Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

05

Beomgyu groans, raking his hands through his hair. "I didn't sign up for this. I just wanted people to listen to my music."

But nope. No one cares about his meticulously layered guitar riffs or the lyrics he bled over at 3 a.m. Every comment sounds like a collective thirst-induced fever dream:
"does he bite??"
"he looks like he'd ruin my GPA but in a poetic way."
"drop a live cover or drop your number."

He slaps the phone face-down on the table like it insulted his lineage. "Nope. Done. Goodbye, cruel world."

"Not even close to goodbye," Taehyun says, emerging from the bathroom looking obnoxiously put-together. He clocks Beomgyu's panic instantly and smirks. "Aw. Princess having a rough morning?"

"DON'T START."

"Too late." Taehyun leans over, swipes the phone before Beomgyu can grab it, and whistles low. "Wow. Almost 200k followers. At this rate, you'll hit a million before lunch."

"Great," Beomgyu deadpans. "I'll celebrate by throwing myself out the window."

Taehyun scrolls with infuriating calm. "This is my favorite edit so far." He tilts the screen: a slow-motion loop of Beomgyu brushing his hair, overlaid with pink sparkles and text that reads 'PRINCESS ENERGY ONLY ✨.'

Beomgyu nearly flips the table. "DELETE THE INTERNET."

Taehyun just grins. "Or... embrace it. Do a Q&A. Post a selfie. Hashtag Guitar Princess."

Beomgyu stares at him like he just confessed to arson. "I'd rather eat nails."

"Well, nails are a good source of iron," Taehyun says, heading to his desk. "Speaking of, don't you have class in..." He checks the clock. "Seven minutes?"

Beomgyu freezes. "Shit."

He bolts for his closet, ransacking it like a fugitive plotting an escape. "What do I wear so people don't LOOK at me?"

"Clothes," Taehyun says helpfully.

"I hate you," Beomgyu mutters, pulling out a wrinkled hoodie that might've once been gray. "This. This says 'don't perceive me.'"

"It says 'I got evicted from my dignity,'" Taehyun says dryly. "Pair it with those tragic sweatpants. Really commit to the aesthetic."

"Good idea," Beomgyu snaps, yanking on the sweatpants anyway.

Five minutes later, he's standing in front of the mirror, looking like an unpaid extra in a zombie apocalypse movie. "Perfect. No one will notice me."

Taehyun takes one look and snorts so hard he nearly drops his laptop. "Oh, they'll notice. Princess cosplay, but make it homeless chic."

Beomgyu throws him the finger and grabs his bag. "If anyone asks, I died in 2019."

Taehyun smirks. "Sure. Tell that to your 200k followers."

The world outside the dorm feels... hostile.

Which is stupid, because it's just campus. Same cracked pavement, same coffee cart that smells like survival, same groups of students gossiping over iced lattes. