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When he wakes, the first thing Beomgyu feels is a deep, deep terror. He doesn’t know what yet, but he knows something is horribly wrong. The second thing he feels is the killer fucking headache he has, bringing a distant, almost intangible memory to the front of his brain, seeing it in blurry detail behind his still-closed eyes. He was in a fight, not unusual for him, but he feels like this one was off. In his foggy memory, he wasn't fighting like he normally does, and he distinctly remembers the lack of a weight on his back, not wearing his cape, which means he wasn't in costume, so why was he fighting again? When his mind supplies no answer, that pit of dread in his stomach deepens.
Beomgyu forces his eyes open, feeling the crust of sleep break away slightly, and moves to wipe it off, only to find that he can't move his arms. More alarmingly, he can't move at all. At least, nothing below his neck. He's blinded temporarily by bright lights, hellish on his already overloaded and panicked brain, but he blinks rapidly, forcing his eyes to adjust. He's trained for this. Jungkook has made him train for this so many times, it devolved into a screaming match more often than not, but now he finds himself regretting being so mean to him. Clearly, the man knew what he was doing.
While he gets used to the light, he experimentally moves his whole body, wiggling around to see how he's strapped down. Some quick squirming and a look down confirm that he's bound to a metal table, and it creaks with each movement he makes. Once his brain catches up with how loud he's being, he stills at once, but he doesn't hear any other sounds, not from inside or outside the room he's in.
Beomgyu takes in the room around him, now that he can see. He feels the cool metal of a table and hears it squeak with each movement, though he can’t see much of it past his own body. The restraints are soft, and a strap he can’t quite see sits heavy across his shoulders. While the restraints aren’t made of metal, they’re tight, making movement incredibly difficult. He knows that, as he is, he won’t be able to get out of them, so he turns his attention elsewhere.
The room is brightly lit, but the lighting is all cool, white, industrial lights as well as the lamp shining directly in his eyes. He doesn’t see any windows, and he has to reassure himself that the notion doesn’t automatically mean he’s underground. The room reads white, cabinets and shelves to either side of him painted that color attached to the wall. The tile is white too, and he thinks the grout might be as well. It all looks too clean, and his body looks like it’s interrupting the delicate balance of this room. To his right, he can see a metal cart, but he can’t lift his head to see the contents, which only makes him more nervous.
He can tell that he isn't wearing a mask, the faint white tint usually present when he wears the domino nowhere to be seen, and another look down confirms that he's just Beomgyu at the moment, dressed in a faded Gotham Knights hoodie he must have stolen from Jay, who probably stole it from Jungkook way back when, and a pair of bright pink Hello Kitty pajama pants that Yeonjun got him as a gag gift. He's barefoot, and he can feel something sticking to the bottom on his feet, but he can't tell if it's dirt or something bigger. It itches anyway.
His heart races, no matter how calm he tells himself to stay. He tries to tell himself that it's just a biological reaction, chemicals in his brain interacting with each other to produce a response, that he’s been kidnapped hundreds of times over as Robin and is still standing, that it doesn't matter and panicking won't help him get out of here, but he can't help it. He's strapped to what feels like an operating table, in what looks like a windowless operating room. He has no recollection of how he got here, no tools, and he's not Robin. He's just Beomgyu.
Batman would be disappointed, he thinks to himself, even when a small voice in the back of his head reminds him that, realistically, Jungkook would just be worried out of his mind about him. He wouldn’t have to be worried if I didn’t go and get myself kidnapped, Beomgyu thinks, but has no time to argue with the voices in his head further, because there’s the creaking of a metal door opening behind him, which answers the question of where exactly the door is for Beomgyu. The voice that comes is smooth, a rumble that Beomgyu thinks for a second doesn’t sound dissimilar to the way Jungkook sounds in the mask, but as it continues, the differences stand out.
“Oh, good, you’re awake. I was beginning to fear I’d hit you over the head too hard, real sorry about that, bud,” A man rounds the corner into Beomgyu’s vision, laying a hand on his head which Beomgyu flinches away from.
“Does it still hurt? You were bleeding quite a bit, I bandaged it up for you and gave you some pain medication,” which explains the blurry vision and the fogginess, Beomgyu thinks, “I’m gonna do a quick exam, just to make sure you’re doing alright, and then I’ll explain. I know you must be horribly confused.”
The man sounds gentle, and seems kind, but Beomgyu stares him down the entire time he’s being checked out. The man has brown hair and brown eyes, a sharp jaw, and a strong nose. He’s aged, probably mid-40s if Beomgyu had to guess, but he’d still be considered attractive. He looks exactly like America’s everyman, masculine features and boyish charm, wearing a white dress shirt, black slacks, and a red tie. The man catches him staring and smiles at him, pulling the flashlight he’d been waving in Beomgyu’s eyes away and settling it back in the pocket of the dress shirt he’s wearing. Beomgyu is just thinking about how, if his kidnapper wasn’t a complete psycho on account of the whole kidnapping thing, he might actually make a good doctor, when he realizes that he is looking at the man’s face. His whole face. And Christ, Beomgyu has a very real chance of not making it out of here.
