches. He’s not wrong. You know that. But he also knows you. He knows exactly what you signed up for when you walked through the doors of the Daily Planet with nothing but your half-empty cup of coffee, your pen, your spine, and your unbridled passion in exposing corruption. 

“I’m not walking away from this, Mingyu,” You add in, voice more sharper than intended. “You can’t just pull me away from uncovering the truth that easily.”

Mingyu finally turns to look at you, and in that moment, you swear you see his mask falter a little. His eyes are desperate. Not angry, nor dismissive. Just desperate. Like he’s silently begging for you to read between the lines of his concern.

“I know,” he says softly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The honesty in his words hit you like a wave, and you don’t know what else to say.

Seungcheol clicks his pen loudly, disrupting the tension. “We’re not a daycare centre. We don’t back off because something might be dangerous, and if things do go south, we have authorities we can work with. We triple-check our facts, and make sure to shine light in places where others don’t.” His daggered eyes cut back to Mingyu. “If you’ve got a problem with that, Kim, then I think you’re in the wrong department.” 

Mingyu just straightens up his posture, his jaw still tense. “No, sir. I’ll get you those lab reports.”

With a dismissive wave, Seungcheol turns back to his computer to write up a follow-up email to the editorial team, and you stand up from the seat to begin gathering up all the materials on the table. Mingyu leaps from his seat as well, and after a hesitant second, he starts helping you gather up the scattered papers, yet you can tell his movements are a little too careful.

Your hands brush when you both reach for the same file, and you flinch just slightly. It’s instinctive, and maybe stupid, but you do. Mingyu notices.

It’s awkward. Not unbearable, per se𑁋but definitely noticeable. At least to you.

He doesn’t know what you know. Or rather… what you think you know.

Because how do you even bring a topic up like that? That you kissed Superman? That you probably kissed Mingyu? And that you’re 90% sure are the same person? 

Did you say something such as, Hey, remember that interview I did with Superman the other night? Yeah, I kissed him and his cheekbones look a lot like yours. What a funny coincidence, right? 

Yeah. No. That isn’t going to work at all. 

“Thanks,” You murmur as you grab the last folder from Mingyu’s hands. 

Mingyu nods, and for a second, your fingers linger a little too long in the handoff. His brows twitch faintly like he wants to say something, yet he presses his lips into a straight line as you saunter out of Seungcheol’s office. You feel your pulse thrumming a little too fast in your ears when you brush past him.

He follows right behind you, just a step behind. 

You try not to look at him as you head back to your desk, seemingly too busy straightening out the files next to your computer. Mingyu’s desk is only a few cubicles away from yours, but he doesn’t go to it right away. Instead, he finds himself slowly trailing over to you.

“Y/N?” 

You look up, and the moment your eyes meet, something falters between you.

“Do you…” he starts, rubbing the back of his bashfully. “Do you wanna grab coffee later? After we finish things up?” 

A small, thin silence threads along in the space between the two of you.

Your fingers subtly tighten its hold around the edges of the folder in your hands. You pretend to think about it, and maybe you are thinking about it. Coffee, just normal, harmless coffee between coworkers. It would be nice. But nice isn’t exactly what this is right now. Not when you’re still staggering on the edge of some truth you haven’t confirmed yet. 

You glance at him, and you swear, just for a second, there’s that same look again. The one that Superman gave you back in the sky and the stars were just a touch away from your fingertips. 

God.

A forced, polite smile stretches its way across your face. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Actually, I… have some errands to run tonight,” You say, fighting away the flutter in your chest. “Stuff I’ve kind of been putting off for a while, you know?”

An imperceptible flicker runs across Mingyu’s eyes, the corners of his mouth dipping just a fraction. It’s gone before it can fully land on his face, replaced by that practiced, soft grin of his.

“Ah, right,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”

You nod apologetically. “Rain check?”

“Yeah. Rain check,” he echoes back, stepping away slightly. Though when he’s half-turned away from you, he shifts back around to face you one more time. “And just… Be careful, alright?”

