Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

10

Beomgyu stares, jaw tight. "What do you even want me to do?"

"Post."

"No."

"Yes."

"No—"

Taehyun leans against the wall again, pulling out his phone like this is a board meeting he's already winning. "Then I'll do it for you."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Beomgyu grips the neck of his guitar, pulse kicking. Because Taehyun isn't bluffing. He never bluffs. And the thought of that video—the raw chords, his half-hummed words—hitting the internet makes Beomgyu's stomach knot like cables on the floor.

But then—beneath the panic, a flicker of something else.
Because maybe Taehyun's right. Maybe silence is a kind of surrender.
And he's tired of surrendering.

He exhales, low and shaky. "Give me the file."

Taehyun's grin sharpens. "Thought so."

He stares at the screen like it might explode.

The video's only twenty seconds long—just a quick clip of him running through the skeleton of his song, chords low and raw, Taehyun's harmony ghosting soft in the background. No caption. No hashtags. Nothing to feed the wolves.

Just music.
Just him.

For a breath—one stupid, fragile breath—it feels good. Like control.

Then the notifications hit.

First one. Then three. Then twenty, stacking like dominoes until the screen blurs with numbers.
He blinks—refreshes—
Comments flood in, a waterfall of screaming text.

"OMG HE POSTED??!!"
"WHAT SONG IS THIS???"
"HIS VOICE?? HIS HANDS?? HIS EVERYTHING??"
"collab with yeonjun when??"
"GUYS THIS SOUNDS LIKE A SAD LOVE LETTER WTF"

Beomgyu's pulse spikes. His grip on the phone slicks with sweat as the feed scrolls faster than his eyes can keep up. Praise, thirst, speculation—all of it loud, shoving against his skull until it feels like that hallway again. Too much. Too close.

He tries to stop reading. Fails. Every word feels like teeth. Like they're stripping him down to bone and calling it worship.

His breath catches. Fingers shake.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe—

The screen goes black.

Beomgyu jerks his head up. Taehyun's standing over him, phone in hand, face calm as still water.

"What the—"

"Done." Taehyun pockets the device before Beomgyu can grab it back. "You're spiraling."

"I wasn't—"

"You were," Taehyun says flatly. Then, softer—just enough to slip under Beomgyu's armor.
"You did what you needed to do. You showed what you wanted to show. That's it."

Beomgyu swallows, throat tight. "And if that's not enough for them?"

Taehyun's eyes sharpen, voice steady as a knife sliding into its sheath.
"Then screw them. They don't get a vote."

The words land heavy. Sharp. True.
Beomgyu stares at his hands, nails biting crescents into his palms, and for a second the room is just the hum of amps and Taehyun's voice like an anchor.

"You think control means hiding," Taehyun says, quieter now, almost like he's talking to the floor. "It doesn't. It means deciding when to stop looking back. So stop."