“Alright, you seem to be doing alright. A small concussion, again, sorry about that, but nothing serious,” His kidnapper smiles at him again, no malice anywhere in his eyes, and moves to undo the restraint around Beomgyu’s shoulders.
“Never know how you kids are going to react, and I think you’d agree it’s better to be safe about it.”
Beomgyu sits up as much as he can, rolling his shoulders and testing the restraints on his wrists and waist. His kidnapper just stands beside him, watching with a peaceful smile.
“What do you want with me,” Beomgyu asks, his voice sounding a bit gravelly from disuse.
“This is just a ransom. Surely you’ve been ransomed before, right? Rich daddy like yours probably has a whole fund set aside just for this scenario. All I need you to do is sit up and tell me his number, and then behave while we talk to him. That’s it. Do you think you can pull that off, Beomgyu?”
He’s talking down to him, and Beomgyu hates it, but he nods along anyway. At least calling Jungkook will get something productive done. He rattles off a phone number, not Jungkook’s but Oracle’s, hoping she’ll get the hint fairly quickly. She picks up on the second ring, “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Beomgyu. I was wondering if you could patch me through to Jungkook? Won’t take too long, but it’s urgent.”
“Oh! Yeah, of course Beomgyu, I’ll put you through to Mr. Jeon right away,” In her voice, Beomgyu can hear apprehension, but she plays the part of the secretary well, which he had been hoping she would.
The line is silent for maybe ten seconds before Jungkook picks up, “Are you alright, Beomgyu? You never call, and you didn’t come down for breakfast this morning. Are you sick?”
Beomgyu knows that Jungkook already knows something is wrong, he is Batman, but he’s playing his role of the concerned parent just fine.
“Hello, Mr. Jeon. I know you’re probably very put off at the moment, but I assure you that, as long as you do what I say, everything will be alright,” His kidnapper says, standing close to Beomgyu as he sets the phone down and begins to undo the restraint across his waist.
“What have you done with him,” Jungkook asks, a steady voice over the line.
“Nothing more than a bump on the head, at the moment. Just a casualty of the general idea at play here. No one will harm him further. I really am very sorry about that,” the man looks at Beomgyu, like he’s expecting reassurance. Beomgyu, not wanting to make him mad, manages a feeble smile, and the man smiles back, megawatt, and it makes him want to throw up.
“I’m asking for 15 million dollars in exchange for your boy back, safe and sound. Simple enough, yeah? That’s pennies and dimes for someone like you.”
“I want to talk to him,” Jungkook says, steady as can be, and the man helps Beomgyu sit up fully with a hand on his back, placing the phone on Beomgyu’s thigh.
“Hey, it’s me, I’m okay, really. Sorry I worried you, it’ll be fine, just do what he says,” Beomgyu winces at the sound of his voice, shaky even to his own ears.
“Beomgyu, don’t apologize, are you sure it’s ok—”
“Seriously. I’m not even really all that scared. He looks nice, just do what he says,” The phone is lifted off of Beomgyu before he can say anything more, and it’s taken off of speakerphone. His kidnapper begins rattling off logistics to the man on the other end, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. He doesn’t know if just saying “He looks nice” is enough of a hint for Jungkook to know that Beomgyu can see this man’s face, but he’s hoping it is. The room has begun to move as he sits up further, and he thinks the guy may have drugged him a bit harder than strictly necessary, so he lies back down, trying not to think about how quickly he falls asleep after his head lands on the table.
When Beomgyu wakes again, this time with a clearer memory, he has no idea how long it’s been. All the lights are still on, and as he sits his aching body up to look at the door, closed, he regains his sense of dread. It could be any moment now. Sure, Jungkook may not be stupid enough to pay the ransom right away, and Beomgyu made sure they had the best chance of tracking the call they could, but he doesn’t know how long it’s been since the phone call, and he doesn’t know if they were able to track the phone call in the first place. He doesn’t know anything, and he hates it. He’s supposed to be Robin, protector of Gotham, leader of Young Justice, and he can’t even get himself out of some measly restraints, though he does give it the old college try again now that his upper body is free. He has his arm twisted and poised in a position to dislocate his right thumb when the door creaks behind him, and he shoves his arm back back as inconspicuously as he can.
“You must’ve been real tired! Well that, or you were sleeping off the morphine. Either way, your daddy has agreed to pay the ransom,” At that, Beomgyu’s heart drops into his stomach, beating erratically as he begins to panic in ernest, though he tries to hide it.
