Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

23

The door to the band room creaks open with a subtle whine, but it feels loud enough to cut skin.

Beomgyu steps inside like he's walking into a crime scene he caused.

The room is buzzing again—low chatter, ambient keyboard twinkles, the dull thump of Kai's sticks tapping a chair leg. But the second Beomgyu reappears, every sound stutters. Muted. A beat skipped. Like someone hit pause on a track mid-chorus.

He doesn't look up. Doesn't need to. He can feel it—their eyes, every damn one of them.

Taehyun's on the couch, hunched with a thermos in one hand, watching with that surgical stare he only pulls when he's either concerned or two seconds from an intervention. Probably both.

Kai's slouched near the drum set, one stick still idly tapping against his shin. He raises a brow, the kind that screams so... what the hell was that?

Jay's sprawled across the arm of a chair, bass balanced lazily across his thighs. He doesn't speak, just strums one slow, deliberate note that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

Yujin swivels slowly in the spinny chair by the mixer table, lips parted like he's seconds from narrating the drama in real time.

And Taerae—bless Taerae—is crouched by the pedalboard, adjusting his cables with the kind of hyperfocus that's either real or the best attempt at pretending this isn't the most awkward tension-filled return in history.

Beomgyu clears his throat. No one moves.

He edges toward his corner—his guitar still propped where he left it, notebook half-crumpled on the floor—and sits like he's lowering himself into a pool of boiling water.

Kai breaks first.

"So," he says, spinning the drumstick between his fingers. "You two finally confess your undying hatred for each other, or was it a dramatic lovers' quarrel in the hallway?"

Beomgyu grits his teeth. "Neither."

Jay hums. "Suspiciously non-denial sounding."

"I'm not doing this," Beomgyu mutters, flipping his notebook shut harder than necessary.

"You say that," Taehyun says dryly, "but your face says you were just emotionally violated."

Beomgyu snaps his head up. "Because I was."

Yujin spins in his chair again. "So... you did fight?"

Taerae pipes up without looking. "Was it a loud fight or a whispery one? Whispery fights usually mean it's personal."

Beomgyu groans, tipping his head back. The ceiling has never looked so judgmental.

"We didn't fight. Not really."

Jay lifts a brow. "Define 'not really.'"

Beomgyu rubs his temples like he can physically squeeze the memory out of existence. "He showed up. Said stupid things. I told him off. That should've been the end of it."

Taehyun's voice sharpens, calm but cutting. "But it wasn't."

Beomgyu's silence is answer enough.

The room stays quiet for a beat, save for the quiet whirr of the amp and the soft buzz of the fridge in the corner. Then Kai whistles low.

"You didn't... agree to something insane, did you?"

Beomgyu's shoulders tense. It's microscopic, but they see it. Of course they see it.

Jay sits up straighter. "Oh my God. You did."

"It's two weeks," Beomgyu snaps, before he can stop himself. "Two weeks of pretending to... fix things. Publicly."