He walks away before either of you can say anything else, and you hate how your eyes follow him. Hate how conflicted you feel when he throws one last look over his shoulders before disappearing back into the crowded newsroom, leaving you with your unanswered questions and a story that won’t write itself. 

Slumping back into your seat, a sigh escapes your mouth. You’re really not ready for this at all.

“I can’t believe she’s going to publish that article,” Mingyu says, gritting his teeth in frustration. “It’s going to put a target on her back.”

Wonwoo adjusts himself where he was leaning against the windowsill, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. “You do know that’s part of her job as a journalist, right?”

Mingyu raises an agitated hand through his hair. “I know that’s part of her job. But this𑁋this isn’t some corporate fraud exposé or a fluff piece about city hall mismanagement. This is about kryptonite. Organised criminal trafficking of alien tech that shouldn’t even exist here. When they see she’s the one who wrote it, she’ll be next on their list.” 

“And you didn’t think to stop her?” Wonwoo asks, taking a sip from his tea. 

“I tried to! Her and Seungcheol were dead-set, and you know I’m scared of that man𑁋of both of them. She barely even looked at me the entire day,” Mingyu retorts with a groan. “And that’s what makes it hard, because everyone knows how she works. She’s… she’s passionate, and once she believes in a story, there’s no talking her down from it.”

Wonwoo exhales, watching the steam curl satisfyingly from his mug. “Yeah. That’s what makes her so good.” He pauses, giving Mingyu a particular look. “And what makes you a damn idiot.”

Mingyu shoots him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “What, did the wind blow too hard and your lips accidentally crashed onto hers?” 

“It wasn’t𑁋I didn’t plan that! It just𑁋it happened, okay?” Mingyu runs his hands over his face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, I have the faintest idea,” Wonwoo deadpans. “Hormones. Delusions. And wack-ass impulse control.”

“God, I know… I know it was dumb.” Mingyu fixes his eyes down to the ground in guilt. “I just𑁋She looked… beautiful, okay? Like really beautiful. And confident. And every other synonym of that. I wasn’t thinking straight.” 

Wonwoo snorts into his cup. “You’ve dodged missiles and can eat bullets for breakfast and yet can’t spare a single ounce of common sense around a girl. They should’ve written that your weakness is hopeless infatuation instead.”

Mingyu only groans at that. 

“But I’m not judging you for kissing her,” Wonwoo continues. “I’m judging you for not telling her.”

Mingyu’s shoulders slump into the floorboards. The truth of who he is weighs heavier than any concrete wall he’s ever lifted, more suffocating than any collapsing building he’s ever flown into. 

“I want to tell her,” he says, almost too quiet for even himself to hear. “God, you have no idea how much I want to tell her. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t,” Mingyu responds sharply, his fingers digging into the armrest of the couch, deep enough to cause a tiny laceration in the leather. “I can’t. Not until I know she’s safe.”

Wonwoo lets out a helpless sigh. “Then I hope you’ll be ready to face her when you do.”

“See? Your shit is going viral. Again. The internet is going wild from your exclusive interview with Superman,” one of the evening editors, Minghao, points towards his computer screen where your exposé on the kryptonite trade is on display. “You’ve even got retweets from some politicians.”

“It sounds like you’re envious.” You smirk lightly while hovering over Minghao’s shoulder as he scrolls through your article.

On the screen, the title of your article is screaming at you in its large bold letters: Kryptonite on the Black Market: The Alien Arms Race Hiding in Plain Sight. It was published by the start of this morning, and you’ve already garnered a massive amount of attention for it. Yet, there’s still a strange swirl of pride and dread that courses through you. 

“Envious? Please,” Minghao says with a playful scoff. “I just can’t wait to watch the shitshow of law enforcement and our government fighting over jurisdiction on this. It’s practically a reality show! You should charge admission fees. You’d be a millionaire by tomorrow morning.”