“We’re gonna go somewhere now, so you know I’m gonna have to knock you out again, right?”
Beomgyu shakes his head violently, “Please, you don’t have to. I’ll behave, I promise. I’ll keep my eyes closed the whole time, I won’t talk unless you tell me to, it'll be like you knocked me out. Please, sir, you really don’t have to.”
“It’s always so fun when y’all beg,” the man laughs, and Beomgyu feels a pinprick in his neck. He jerks away from the burning feeling, but he knows it’s too late.
The man leaves, and he has no idea what to do. Beomgyu steels himself, putting the shame of asking for help out of his mind, and of who he’s having to ask, and speaks, “Superboy, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I could really, really use some help right now. You know I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t urgent,” Beomgyu stops himself, breathing deeply before rolling his eyes and laying down on the table. He feels pathetic, bitterly muttering, “God, who am I kidding, you can’t fucking hear me,” to himself.
Soobin can’t hear him, and Soobin can’t save him. No one can.
When Soobin wakes up, it’s from a rather delightful nap in the middle of a wonderful day. Ma had made his favorite, pancakes, for breakfast, he’d done much better than he thought he did on an English test from last week, and he’d come home and helped Pa with some yard work until he shouted that he felt gross and was gonna take a nap before dinner, if that would be alright. He rolls over in his bed, golden hour sunlight streaming in from his windows, and checks his phone.
The only thing that had been bad about today was that Robin still hadn’t texted back regarding the conversation they’d been having two nights before. Actually, Robin hasn’t texted anyone back since 2 a.m. on Friday, technically a day ago, he learns from Impulse. Not super strange, Robin is generally a private guy who answers the group chat once in a blue moon, but something about it feels wrong. He and Robin had been in the middle of a conversation. A rather important one, Soobin thinks, but it was honestly just Robin ranting about how vulnerable the Young Justice system was and how he needed to fix it this weekend, inviting Soobin to keep him company. It was Saturday now, and the bulk of their conversation had happened late Thursday night. Robin is a lot of things, but he’s not flaky, and it’s incredibly weird for him to go unaccounted for this long.
He puts his phone back on the nightstand, just listening for a moment. As always, it’s overwhelming at first, cries for help and screams of the dying always bringing tears to his eyes, but he’s learned to filter them out quickly. He hears the usual calls for Superman, which make him sadder, but he’s positive that Superman has those handled. No one ever calls his name, Superboy or Soobin, but he likes to check for it anyway.
Oddly enough, he finds himself honing in on a heartbeat. It’s not odd, though, Soobin thinks, I’m always listening for his heartbeat. He makes himself groan at that, embarrassed, but wipes it away by running his hands down his face. For a second, he lets himself hear only that, the beat that he’s memorized, that he could find anywhere, because he’s always looking for Robin. He allows himself to get lost in it for a moment, still shaking off sleep, and then he shoots up when he catches what’s off with it. He can’t believe he didn’t hear it right away, because the heartbeat is all wrong. Not wrong like it’s not Robin, wrong like something is wrong with Robin, and that gets him focused. Robin’s heart is racing, like it’s about to jump out of his chest, and it keeps skipping, like he’s having to remind himself to take breaths every other inhale.
Soobin doesn’t think. He rarely does in the first place, but definitely not when it comes to Robin. He’s in the middle of racing to put on his suit when he hears a soft voice, barely a breath, impossible to hear had Soobin not already been so attuned to the heartbeat of the person it comes from.
“Superboy, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I could really, really use some help right now. You know I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t urgent,” a pause, a deep breath in and out, “God, who am I kidding, you can’t fucking hear me.” Distinctly Robin, distinctly terrified. Soobin doesn’t even respond to Ma asking where he’s rushing off to before he’s already in the sky, Gotham-bound.
Soobin lands atop the roof of a normal looking home, the only thing standing out about it being the “FOR SALE” sign hammered into the front lawn. It’s in a nice part of Gotham, which Soobin can’t believe he’s thinking, as the only reason he ever steps foot in this godforsaken city is the same reason he’s in it right now. The home is surrounded by other businesses and homes, packed together tightly, but not crowded. It’s about 7 pm, the early autumn sun beginning to set here, painting the sky in pinks and oranges, and a few people pass the house down on the sidewalk, on their way to wherever people go in Gotham, if anywhere is worth going in this place.
He tries his very best to tune out the bustle of the city, always so much louder than Smallville and even Metropolis, and he finds it much easier than he normally does with the adrenaline making him able to feel his heartbeat in his throat. He focuses, finding Robin’s heartbeat like he always does, with the same ease he breathes, hearing it beat away underground, in a basement, likely. The beat is the steady, infallible drum that Soobin is used to, if not slower, which is much more alarming to him than the jackhammer staccato it had been earlier, on the way here. He’d been hearing it slow down, but this is the slowest it’s been by far, and it makes Soobin lose his footing on the roof for a moment, distracted.
