Beomgyu freezes. "What kind of edit."
"The thirst-trap kind." Taehyun hits play before Beomgyu can wrestle the phone away. A moody slow-motion clip fills the screen—him brushing his hair back, sunlight flaring behind his head, guitar strap cutting diagonally across his hoodie. Overlaid with text:
"the way he EXISTED?? i can't do this anymore."
Soundtrack: some dramatic Lana Del Rey ballad.
Beomgyu's entire soul leaves his body. "DELETE IT. DELETE THE INTERNET."
"No can do," Taehyun says cheerfully. "It's got 30k likes already. Congrats, Guitar Prince."
Beomgyu collapses backward onto his bed, groaning into the mattress. "I'm moving to the mountains. I'll become a monk."
Taehyun snickers, scrolling even deeper into the chaos. "Good luck. Your cult of admirers might follow you there."
Beomgyu flings an arm over his face, voice muffled and desperate. "WHY do people care?! My account is literally just strings and sad captions!"
"Oh, that reminds me." Taehyun grins like he's about to set off fireworks. "You wanna know how they found you?"
"No. Yes. ...No."
"They recognized your guitar bag," Taehyun says, savoring every syllable. "Your own followers spilled the tea in the comments. Then someone linked your handle. The rest is history."
Beomgyu makes a noise that sounds like a dying accordion. "I hate this. I hate everything."
"Don't worry, Prince," Taehyun says, patting his leg like a disappointed soccer coach. "Fame looks good on you."
"STOP CALLING ME THAT!"
But the universe doesn't stop. Not when his phone buzzes again, flashing numbers that make his stomach flip:
@beomnote: 129,261 followers.
New DM request: +739.
Yeonjun didn't plan on waking up to betrayal.
But here he is, sprawled on his bed, phone vibrating with notifications that should be celebrating him. The star. The main event. The choreography god who carried that routine like Atlas with abs.
Instead, what does he see?
#GuitarPrince trending on his explore page.
Guitar. Prince.
He sits up so fast the blanket flies off like it's abandoning him in shame. "What the actual hell."
He opens Instagram. The @beatline_academy video? Sitting at 1.3 million views. Comments: an absolute bloodbath.
"Yeonjun ate as usual BUT—bench guy?? hello???"
"petition to rename this account @benchline_academy."
"the guitar case. the hair. the hoodie. i need to know his skincare routine NOW."
"THE HAIR PUSH. replaying that two-second clip until my funeral."
Yeonjun drags the slider back to that cursed moment. And there he is. Bench Guy. Hoodie slouched, guitar case gleaming, hand brushing his hair like he invented casual attractiveness.
Yeonjun glares so hard his screen might combust. Who does that? Who sits there like a cinematic prophecy in MY frame?
He scrolls again, jaw tightening—
—and then he sees it.
A comment with 42k likes:
"He's @beomnote on Instagram. Actual musician. You're welcome."
Yeonjun freezes. Clicks.
@beomnote
Followers: 145,201 (and climbing by the second).
Grid: all warm-toned guitar shots, lyric scraps in messy handwriting, audio clips captioned with things like:
"Blue sounds heavier at night."
"Chasing echoes feels like home."
Yeonjun stares, nose wrinkling like he just smelled bad poetry. "Wow. Okay. So he's deep. How original."
He scrolls further. Close-up of hands on strings. Profile shot in soft light, jawline sharp enough to start wars. Thousands of comments screaming like fangirls at a concert.
And then the nail in his coffin:
"Our Guitar Prince ✨"
Reply count: 3,201 and growing.
Yeonjun nearly chokes on his own oxygen. "Prince? PRINCE?! In what monarchy?!"
The audacity is a physical force at this point. His pride—his carefully curated Dance King supremacy—is under attack.
So he does what any rational human would do.
Which is: lose every shred of rationality.
Yeonjun taps the comment thread. Types with surgical pettiness:
"More like Guitar Princess 👑✨"
And hits Post.
A rush of satisfaction floods his veins. Petty? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.
He leans back, smirking at the screen as replies start popping up like fireworks:
"WAIT. IS THIS YEONJUN?!"
"SIR. NOT YOU STARTING DRAMA."
"omg the tension i can feel it through the screen."
"y'all i'm buying popcorn."
Yeonjun pockets his phone with a grin sharp enough to cut diamonds. "Welcome to the spotlight, Bench Boy. Let's see if you can handle it."
YOU ARE READING
Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT
FanfictionHe wasn't even playing. Just a notebook, a guitar on his side, and sunlight in his hair, and suddenly, Beomgyu's face is all over campus feeds. The internet crowns him the Guitar Prince. Too bad Yeonjun, the star of that dance video, hasn't forgiven...