You laugh quietly at that, but it doesn’t quite feel as genuine when it leaves your mouth. You fold your arms across your chest as you lean against the corner of Minghao’s desk. The article is trending, the story is out, and your name is plastered at the top of it just like you wanted. You wrote a story that matters. A story that tells the truth. 

Then why does your chest still feel heavy?

Maybe it’s because you don’t know the kind of people you’ve probably pissed off. Maybe it’s because the names you didn’t print are more than likely the ones coming after you. 

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” You murmur, leaning away from Minghao’s desk.

Minghao raises a brow. “You sure? Heard there’s some celebratory pizza or whatever being delivered for you.”

You’re already sliding on your coat as you shake your head amusedly. “Save me a slice, yeah?” 

“For some reason I’m not feeling generous tonight,” Minghao responds wryly, before waving you off with a dismissive hand. “Night, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes. “Night, Xu.”

The office is basically empty at this point in the day. The only ones working being the evening team hammering away at their keyboards, too engrossed in their own deadlines to even notice you quietly slipping out of the cubicles. The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you walk down the hallways and into the elevator, the silence oddly comforting as you drift down to the ground floor. 

The heel of your shoes click down against the tile floors as you head out of the building, the cool air hitting you square in the face. For a moment, the relaxation in your bones is swiftly replaced by the chill of the night, whispers of the breeze sending tense shivers down your spine. You glance between your left and right sides, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, just the streetlamps flickering overhead. 

But the uneasy feeling still refuses to leave you.

Your fingers curl around the strap of your bag, and you let out a sigh. You start your walk down the empty sidewalk. You’ve done this a hundred times before𑁋walking home from a late night at the office. But tonight feels different. The kind of different that clings stubbornly to your nerves. 

Halfway down the block, you swear you hear it. Footsteps. 

They’re steady. Measure. And they don’t belong to you. 

You pause, and turn around. For a fleeting second, there’s a shadow that disappears quicker than you could process. Your heartbeat is still punching maniacally at your chest. 

You shake your head anxiously, swallowing thickly. Maybe you’re just imagining it. Maybe you’re just paranoid after everything today. God, maybe you just need to get home and crash on your bed and forget about the world you live in. 

Your pace becomes faster, but the whispers of the breeze in your ears is adamant, almost mocking. But you can’t turn around. Not like this. 

However, the breeze that caresses the back of your neck when you turn the corner makes you pause again. It sharpens suddenly, a gust of wind that whips your strands of your hair against your cheek. At the corner of your eye, a shadow crosses the streetlight shining above you. It’s fast, silent. Too big and quick to be a bird. 

And then it hits you. Relief, out of all things.

“You know,” You start, straightening your posture. “for a superhero, you’re awful at stealth.”

The unmistakable sound of a foot touching down on the ground echoes behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. The familiarity of the sound, the rhythm of the steps coming closer to you𑁋it’s him. 

Taking in a breath, you finally turn around, and there he is. Superman. His tall figure is outlined with an angelic glow under the streetlamp, his red cape trudging calmly behind him. You find it hard letting your eyes meet his, your gaze merely lingering on the familiar lines of his face. It’s almost as if he belongs in this scene, like he’s part of the night itself.

His gaze is fixed on you, but there’s a soft hesitation in it, like he knows he’s intruding in your space but can’t help it. 

“Are you stalking me now?” You ask with a small laugh. 

His lips form a thin line. “Not stalking. Just… watching. Nightly duties.”

“Right,” You deadpan, a disbelieving twitch lifts at the corner of your mouth. “Well, carry on, yeah? I appreciate the well-being check.”

As you’re about to turn back around, Superman steps forward, his voice stopping you before you can take another step.

“Wait.”

You halt. You don’t know why you do. Because you shouldn’t feel this way, but the softness dripping down from his tone is enough to make your heart skip a beat in a way that’s both infuriating and comforting. It’s like a suspiciously sincere knock to your guarded walls, one that you shouldn’t fall for yet here you are𑁋letting him in anyway. 

“I’ve read it, you know,” he says quietly. “The article you published.”