He looks through the house with his x-ray vision, focusing intensely on peeling back the layers of the house and then earth to see underground, which is always the hardest part for him. Soobin sees outlines of two bodies, one lying on a table, who he assumes is Robin, and another moving around in a separate room, focusing intently on some equipment. It’s hard to make out faces or anything other than general outlines from this far up, and Soobin thinks that maybe he should call for backup, given that whoever has Robin clearly had the skill to capture Robin, but Soobin can’t bring himself to. Robin doesn’t have that kind of time, and besides, it’s about time that Soobin proved to Superman that he is capable of doing things on his own.
He flies down slightly, having found a weak point in a second story window that makes it easy to remove. He sets the pane on the floor of the office he finds himself in. The house is staged in the way realtors do when they’re trying to sell it. A smell of nice, fall candles hits his nose, but when he breathes a little deeper, searching for something odd, something to follow, the smell of anti-septic hits him. It feels out of place in this home, and he hovers his way downstairs, not wanting to hit and creaky floorboards and give himself away. He sees a waiting room, curiously, and two open doors lead to a room filled with caskets. An old funeral home, then.
He looks and he listens, searching for the entrance to the basement he knows must be here, and finds it in a wide open door in a kitchen area. The door frame is incredibly wide, and Soobin doesn’t know much about funeral homes, but he assumes this home used to keep the bodies downstairs. He hovers down, holding his breath, eyes searching for the other man he knows is here, but it’s hard to focus on that when he knows exactly where Robin is, alone and vulnerable behind a heavy metal door. It’s frigid down here, and Robin hates being cold. He knows this because on Wonder Boy’s mandatory team movie nights, Robin always hogs all the blankets and ends up pressed against Soobin’s side, muttering some lame excuse about turning the A/C off. Kai and Taehyun always give him a knowing look, but Soobin never minds it. He’ll be Robin’s personal space heater any day of the week. Besides, with the way Soobin catches them looking at each other, they really shouldn’t be talking. He rolls his eyes at the thought before he focuses back up.
Soobin finally hears footsteps, and he turns his head towards them. There’s very little light down here, the only source coming from the room Robin is being kept in, bright white light leaking out from under the crack in between the door and the tile floor, so Soobin knows he has at least marginal cover in the darkness, but he doesn’t know who, or what, this other person is, so he keeps his guard up. He finds a dark corner to hide in just as a man appears from the long hallway down the room a bit. Soobin could just knock him out, fight first, but he knows that’s irresponsible. The man could have super strength, same as him, or he could be a speedster like Taehyun, and Soobin can’t act on impulse here.
He analyzes the man for a moment, now that he’s basically right next to Soobin. The man hasn’t noticed Soobin is here, or at least isn’t showing it. His heartbeat is steady when Soobin hones in on it, incredibly steady. There’s no sign of any kind of stress, or alarm, or any emotions that Soobin usually finds paired with kidnappers, which doesn’t mean anything special. The man isn’t nervous right now, which could be true for any number of reasons, and just because he isn’t nervous right now doesn’t mean he’s incapable of being nervous. A quick x-ray of the man confirms that he has normal human organs, and no weapons except for a syringe is his back pocket, filled with some kind of chemical compound that Soobin can’t pick apart with all the different inputs on his senses down here, but he finds it’s always safe to assume that needles filled with strange liquids are generally a bad time.
The man turns on the flashlight function on his phone, which feels like a flashbang to Soobin, who has been relying on nothing but his enhanced senses ever since he landed on the roof, but the light doesn’t quite reach him. He holds his breath anyway, watching the man pack up his various devices into a worn looking leather briefcase before making his way towards the stairs that lead up to the main level of the house. Soobin doesn’t want to let him leave, this man took Robin, but he reminds himself that Robin is lying in the other room, unconscious from the sound of his heartbeat, so he keeps an ear out for the man, trying to keep focus so he doesn’t fully get away, and lets him leave. The man doesn’t leave the house, just the basement, and he closes the door at the top behind him.
Soobin immediately makes a beeline for the cold metal door across the room from him, taking all his will-power to not rip it from its hinges. It’s not locked, which makes that bit easier. He opens the door, bright white light flooding his vision, and lets himself adjust while he mostly shuts the door behind him, leaving a crack in it just in case. When he blinks the brightness away for the last time, he isn’t met with Robin lying on the metal table in front of him. He’s met with—actually, he has no idea who this kid is. Soobin’s going to save him, obviously, but he came here for Robin, so that’s the priority at the moment. He can just throw this kid over his shoulder on the way out, he doesn’t look like he weighs all that much.
