Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

13

"You're doing good," he breathes, words a soft lullaby now, soothing and gentle. "Keep breathing, Gyu. I've got you."

And even though Beomgyu doesn't respond, even though he's still far from okay, Taehyun knows he's heard—he can feel it in the slight relaxing of tension in his friend's trembling body.

They stay like that, locked tightly together, suspended in fragile calm. Taehyun breathes carefully, evenly, anchoring them both, silently swearing to himself that he'll never let it get this bad again.

Because this isn't just anxiety or stage fright—this is his best friend falling apart. And Taehyun knows he won't survive losing Beomgyu to something neither of them can control.

So he stays. He holds on tighter. And he keeps breathing until the storm finally passes.

Beomgyu is too light in his arms. Too still.

Taehyun feels every sharp angle of bone pressing through the hoodie as he adjusts his hold, heart lurching at the weakness in that familiar frame. Carefully, gently, he lowers Beomgyu onto the mattress, one hand cupping the back of his head so it doesn't hit the pillow too hard.

"Easy," he murmurs, voice barely more than a breath. "Just lay back. I've got you."

The bed dips under the weight, soft sheets folding around Beomgyu's pale, slack form. His lashes tremble faintly, breaths shallow but no longer erratic. A small victory—but not enough to loosen the vise clamped around Taehyun's ribs.

He kneels beside the bed, brushing stray strands of hair off Beomgyu's damp forehead. His fingertips graze clammy skin, and guilt claws deeper into his gut.

You knew he was burning out. You saw the signs. And you still pushed.

He swallows hard, biting down on the rising tide of self-loathing. Now isn't the time for that.

"Beomgyu," he says softly, even though he knows he won't get an answer. "You're safe. I promise."

His eyes flick instinctively to his phone lying facedown on the floor, screen dark but full of possibilities he doesn't want to face.

Call Kai? He'd freak out instantly, probably drag the whole band here in a heartbeat. Yujin would cry, Jay would judge, and suddenly the entire dorm would be swarming. Exactly what Beomgyu doesn't need.

Or worse—call a doctor. He should. Every rational bone in his body screams it. But the image of Beomgyu's face if he woke up to strangers hovering with stethoscopes? It twists Taehyun's stomach into knots.

His fingers twitch toward the phone anyway. Because what if this is more than a panic spiral? What if something in his body gives out? What if this time, he doesn't wake up?

"No," Taehyun mutters under his breath, dragging a shaky hand down his face. "Don't lose it now."

He looks back at Beomgyu—still as fragile as glass on the sheets, one hand curled weakly near his chest. The sight lodges like a thorn in Taehyun's throat.

He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around that hand, holding it firm but gentle, hoping the contact sinks through whatever fog Beomgyu's trapped in. His thumb strokes slow circles across bruised knuckles, grounding him the only way he knows how.

"Stop everything... please."

The whisper echoes in his skull like a knife twisting deeper. He wishes he could erase it, wishes he could promise it, but they both know it isn't that simple.

Still—Taehyun bows his head, voice raw as it scrapes out of him.
"Okay," he breathes, words cracking like glass. "For now, we stop. I'll hold everything back if I have to. Just... don't leave me like this, Gyu."