You cross your arms together. “If this is your tactic to get me to revoke𑁋”

“It’s not, I promise,” he chimes in adamantly. “I’m just warning you.”

You huff out a sigh. “Look, Superman, I’ve dealt with threats ordering my death before. I’m not exactly a stranger to this kind of thing. If I didn’t think I could handle this, I wouldn’t have written it, or interviewed you, for that matter.”

The half-smile that you give him is far from convincing, even you know it, despite your best efforts at masking the fear with feigned confidence. He notices it, of course. He always does. He probably knows you more than you know yourself. 

“I know you can handle yourself,” Superman reassures calmly. “I’ve never doubted that fact; if anything, I admire it. But there’s a difference between being able to handle it and handling it alone.”

You scoff at that. “So what, you’re going to babysit me now? Hover outside my window while I sleep at night?”

“I mean, if it has to come to that…”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

“I know.”

You pause, unsure of what to respond. You hate how your chest tightens at his words. Biting your lip, you avert your gaze back down to the pavement, because you can’t possibly fathom the way he’s looking at you right now. Like you’re something fragile. And maybe that’s the problem. You don’t know how to navigate whatever this is between the two of you, whatever this that has been brewing since you first met. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” You mutter, voice tight. “It’s not fair.”

He’s quiet for a moment, before asking, “What’s not fair?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You snap back bitterly. “I know what I’m doing. I knew even before the moment I published the article. You don’t get to swoop in at the eleventh hour and fly to me like I’m some damsel in distress. I don’t need your pity, Superman.”

“I’m not pitying you, Y/N,” he says roughly, voice trembling like he’s holding something back. “God, don’t you see that?”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze with sharp, glaring eyes. “Then what is it, huh? Why are you here, really?”

“Because I care about you!” Superman exclaims, hands curling into fists at his sides like he has to restrain himself from reaching out to you. “And it terrifies me how much I do. I’m not asking to stand in front of you for this𑁋I’m asking to stand beside you.”

You freeze at that. For a moment, there’s only the rustling sounds of his cape and the distant whoosh of a car passing by on the other side of the road. 

You shut your eyes, shaking your head. “You shouldn’t.”

He takes a step closer. “Why not?”

“Because you’re𑁋” You pause, struggling to find the right words. “Because you’re Superman, for God’s sake, and I’m just… me.”

The words leave your mouth as quiet and hesitant as a whisper. You hate that they’re true. You hate how small it sounds. You’re just a journalist. A damn good one, sure𑁋but still just a singular person trying to survive in a world that’s far more dangerous than it lets on. And him? He’s him. Faster than the speed of light, stronger than fate, and holding up the world with just the tip of a finger. 

Superman’s eyes noticeably soften, his jaw loosening away the tension as he gazes at you. 

“Don’t say that,” he says gently, and his voice is steady, quiet, firm. “Don’t talk about yourself like you’re less.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not trying to be self-deprecating. I’m being realistic.”

His lips quirk up into the faintest smile. 

“Realistic or not,” he murmurs, taking another step. “You’re more than you think. You always have been.”

You find yourself staring at him like he’s a puzzle, heart threatening to pierce through your chest. Because God forbid, the pieces that he lays around has you feeling more conflicted than ever. You can’t help but wonder why a superhero like him would stubbornly care for a human like you𑁋why he would put all this time and effort into worrying for someone who should mean nothing more than a speck of dust in the grand scheme of the universe he watches over. 

There’s a name that lingers in the back of your throat, and it burns. A name you’ve stated a hundred times in casual settings. A name that seemed to have found its rightful place in the depths of your mind and has you smiling like a fool as you sit in your cubicle at work. A name you refuse to believe to be true ever since that kiss in the sky, yet it fits all too well. 

It’s been threatening to spill out of you. The days you see him in the office brings out those urges𑁋to accuse him outright, to demand if this is true. A part of you wants to deny it entirely; and the other part wants to believe it. 

But before you can spiral any further, Superman takes another step closer to you.

“Let me fly you home,” he offers casually. “You’ve had a long day, and you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” 

You give him a pointed look. “You’re quite the idiot, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “but only for you.”