Soobin closes his eyes, finding the heartbeat like he’s been doing this whole time, and when he lands on it, he follows it. His body moves forward and his head leans down to meet it, verifying that the heartbeat belongs to this body. He opens his eyes, expecting green pants and a yellow belt and a red torso to assault his eyes, but they don’t. He opens his eyes to a soft, navy blue hoodie, fluffy Hello Kitty pajama pants, and bare, dirty feet. For a second, Soobin figures his powers are malfunctioning, but he realizes quickly that it’s a weak excuse.
It feels wrong to see Robin like this, against his will. The rest of the team had decided to reveal their civilian identities one movie night, with Soobin saying largely out of the blue, “Hey, I’m Choi Soobin, by the way. I live in Kansas. Feels like a good time to let y’all know.” Impulse responded quickly, though it was unnecessary, as everyone already knew he was the future grandson of the great Flash, Kang Taehyun. Wonder Boy laughed, before confessing his identity too, Huening Kai. Everyone turned to Robin, expectations high, but even without being able to see his eyes, Soobin could tell that the boy looked like he was going to barf. Soobin leaned over, Robin never far from him, and spoke as softly as he could, like approaching a scared dog, “You don’t have to, Robs. I know Batman is probably a little paranoid about that stuff, so if you don’t want to tell us, it’s ok.”
Robin smiled, a queasy thing that didn’t meet his eyes, and said, “Okay. Sorry,” took Soobin’s hand in his, and that was that. It happened 6 months ago, and they’ve never so much as whispered another notion of Robin revealing who he is. It just wasn’t all that important, even though it hurt Soobin sometimes to think that Robin might practically trust Superboy with his life in a fight, but he can’t bring himself to trust Soobin with his identity. That’s just me being selfish, Soobin thinks, a little bitter even to his own ears.
The boy sitting below him on the table is undeniably Robin, though, and it saddens Soobin to think about how this was probably the only way he was ever going to see Robin without that silly black and white mask glued to his face, and he laughs despite himself. He curls his hand into a fist and rubs at Robin’s chest, the way Superman taught him when he gave Soobin his crash course in first aid. He tries to use a good amount of pressure, but he doesn’t want to hurt Robin. The boy stirs, but just barely, so Soobin grabs his shoulders and continues to rouse him.
“Hey Rob, it’s me, it’s Superboy. I’m here, just like you asked, and I really, really need you to wake up, man, okay? I’m gonna get us out of here but you’ve gotta open your eyes,” Soobin shakes the boy on the table, finding that he can’t move him very far because he’s still strapped down to it with well-made leather buckles.
“—perboy? ‘S that you? You came,” Robin’s voice, hoarse, questioning, and disbelieving reaches his ears, and he sees Robin trying to move his hands and feet out of the corner of his eye, so Soobin reaches down to undo the buckles, freeing his hands, then his feet.
“Yeah, it’s me Rob, I’m here. I’m gonna get us both out of here, okay? You’ve just gotta stay awake. You can do that, right? For me? It’s just us,” Soobin says, feeling Robin’s limbs for any injuries. Robin’s eyes blink open, and Soobin makes eye contact with him for the first time since they’ve met. He has a white bandage wrapped around his head, his hair is a mess, his hoodie is crooked, and while he looks this intently, Soobin can see the crust of sleep in the corners of his eyes. He’s beautiful.
“‘M not wearin’ my suit,” Robin slurs, sitting up slowly, and Soobin’s hand comes to rest on his back, guiding him up. It's a statement, and Soobin can hear Robin’s unspoken question of “How did you know it was me if I'm not in my suit?”
“You’re not,” Soobin confirms, looking around the room instead of in Robin’s eyes. He can feel the other boy staring at him, waiting for an answer to his omitted question that he knows Soobin understood, hot points on the side of his head, but he can’t bring himself to look Robin in the eyes and confess, “Hey man, yeah I came here because I knew something was wrong. How'd I know, you ask? Because occasionally I listen to your heartbeat and have the sound memorized, all because I have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on you! And I pay attention to everything you do because of it! No sweat, really, let’s get out of here!”
“M'kay then. Call me Beomgyu while I’m like this. Can’t risk it,” Robin says, which makes Soobin look at him again. Robin moves his legs over the side of the table, clearly prepping to stand, and Soobin stands at the ready beside him, wanting to catch Robin if he finds himself with weak knees when he lands.
“Is that your—”
“Yes, Superboy, ’s my actual name. Sorry, I’ve been tryin’ to talk to Batman ‘bout—shit,” Robin—Beomgyu, his name is Beomgyu, of course it is, pretty name for a pretty boy—starts, before stopping and cursing when his knees give out. Soobin catches him, because he always does, hunching over to put hands around Beomgyu’s waist while the other boy places his on Soobin’s shoulders, steadying him.
“Sorry, guess ‘m not 100 percent just yet,” Beomgyu says to the floor.
