Work Text:
When did you get hot?
All the sudden, I could look you up and down all day (Hey)
Some days, when Beomseok cut across the playground near his neighborhood, he was struck by memories he couldn’t quite hold on to. He used to play there until the sky burned orange, chasing laughter he could barely recall.
The boy from those memories was hazy now—his face blurred with time. But Beomseok remembered his name: Wooyoung. He remembered the dream, too. That boy wanted to become an MMA fighter.
Back then, people warned Beomseok to stay away from him. Troubled kid. Bad influence. But Beomseok never listened. Wooyoung was rough around the edges, sure, but he was his friend. His only friend.
They grew up together in the same orphanage—until Beomseok was adopted, into the hands of the man he now called father. Sometimes, Beomseok wished he’d never left. Sometimes he wished he could turn back time, to the days when Wooyoung was still by his side.
And maybe, just maybe, that wish was about to come true.
—
That night, Beomseok slipped out of his window, landing on the pavement with a thud that jarred his knees. Suho was waiting below on his red delivery bike, Sieun perched stiffly on the back.
“Interesting way to make an entrance,” Suho quipped, earning himself a smack from Sieun.
“Let’s just go,” Beomseok muttered, brushing dust from his hands, desperate to move past the scene.
The three of them crammed onto the bike, Beomseok gripping Sieun tightly as Suho pedaled them through the streets toward a cramped little club.
The place pulsed with life—neon lights, pounding bass, bodies pressed close in the heat of the dance floor. The air reeked of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. Beomseok’s head spun as they squeezed past the bouncer and into the chaos.
“Guys, this is the life!” Suho shouted over the music. “Live a little. I’m getting a drink—come with if you want.”
Sieun sighed but trailed after him. Beomseok waved them off with a faint smile, choosing instead to wander.
That was when he saw him.
A guy in the back room, surrounded by classmates and strangers alike. Girls clung to him, boys tried to get his attention, but Beomseok couldn’t look away. Something about him tugged at his memory—his profile, his presence, the weight of his stare.
Before he could slip away, Yeongbin’s voice cut through the music.
“Yah, Beomseok-ah! Get over here!”
Beomseok froze. His stomach sank. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into Yeongbin’s crowd, but his feet moved anyway. He pushed the door open, stepping into the haze of perfume and smoke.
The guy’s eyes found him instantly. Dark, sharp, almost hungry. Beomseok’s skin prickled under the intensity of it.
“Sit,” Yeongbin urged, patting the spot beside him where a tangle of girls leaned across his lap. Beomseok obeyed, stiff and awkward, tucking his hands into his lap.
A girl slid closer, lashes heavy, perfume cloying. “You’re cute,” she whispered, fingertips brushing his arm.
“Ah… thank you?” His voice came out small.
But even as she leaned in, Beomseok felt the weight of that other gaze, pinning him in place. When the stranger slammed a palm down on the table, making glasses rattle, Beomseok jumped.
“My bad,” the man muttered. His tone was casual, but his eyes never left Beomseok.
And god, now that he really looked… the guy was beautiful. Rough edges, a sharp jaw, a mullet framing his face in a way that shouldn’t work but did. He looked like someone ripped from a stage or screen, every line of him impossible to ignore.
Beomseok couldn’t stop staring. When he realized it, he tore his gaze away—only to see the man smirking knowingly. Heat rushed to Beomseok’s ears.
Then Yeongbin laughed. “Beomseok, you already crushing on Wooyoung? Didn’t know you swung that way.”
The name hit him like a punch.
Wooyoung.
It couldn’t be. The boy he remembered had missing teeth and bangs cut too short. He’d been small, scrappy, nothing like this man radiating danger across the table. But the name stuck. The pieces clicked, even if Beomseok wanted to deny them.
Before he could spiral further, a hand closed around his. Warm. Firm. He looked up, heart hammering, to see the man—Wooyoung?—standing there, tugging him gently but insistently away from the table.
Beomseok didn’t resist. He followed, breath caught in his throat, unsure if this was fate or a nightmare.
The door slammed shut behind them, muffling the bass and chatter into a distant throb. The sudden quiet made Beomseok’s pulse thunder even louder in his ears.
Wooyoung didn’t let go of his hand, even as he steered him down the narrow hall. His grip wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t gentle either—it was the kind of hold that didn’t allow room for argument.
Beomseok stumbled along, his eyes darting from the floor to Wooyoung’s back. Broad shoulders, lean frame, movements that were both relaxed and predatory. He looked nothing like the boy from Beomseok’s memories, and yet—something about him felt achingly familiar.
Beomseok’s breath hitched behind Wooyoung’s palm. The warmth of his hand was startling—solid, rough with faint calluses, nothing like the boyish touch Beomseok remembered. He could feel every line of Wooyoung’s skin against his mouth, could smell faint smoke clinging to his jacket, a scent heavy with the night.
Wooyoung leaned closer, eyes locked onto his as if daring him to deny what was right in front of him. Then—just a nod. Small. Almost nothing. But it knocked the air clean out of Beomseok’s lungs.
It was him.
It was Wooyoung.
His Wooyoung.