With that, he extends his hand toward you, and for a few seconds you can’t help but think back to the time on the rooftop.

You shake your head in disbelief, yet you still step closer to reach for his hand. “God, the things people will say if they find out Superman is taking me home.”

Superman laughs fondly at that, already naturally pulling you closer like he’s done this a hundred times before with you. “Wouldn’t be the worst rumour someone has spread about me.”

When you tell him where you live, it isn’t long before the two of you are back up in the sky again. The height doesn’t seem to scare you as much as it did before. Mingyu𑁋Superman, remember!𑁋shoots a glance at you. You’re staring down at the world with that particular gleam in your eyes that the stars rival, a loose grip clutching at the fabric of his suit. He smiles to himself briefly, before looking back forward. 

The two of you don’t say anything more as the wind rushes past your faces. He’s flying slower than usual, wanting to savour these moments with you. As you come closer to your building, you tell him where to land𑁋on the balcony of your small apartment on the fifth floor. 

He touches down with the softest thud, feet barely grazing against the concrete floor of your balcony. You step away from him slowly, wobbling slightly as the gravity catches up to you. 

“Thanks,” You mutter, brushing away the dust from your clothes. 

He lingers by the railing, watching you closely. “Anytime.”

“Don’t make it a habit.”

“Too late for that.”

Your keys jingle as you take it out from your bag, but you pause right before sticking it into the door. You turn back to him.

“How do you do it?” You ask vaguely. 

He looks at you puzzledly. “Do what?”

“This.” You motion at the space between you. “Is this another one of your superpowers that I’m not aware of? Because you make it hard, you know, to stay… detached.”

His expression falters a fraction at your words. Barely noticeable, but you see it anyway. His lips part for a moment, but then they curl into a small, almost rueful smile.

“Is that what you want?” he questions unsurely. “To stay detached?” 

You freeze in contemplation as his question hangs in the air, the words pressing against your chest and knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“I…” You begin, but your throat feels tight. “I should want that.”

“But you don’t.”

You let out a small, defeated laugh.

“No,” You admit softly. “No, I don’t.” 

His eyes search yours like he’s afraid to believe it, like the smallest breeze can carry your words away and leave nothing behind. He takes a slow step closer, crossing over the tiny space that separates the two of you, his warmth encircling around you as if it’s a selfless hug from a lover. You don’t back away. You can’t. 

He hesitates, lifting his hand, fingers trembling slightly as they hover near yours. Like a magnet, your hand draws near his𑁋and before you even realise it, your fingers are brushing, then intertwining, fitting together so naturally. 

It’s gentle. Peaceful. Quiet. Intimate in a way that makes your heart ache. You focus on the feeling of this thumb stroking softly across your knuckle, as if he’s trying to memorise the shape of it. If only you could stay in this corner of the world until the end of time, ignoring all the possibilities of danger and death looming at your front door. 

If only you could stay in this corner of the world with him. 

“You should go,” You whisper quietly. 

He looks at you, brows knitting together. “You’re sure?” 

“You’ve got a whole world out there that needs you,” You say, managing a wry smile. “And I’m sure you’d rather be in the comfort of your superhero lair or whatever than my tiny balcony.”

An impossibly fond, boyish grin stretches its way across his face. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Before you can even ask what he means, before you even get the chance to breathe, he lifts your hand closer to his lips. His eyes never stray away from yours as he presses the softest kiss against the back of your hand, lingering there for a few fleeting seconds. 

You still feel the ghost of his lips on your skin when he backs away, reluctantly releasing his hand from yours. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he tells you. “I’ll be around. Stay safe.”

And with that, he steps away from you. In the blink of an eye, he’s shot up towards the skies, his silhouette growing smaller and smaller until nothing is left behind but the warmth of his kiss on your hand. 

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head, and you wonder how the hell you got yourself in this kind of situation.

“Goodnight, Superman,” You mutter as you unlock your door. “Stubborn bastard.”

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