Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

08

The dorm is too quiet.

Which should be a blessing after the day from hell, but instead it feels like silence pressing down on his skin—thick, heavy, humming with everything he doesn't want to think about.

Beomgyu sits on the edge of his bed, hood still up, guitar case propped in the corner like a bodyguard that failed its job. He hasn't touched his phone since Taehyun shoved it face-down on the desk. Notifications keep flaring against the wood like sparks from a live wire, but he doesn't look. Won't.

Because if he looks, it makes it real.
The photos. The comments. The name that isn't his. The name that is.

Across the room, Taehyun dumps a convenience-store bag on the desk with a thud. "Eat."

"I'm not—"

"Eat," Taehyun repeats, voice brooking zero argument as he rips open a kimbap roll and drops it into Beomgyu's lap like a threat. "You can spiral with a full stomach."

Beomgyu stares at it, then mutters, "You'd make a terrifying nurse."

"And yet here I am saving your life daily," Taehyun says, plopping into his chair and cracking open a bottle of water.

Beomgyu picks at the wrapper, appetite nonexistent, and finally asks the question that's been clawing at him since he slammed this door shut:
"How the hell am I supposed to face the world tomorrow?"

Taehyun looks up, deadpan. "Relax. It's not like you committed fraud."

Beomgyu huffs a laugh that tastes bitter. "Feels worse."

Because at least fraud has rules, punishments, a finish line. This? This has no brakes. No map. Just strangers with cameras and teeth.

Taehyun studies him for a long beat, and Beomgyu knows he sees it—the tightness in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch against his knees like they're searching for strings to anchor him.

Finally, Taehyun says, softer now: "You can't control the noise, Gyu. But you can control what you do next."

Beomgyu swallows hard. "What if I don't even know what that is?"

"Then start small." Taehyun leans back, arms folding. "What do you need right now?"

A distraction. Anything but this weight crushing his lungs.

"The contest," Beomgyu mutters. "Deadline's next week."

Taehyun blinks. "You still want to submit?"

"I need to." His voice sharpens, surprising even himself. "It's the only thing that's mine. Everything else—" He breaks off, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don't know who the hell they're screaming about out there, but it's not me."

Taehyun exhales slowly, like he's filing away a hundred questions he'll ask later. "So... what's the problem? You've got the song."

"Yeah." Beomgyu laughs without humor. "What I don't have? A studio. Equipment. A miracle."

The silence that follows feels like a countdown.
Until Taehyun says, carefully: "Kai's band."

Beomgyu flinches like the name stings. "No."

"Think about it," Taehyun presses, voice calm but eyes sharp. "Full setup. Instruments. Mic quality good enough for submission. And Kai's practically on his knees for you."

"I can't," Beomgyu snaps. "You saw today. I barely handled walking across campus without—" He stops, biting down hard on the rest.

Taehyun's jaw tightens, but his tone stays even. "You think joining them makes you weak?"