Except it wasn’t. Not really. The boy in his memories had been scrappy, thin to the bone, all sharp elbows and missing teeth. His bangs were always too short because he cut them himself with blunt scissors, and his clothes never quite fit right. But the man in front of him—this was someone different entirely. His jaw was cut sharp, cheekbones high, his mullet falling across his brow in a way that shouldn’t work but did, framing a face that had grown into its own danger. His shoulders filled the space of the hallway, his body honed, movements sleek, deliberate. Even the way he stood radiated confidence, ownership of every inch around him.
And god—he was beautiful.
When did he get so hot?
The thought hit Beomseok before he could stop it, making his ears burn.
Wooyoung finally dropped his hand, though the ghost of the touch still lingered on Beomseok’s lips. His mouth quirked into a half-smile, a little dangerous, a little too knowing. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he murmured, his voice low and rough like gravel dragged over velvet.
Beomseok’s throat tightened. His voice came out thin. “I—I didn’t expect—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Wooyoung, is it really you?”
That smirk curved higher, deliberate. “Last I checked, yeah.” His gaze swept over Beomseok, slow and unhurried, like he was memorizing him all over again. His eyes lingered a fraction too long at Beomseok’s face, his shoulders, the way he fidgeted under the weight of his stare. “You’ve changed.”
“You’ve… really changed,” Beomseok blurted. The words tumbled out too quickly, his heart thudding against his ribs.
Wooyoung tilted his head, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Good different or bad different?”
Beomseok froze. His mind scrambled back to the past—the orphanage yard where Wooyoung swung fists too easily, the dining hall where he shoved half his rice bowl toward Beomseok when he wasn’t eating, the rooftop where he swore, I’ll always be on your side. That boy had been reckless but loyal, infuriating but steady in ways no one else was.
This Wooyoung in front of him looked nothing like that boy. He was sharp where the other was soft, magnetic where the other was scrappy. Dangerous in a way Beomseok didn’t have a name for.
“…Different different,” Beomseok admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Wooyoung chuckled low in his throat, the sound curling around Beomseok’s spine and making him shiver. He stepped forward, shrinking the space between them until Beomseok could make out the faint scar near his lip, the glint in his earring, the steady rise and fall of his chest. His scent—smoke, sweat, something rich and heady like expensive cologne—hit him all at once, dizzying.
“You’re still the same, though,” Wooyoung said finally, his tone softer, almost fond. “Still looking like the world’s too big for you.”
The words struck raw. Beomseok’s stomach twisted, shame biting at him. “That’s not true.”
“Mm.” Wooyoung’s gaze narrowed, like he was peeling back layers. “Sure.”
Beomseok bristled, but Wooyoung spoke again before he could defend himself. “What are you doing with guys like Yeongbin?”
Beomseok blinked. “I… I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” The words came sharp, clipped, each syllable biting.
“I wasn’t lying!” Beomseok shot back, too fast, his voice cracking under the weight of Wooyoung’s stare. “I just… got dragged along, okay? I didn’t want to be there.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Wooyoung studied him in a way that made Beomseok feel like his skin was too thin, like everything inside him was laid bare. Then, at last, Wooyoung hummed, low in his chest, as if deciding whether or not to believe him.
Without warning, he leaned in—closer, closer still, until Beomseok could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against his ear.
“Be careful who you follow, Beomseok-ah,” Wooyoung murmured, his voice pitched just for him, smooth and dangerous. “Some people will eat you alive.”
Beomseok’s pulse thundered in his ears. The way he said his name—it was the same as before, familiar and foreign all at once, like an old melody played in a darker key.
He jerked back, cheeks flaming, words tumbling out before he could think. “Why are you talking like that? Like you—like you know better than me.”
Wooyoung’s lips curled into that same infuriating grin, but his eyes stayed sharp. “Because I do.”
And then, as if to prove his point, he reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from Beomseok’s forehead. The touch was light, fleeting, but it scorched like fire.
“I’ve seen what this city does to people,” Wooyoung said, his voice dipping lower. “And you…” His gaze flicked down, then back up, locking onto Beomseok’s eyes. “…you wouldn’t survive a day without someone watching your back.”
Beomseok’s breath caught in his throat. His body went stiff, but he couldn’t move—couldn’t step away from the closeness, couldn’t shake the heat rushing through his veins.
For a second, the look in Wooyoung’s eyes shifted—less sharp, almost tender—but it vanished before Beomseok could be sure.
“I’m not the same kid you knew,” Wooyoung said finally, pulling back just enough to leave Beomseok gasping for space. His smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So don’t look at me like I am.”
Beomseok’s lips parted, but no words came. His throat worked, heart thrumming too fast.
Wooyoung’s smirk deepened, turning dangerous. “But if you keep staring at me like that, Beomseok-ah…” He leaned in, his mouth inches from Beomseok’s ear, voice dropping to a purr. “…I might start thinking you like what you see.”
Heat exploded across Beomseok’s face. His chest seized, his lungs struggling for air. He wanted to deny it, to throw the words back at him, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. All that left him was a broken sound, half protest, half breath.
Wooyoung laughed quietly, low and rough, the sound rumbling through Beomseok’s chest as much as his ears. Then he stepped away, casual, unhurried, as though he hadn’t just pulled Beomseok’s world out from under him.
Without another glance, he turned and strode down the hallway, his broad back vanishing into the neon glow.
Beomseok stood frozen, trembling in the silence he left behind, his heart still hammering, his thoughts unraveling into one impossible question.
When did you become someone I can’t stop looking at?