Soobin looks up from Beomgyu’s body, aiming to check his face to see if he was in any pain, but he immediately gets distracted. With how close they are, Soobin can feel Beomgyu’s hard exhales through his nose, hot air hitting his face in short bursts. It would take the barest of movements for Soobin to press his lips to Beomgyu’s, and he feels all the blood in his body rush to his face at that thought. His cheeks radiate heat, and he feels a bit dazed when he looks to meet the other boy’s eyes. If Soobin was thinking clearly, he might recognize the faint hint of pink dusting Beomgyu’s cheeks, as well as remember that they’re in imminent danger, but the thought of kissing him has invaded every part of Soobin’s brain, and he completely short-circuts.
Beomgyu clears his throat, unable to look Soobin in the eyes, and whispers out a feeble, “We should go.” It’s the clearest his voice has sounded since Soobin got here, and he can manage a nod, standing up fully and keeping an arm wrapped around Beomgyu’s waist, holding him up as he shakes with every step.
Beomgyu is 99% sure he’s still sleeping. He’s never been more thankful for Batman’s insane training techniques before right now, because he is keeping most of his focus on resisting whatever drug is in his system and staying awake instead of on the radiant warmth pressed against his side and the strong hand curled around his waist, though he can’t tell if it would be helpful to focus on that part too. It’s also allowing him to not focus on the fact that, even though Jungkook said that he was to, under no circumstance reveal his identity to the Young Justice boys until they’ve had a long, hard talk about it, Superboy is standing here, holding him up, and he knows Beomgyu is Robin. The most frustrating part of that is that Beomgyu cannot, for the life of him, figure out how Soobin knew. Beomgyu writes it off as an effect on the drug. If he was in his right mind, he would’ve had it figured out before Superboy walked through the door.
Beomgyu has an arm slung around Superboy’s neck, and Superboy is effectively carrying him. Beomgyu is very pointedly not thinking about Superboy’s calloused hand gripping his to keep it in place, nor is he thinking about how stupid and useless he probably looks right now, thank you very much. Superboy walks the two of them to the large metal door, stopping them in front of it and staring, suddenly intensely focusing, the crease between his brow that’s always present when he uses one of his enhanced senses appearing. And Beomgyu knows that because he’s a good detective and he pays attention to things like that, not just because he tends to pay a lot of attention to Soobin.
It’s not like he doesn’t pay attention to Soobin, though. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that Soobin was attractive. Of course he is, he’s Superboy. It’s not odd that Beomgyu recognizes that, he’s just stating the obvious. The pretty pout to his lips, the wild mess of soft black hair atop his head, his wide, sparkling eyes, Beomgyu can recognize that these things make Superboy nice to look at, but Superboy isn’t just nice to look at. He’s impulsive, he never listens to Beomgyu’s leadership in the field, he loves to argue, Beomgyu is pretty sure he likes being hit, and he’s impossible to get food with. Sure, Soobin is generally pretty good at doing nothing but getting on his nerves, he pisses Beomgyu off like it’s his full time job, and yet, Soobin will jump into the line of fire to save civilians he’s never met, putting himself in danger. He carries lollipops in one of the pouches on his belt to give to scared kids, and he’s always right there whenever a member of the team is in trouble. Soobin is the most annoying, self-sacrificial person Beomgyu has ever met, and Beomgyu couldn’t imagine living his life without him.
“Is something wrong,” Beomgyu whispers, recognizing that Soobin hasn’t moved in the last 30 seconds, that annoying crease in his brow still there and Beomgyu’s hand twitches from the urge to smooth it out.
“He’s still upstairs,” Soobin whispers back, tilting his head in the direction Beomgyu assumes the man is going, continuing, “I didn’t want to fight him or anything because you were still in there and I didn’t know what he could do, but he still hasn’t left so I’m trying to see what he’s doing up there. If we could get out with him distracted, I’d just ping Batman and have him come get you so I can deal with him, but it looks like he’s just sitting and waiting at the table that’s in the kitchen. I think he’s on his laptop? Can’t tell. The only way out of here is up a staircase that leads into the kitchen, so we’d run into him if we went now, but I really don’t think we can wait any longer, given that you’ve clearly been drugged, so I might have to leave you down here so I can fight him.”
“Superboy, if you leave me in a creepy ass basement while you go off to fight the guy who managed to kidnap me, I will beat the shit out of you myself.”
“Don’t make threats you can’t fulfill, because you know I’m into that,” Soobin looks at him and winks, and Beomgyu thinks his eyes might get stuck in the back of his skull if he rolls them any harder. Soobin opens the door, quieter than Beomgyu’s heard it before and realizes he might be using his weird tactile telekinesis to lift the door and keep the hinges from creaking, but he doesn’t really understand that power well enough to assume it’s doing anything, and Soobin doesn’t really understand that power well enough to use it either.
