Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

23

Yujin chokes. "Pretending to what?"

"Make up," Beomgyu mutters.

Dead silence.

Kai drops his stick. "As in, like, fake dating again? Publicly?"

Taerae squints, eyes finally lifting from the floor. "Wait, I thought you weren't even real dating."

"WE WEREN'T," Beomgyu snaps.

"Then why are you fake making up?"

Beomgyu throws his head into his hands. "Because people think we were. And now they think we broke up. And somehow that's both my fault and his fault and also the internet's fault. And now I have to play along so he doesn't tank my contest chances because I slapped him in a café like an idiot!"

The room processes this with the gravity of a war council.

Taehyun is the first to move, slowly rising from the couch and walking over like he's approaching a wild animal.

"You're telling me," he says carefully, "that after weeks of passive-aggressive bickering and zero actual communication, your solution to the Yeonjun problem is performative coupledom."

Beomgyu looks up, face flat. "I didn't say it was my solution."

"He blackmailed you."

"Kind of."

Taehyun folds his arms. "Do I need to stab him?"

"I already slapped him."

"Slapping is foreplay. I'm talking violence."

Beomgyu sighs, picking up his guitar and hugging it like a shield. "It's only two weeks. Then I can go back to being invisible."

Kai snorts. "Babe, you have two viral fan cams and a trending hashtag. You passed 'invisible' two campus scandals ago."

"Besides," Jay adds, smug as hell, "if you're fake-dating Yeonjun now, does that mean you're gonna post couple pics? Like matching hoodies? Park dates? #GuitarPrincess?"

Beomgyu glares so hard the air might combust. "Say that again and I'll feed your amp to the koi pond."

"Spicy," Yujin chirps. "Very on-brand for the chaotic lovers aesthetic."

Beomgyu groans again, dragging a hand down his face. "Can we please just go back to working on the song before I combust?"

Taehyun doesn't move.

Instead, he crouches beside Beomgyu and stares, quiet and heavy. "You sure you can handle this?"

Beomgyu doesn't answer right away.

His fingers curl around the guitar neck. His stomach is a mess of guilt and dread and something bitter he can't name. He remembers Yeonjun's smirk, the mocking tilt of his voice. Don't ignore my calls, babe.

He feels like he's walking into a performance he never auditioned for.

"I don't have a choice," he says finally.

And Taehyun—soft-eyed and sharp-tongued Taehyun—just nods like that's the most dangerous answer of all.

The dorm is quiet. Not the kind of quiet that comforts, but the kind that presses in around the edges. Soft hum of the fridge. A distant scooter revving past outside. Fluorescent ceiling light flickering like it's debating whether to give up.

Beomgyu stands by the sink, staring into a chipped mug like the instant coffee might offer a divine intervention.

It doesn't.