Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

18

For the first time in hours, his chest loosens. Just a little.

He flips to a blank page, pen poised, and whispers under his breath, voice cracking on the edges:
"Let's finish this."

Behind him, Taehyun shifts faintly in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. Beomgyu doesn't turn around. He just lowers his head, ink spilling fast and furious across the page as the night folds around him like a cocoon—fragile, but holding.

And for once, instead of drowning, he feels like he might just breathe.

The band room feels different today—too bright, too sharp, too exposed. Maybe because Taehyun has spent the last forty minutes circling him like a vulture with a styling degree.

"Hyun," Beomgyu grits out, yanking at his stiff collar. "What the hell is this?"

Taehyun leans back with his arms crossed, smug as a cat sunning itself. "A shirt."

"It's a button-up."

"And?" Taehyun tilts his head. "You look like a human instead of a ghost haunting a guitar shop. You're welcome."

Beomgyu groans, dragging a hand down his face. The sleeves are rolled just high enough to show his veins, the top two buttons undone because Taehyun had declared "airflow is sexy," and don't even get him started on the light makeup.

"Why do I feel like you're prepping me for a magazine cover instead of a demo video?"

"Because you're dramatic," Taehyun fires back, adjusting the mic stand. "Now sit. We have two setups—audio for the contest submission and video for your account."

"Video?" Beomgyu's voice spikes an octave. "Hyun—"

"Don't 'Hyun' me. Your followers haven't seen your face since you posted that snippet and caused a small internet riot." Taehyun smirks, adjusting the camera tripod. "Consider this damage control."

Beomgyu glares, lowering himself onto the stool with all the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows. His guitar rests across his lap, cool and familiar, grounding him against the chaos.

"Fine," he mutters. "But I'm not looking at the camera."

"Sure," Taehyun says lightly, thumbs flying over his phone screen. The second angle—his own phone—is already set discreetly on the amp.

"Hyun." Beomgyu narrows his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Future blackmail." Taehyun grins, wicked and unbothered.

"Unbelievable," Beomgyu mutters, tightening his grip on the guitar.

He takes a slow breath, letting the weight of the instrument settle across his thighs. His fingers find the strings instinctively, tracing the opening chords, coaxing out the melody he's carried like a heartbeat for weeks.

"This song..." He hesitates, voice soft but steady, eyes fixed on the sheet propped against the stand. "It's called 'This Is My Answer.'"

Taehyun hums approvingly from behind the lens. "Good title. Roll camera."

The first notes bloom into the room—rich, warm, threaded with something raw. His voice follows, low at first, then climbing steady as he leans into the mic.

Beneath the dark night
Let's not stay here, but move on
In the days of bruises
Every step we take
You and I
Will find our way through...

The lyrics pour out like marrow, stripped bare of armor. It doesn't feel like singing—it feels like bleeding in technicolor.

He closes his eyes on the chorus, the words anchoring him like a mantra.

This is my answer
This cold winter too
Shall pass.

For a moment, the chaos outside—hashtags, edits, whispers—fades. There's only the music. The strings biting his fingertips. The rhythm syncing with his pulse. The quiet weight of everything he's survived pressed into every note.

When the last chord fades, the silence that follows is heavy, humming with something close to reverence.

Taehyun exhales softly behind the camera, voice low. "That was... insane."

Beomgyu clears his throat, feigning nonchalance even as his chest aches with leftover adrenaline. "It was fine."

"Fine, my ass," Taehyun scoffs, lowering the camera. "You just gave me chills, you bastard."

Beomgyu laughs under his breath, the sound soft but genuine. He unplugs the guitar carefully, stacking the sheets on the amp.

Taehyun claps him on the shoulder, grin warm. "When you win this, you're buying me dinner."

Beomgyu smirks faintly, meeting his gaze. "Dinner? Please. I'll buy you that condenser you've been whining about for months."

Taehyun blinks, startled. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Beomgyu says, voice even. "For...everything."

Taehyun's smile flickers, softer now, almost proud. "Deal."

As Taehyun packs up the tripod, Beomgyu glances at the camera's tiny blinking light—realizing for the first time that the world is about to see this version of him. No hood. No ghost act. Just him, raw and unguarded.

And for the first time, the thought doesn't terrify him.
Not completely.

•••••
disclaimer: i purposely use the 'Panic' lyrics but change the title because for now, the lyrics are like prayer to beomgyu.