For the first time, Beomgyu sees the room outside of the place he was held, and it doesn’t help with the whole evil doctor aesthetic he’s been building in his head for this guy. Soobin guides him to a desk, helping him sit in a dusty chair behind it. Soobin is backlit by the bright light streaming into the room from his old cell, dust flying behind him and messy hair illuminated in a way that makes it look messier, and Beomgyu understands why so many people are in love with Superboy. He has a look of hard determination in his eyes, working his jaw like he always does before he steps into a fight, but a gentle hand comes up and smooths down Beomgyu’s hair. He can feel it shaking a bit, likely from the adrenaline, and Soobin says, “I’ll be right back, promise. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Soobin backs away, his feet lifting off the ground, and before Beomgyu can stop it, his addled mind spits words out of his traitorous mouth.
“I always notice when you’re gone,” Beomgyu’s voice has gone unbearably fond, even to his own ears, but the smile Soobin gives him stops all feelings of shame. Beomgyu would embarrass himself a thousand times over just to see Soobin smile like that at him again.
Soobin flies up the stairs, and Beomgyu puts all his focus on staying awake. It’s much harder for him to do now, without Soobin by his side, and as the crashing starts upstairs, he figures Soobin can deal with him taking a quick nap.
When Beomgyu wakes again, he’s in his bedroom at the Manor, and he’s thankful that the lights are off. If he woke to the harsh lighting of the Batcave, he thinks his brain might have decided to mutiny and leak out of his ears. The morning sunlight is as warm as it gets in Gotham, streaming through a window that usually has curtains drawn over it. He has an IV in his arm, and he looks over to see that someone has clearly set it up with great care, which warms him further. The next notable difference, and the reason he realizes he’s so warm in the first place, is he looks to his side and finds his personal Kryptonian heater lying on his bed, still in his suit. He’s lying atop the blankets, their only point of contact being Soobin’s hand resting ever-so-gently on his own, his hair an absolute mess, sticking up in every direction, but Beomgyu is still so, so warm.
He reaches out a free hand, though its movement is limited by the IV taped to his inner elbow, to attempt to smooth out Soobin’s hair, though he knows that, like it usually is, it’s probably a lost cause. The hair is just as soft as it looks, and Beomgyu can’t stop his fingers from burying into it, running through and lightly scratching the taller boy’s scalp with every other movement. Soobin stirs, pushing his head into Beomgyu’s hand, making a small noise in the back of his throat to demand Beomgyu keep going.
“Not even a please,” Beomgyu asks, laughing softly but not stopping his hand.
Soobin squints open one eye, face smushed against the pillow and mumbles out, “I jus’ saved your life, you’re so ungrateful.”
Beomgyu laughs again at that, squirming closer to leech more heat from the half-alien demanding his hair be played with in his bed. Soobin smiles to himself when he feels the movements, curling his hand tighter around Beomgyu’s hand that he’d been holding in his sleep, holding it in earnest. Soobin moves his head against the pillow slightly so he can open both of his eyes and look at Beomgyu, keeping his voice soft to not disturb the moment they’re in, “You feeling alright? You’ve been sleeping for a minute, thought I was gonna have to become the leader in your absence, and you know I’m not made for that.”
Beomgyu huffs, the ghost of a laugh, because Soobin is absolutely made to lead. The only reason he’s not is because he doesn’t have a great hold on his powers yet, but when he learns control, he’d be amazing with his own team. Beomgyu doesn’t say any of that, though, instead he says, “Yeah, that would’ve been nothing short of a disaster. How long has it been?”
“Hm…about 2 days? Give or take. You’ve been waking up every so often, but never for long, and clearly you don’t remember that. I’ve been shrugging off patrol with Superman so I can come straight here after school. Sorry I’m still in my suit, I figured it would be better to stay on top of the blankets if I wasn’t gonna change.”
“Awful presumptuous of you, Soobin, climbing into my bed like this while I’m unconscious. People will talk,” Beomgyu teases, and Soobin rolls his eyes, before locking onto Beomgyu and just staring at his face. Beomgyu smiles, a tad awkward, but lets him for a second before he says, “Uh, do I have drool on my cheek or something?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Beomgyu chokes on a breath, feeling his heart skip, and he knows Soobin hears it. Soobin pulls away slightly, running his hand through his own hair and knocking into Beomgyu’s slightly, cheeks coloring in embarrassment.
“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud man.”
“But you meant it,” Beomgyu asks after a short silence, dropping the hand that was in Soobin’s hair to lie uselessly on the bed.
“Yeah,” Soobin says, barely speech, just a word catching the train out of his mouth on the exhale of breath, “Yeah, Beomgyu. I’ve been thinking it since I met you.”
“You didn’t even know my name until you came to get me. You’ve never seen my face before.”
