Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

02

The music fades out on the last beat, sneakers squeaking against pavement as Yeonjun lands the finishing pose. He stays in it just long enough for the camera click—chin tilted, one hand outstretched, sweat glinting along his jaw like it was choreographed too.

"Clean," the videographer calls.

Yeonjun straightens, grinning at the crew as they collapse into chatter. Someone's blasting compliments, someone else is already begging for bubble tea. He grabs a towel from Soobin, dragging it over his hair, still catching his breath but glowing under that post-dance high.

Performance adrenaline? Nothing like it.

He unlocks his phone before the towel's even off his head. Already thinking about the post—nothing fancy, just something to keep his fans fed. He flips the camera to selfie mode. His reflection stares back: cheeks flushed, hair damp, eyes sharp. Perfect.

Click.
Caption typed in seconds:

sweat looks better on stage than on homework 😮‍💨 choreo drop soon #beatlineacademy

Upload. Done. A ping of satisfaction hits when the first likes flood in. His story's next: a five-second clip of the crew laughing mid-break, then a wink to the camera because... of course.

@yawnjun's notifications light up like a Christmas tree. Mentions, DMs, hearts. He skims a few comments:
"KING OF LINES 🔥🔥🔥"
"yawnjun never misses 👑"
"WHO needs hydration when you have THIS??"

He chuckles, tossing the towel over his shoulder as Soobin plops down beside him.

"You look like a man reading poetry," Soobin says, peering at his phone.

"I'm reading my future marriage proposals," Yeonjun replies smoothly, snapping his gum.

Soobin rolls his eyes. "Modest, as always."

"It's not my fault they're obsessed." Yeonjun pockets his phone, stretching lazily before calling out to the crew. "Content check! Who's posting the full vid on @beatline_academy?"

"Already queued," one of the younger members pipes up.

"Good," Yeonjun says. Beatline Academy—their official dance crew account—has its own cult following, but his personal page? Different league. One post and his fans will eat it alive.

Soobin leans back on his elbows, squinting at him. "You're posting tonight?"

"Story first, then teaser," Yeonjun says like it's a strategy meeting. He grins, catching Soobin's unimpressed stare. "What? The people demand."

"The people need therapy," Soobin mutters, standing when someone calls for another take.

Yeonjun snorts, rolling his shoulders loose. "And I'm their cure."

The speaker booms again. Yeonjun slides into position, grin sharp, eyes already burning for the camera. Performance mode? Always on.

By the time the first cheer goes up, Beomgyu's done pretending he can concentrate. His notebook lies open across his knee, ink bleeding into staff lines, but every time he reaches for the next lyric, the bass drops like an earthquake.

The whole lawn is shaking.

Beomgyu exhales through his nose, snapping the notebook shut. What was a quiet bench an hour ago is now the main stage of chaos, and he has zero plans to star in someone's hype vlog.

He slides his pen into the spiral, tucks the notebook under his arm, and grabs his guitar case. The chatter swells behind him as he cuts across the quad—voices hyped, laughter spilling like confetti. Someone yells "Yeonjun!" and the volume spikes.