Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

19

"Fine," he mutters, voice rough but sure. "Then let's make them stay."

And for the first time in weeks, it doesn't feel like a lie.

Beomgyu stares at Taehyun for a long beat, his voice dropping low, almost wary.

"So you think...I should show myself more?" His fingers trace the fretboard absently, like a nervous tic. "Post the video with my face?"

Taehyun doesn't even blink. "Cut the crap, Gyu. Not should. Need."

Beomgyu blinks. "Need?"

"Yeah." Taehyun kicks the tripod leg lightly with his sneaker, making the camera wobble. "You've got the song, the voice, the look. You want people to care about the music? Show them the person behind it. Stop hiding like a haunted house prop."

Beomgyu opens his mouth, ready to argue, when Taehyun suddenly claps his hands and stands up. "And speaking of props, you're done being one. We're going out."

"What—where?"

"Lunch."

Beomgyu gapes. "You seriously dragged me through an existential TED Talk just to get food?"

"Correct." Taehyun slings his bag over his shoulder with zero remorse. "Bro, I'm starving. If I have to eat one more convenience store kimbap, I'm going to ascend."

Beomgyu snorts, gathering his sheets reluctantly. "So this is a bribe?"

"Call it a victory treat," Taehyun says over his shoulder. "You nailed that recording. This is me celebrating your first step toward not being a hermit."

Beomgyu groans dramatically, stuffing his guitar back into its case. "You're insane."

Taehyun grins, sharp and bright. "And you're coming anyway. Because if you don't, I'll post that close-up video of you looking like you're about to cry into the mic."

Beomgyu spins, horrified. "You didn't—"

Taehyun taps his phone screen smugly. "Future blackmail, remember?"

"Unbelievable," Beomgyu mutters, jamming the zipper closed like it wronged him.

"Good. Be mad on the way out."

They step into the hallway, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Beomgyu shoves his hands deep into his pockets, hoodless and exposed, every nerve on edge.

"Stop looking like someone just pulled you out of solitary," Taehyun mutters, bumping his shoulder. "You used to walk around campus without flinching."

"That was before the internet turned me into a meme," Beomgyu grumbles.

Taehyun's voice sharpens, slicing through the weight settling in Beomgyu's chest. "Then ignore it. You used to be free outside, right? Act like you used to. Screw the noise."

Beomgyu glances sideways at him, something tight unraveling just a little under the blunt words.

"Yeah," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "Screw the noise."

They push through the exit doors into the crisp afternoon light. Taehyun strides ahead like a man on a mission, and Beomgyu trails after, heart pounding—but for the first time, the fear doesn't feel suffocating.

It feels...almost like a challenge.

The café is loud. Not painfully so, but enough that the hum of voices scrapes at Beomgyu's nerves like sandpaper. Taehyun had chosen a corner booth, wide windows spilling golden light across polished tables—a nice spot for two friends to eat in peace.