“There are a lot of other things that are beautiful about you, you know? Now I know your face is too, which is a huge plus, but it’s not the only thing I like about you,” Soobin manages to get out, looking like he’s only processing the words after they leave his mouth. Beautiful, beautiful, impulsive idiot, Beomgyu thinks.
“You like me?”
“Don’t do that. It’s just embarrassing for me. I know you already knew.”
“I’m not as smart as you think I am, Soobin.”
“You didn’t know? I came for you.”
“Wh—yeah, yeah you did. I asked you to.”
“Well, yeah, I’d do anything for you, but I was halfway out the door way before that. You tried to ask me earlier, how I knew you were Robin—”
“Yeah, you ignored me,” Beomgyu remembers it foggily, but he does recall not getting a real answer to his unsaid question. He still wants to know, but he doesn’t see what that has to do with the prospect of Soobin liking him.
“It’s because I didn’t know how to tell you I’ve memorized the sound of your heartbeat without it sounding like a confession.”
“You can’t say things you don’t mean.”
“Have you ever known me to say anything I didn’t mean?”
“You can’t like me. You don’t even know me.”
“You’re being mean,” Soobin says, quiet as Beomgyu has ever heard him, and Beomgyu flinches like he’s been electrocuted, his entire body going rigid, so Soobin continues while he has his attention.
“I know you. I don’t have to know what you look like to know you. You hate coffee, really, but you drink it because you need a sustained caffeine source to support your random midnight research sessions and you can’t stand energy drinks. You never let yourself sleep at base, and I’m 90 percent sure that you have another secret mask under your first one. Your costume is getting too small for you, but you feel bad telling Batman about it because you hate asking for help. You claim movie nights are a waste of time, but you show up to every single one and you pay attention to every movie because you know they’re important to Kai. You like to pretend like you hate me, but you pick up the phone when I call, no matter the time, because that’s who you are. I know you. You don’t have to, like, like me back or anything, but please don’t try and shut me down like that, because it makes me feel like you’re saying we aren’t even friends. It doesn’t matter if you like me like that or not, but you’re my best friend, Beomgyu. You have to know that, at least.”
Soobin looks so sad, and he’s pulling away like he’s going to get off of the bed, and Beomgyu can’t let that happen, so he reaches out and grabs the boy’s forearm as tight as he can, pulling Soobin back into his space. Soobin falls back onto his previous spot on the bed, lying on his side and holding his upper body up with a forearm. Beomgyu takes several shaky breaths before he says, “I need you to close your eyes.”
“Wha—why?”
“Because I’m going to kiss you but I can’t do it if you’re looking at me,” Beomgyu says, and Soobin’s jaw drops. “Or I won’t. We don’t have to—”
It takes Beomgyu a full three seconds to process it, but as soon as his brain catches up to the fact that Soobin’s lips are on his, he’s kissing him back with a vigor he's surprised his body can conjure up. His hands come up to tangle fingers in Soobin’s hair, and God, how had he gone a single day of his poor, short life without ever doing this? Soobin’s lips are softer than they look, and when Soobin tilts his head to kiss him in earnest, Beomgyu can finally taste that cherry chapstick he’s seen Soobin putting on. His hair is so unbelievably soft, and it’s so unfair because he knows that this farm boy probably uses 14-in-1 soap. He feels Soobin’s free hand, the one not holding up his own body, come to skirt up and down his side. Ticklish, he squirms, and Soobin smiles into their kiss before sliding the hand up his shirt, splaying a warm palm over his stomach.
Beomgyu is, regrettably, not an alien, so he has to pull back for air, smiling when Soobin tries to chase him, eyes still closed. Beomgyu scratches at the base of the other’s neck while he catches his breath, one hand playing with the shorter hair there, and Soobin makes a noise that could very well be a purr. Beomgyu almost laughs, but Soobin’s eyes shoot open when he realizes, and he looks shameful, so Beomgyu holds it in, and says, “Cute,” instead.
Soobin groans anyway, collapsing on top of Beomgyu, nose hiding in the curve of his neck. Beomgyu brings a hand down to softly rub up and down his back and when he feels his mouth open against his collarbone, and he says, “If you’re about to say something like, ‘So, do you like me too,’ I will get kryptonite from downstairs and stab you in the face.”
Soobin laughs loud at that, saying, “The meaner you are, the more turned on I get, so I’m winning either way.”
Beomgyu takes the hand rubbing at Soobin’s back and slaps him so hard the entire bed moves. Soobin makes a noise of mock offense, but Beomgyu can feel the wide smile against his skin. “You’re such a freak.”
“Yeah, well, you like me.”
“God, yeah, I guess I do,” Beomgyu shakes his head, and when Soobin rises to kiss him again, he meets him halfway, like they’ve always done. Like they always will.