beneath your dust-piled crown | yeongyu

;chapter 11

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

But before Yeonjun could reach the phone, the sudden noise of another hand slapping his away shattered the tense silence. Beomgyu's head snapped up to see Taehyun standing there, his expression unreadable but laced with an unmistakable edge of hostility.

"Beomgyu is coming with me," Taehyun stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He snatched the phone from the ground before Yeonjun could react, shooting a sharp glare at him as he added, "We're having a group meeting for the project."

Beomgyu, still reeling from the rapid escalation, found himself being pulled up and away by a decisive grip around his wrist before he could fully process what was happening. Taehyun didn't look back at Yeonjun — his entire focus was on moving him away from the situation.

As they walked away quickly, Beomgyu's heart pounded furiously in his chest, his thoughts a jumbled chaos. He glanced over his shoulder once, catching a fleeting glimpse of Yeonjun standing there, his hand still outstretched, his face a mask of confusion and something akin to hurt. The sight twisted something deep inside Beomgyu. Yes, he was glad that Taehyun had saved him, but why did being saved feel like running away from something he desperately wanted to run towards?

Taehyun's grip was firm, almost painfully so, dragging him back to reality. They walked in silence until they were far enough away, then he stopped and turned around to Beomgyu, his face serious.

"Look at you, man. You're a fucking mess," Taehyun blurted out, his voice more intense than anything Beomgyu had ever expected from him. "What's going on with you and Yeonjun?"

Beomgyu tried to formulate a response, something that would deflect the shorter student's sharp observation, but the words stuck in his throat.

He's right. I'm a mess. A total fucking disaster.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Beomgyu finally muttered as he slipped his headphones to his neck, avoiding the other's sharp gaze. He felt raw, exposed, as if Taehyun's big eyes could see right through him.

"Bullshit," Taehyun snapped, his frustration evident. "I've been watching you. Whenever you see him it's like you're two seconds away from either breaking down or confessing your undying love. It's not healthy, Beomgyu."

"You don't understand," Beomgyu said through gritted teeth, the denial heavy in his voice. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as a defense against the swell of his emotions. "You just don't get it, Taehyun. It's not that simple."

"Then make me understand, because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're torturing yourself over a guy who might not even give a shit," Taehyun cleared his throat before adding, "...Oh, my bad. A guy who definitely doesn't give a shit — about anyone or anything but himself."

Taehyun's words sliced through him, offensive and painfully ironic. Just moments ago, Beomgyu had doubted Yeonjun's care himself, but hearing it voiced so bluntly by someone else ignited a fierce, protective surge within him, one he didn't realize he possessed.

"You don't fucking know him," he snapped, a mixture of anger and pain in his voice. "You don't know anything about him."

"Do you though?" Taehyun shot back, his voice steady but piercing. The question hung heavily between them, loaded and pointed.

Beomgyu's retort died in his throat. The silence that followed was suffocating, the question repeating in his mind like a haunting refrain.

Do I know him?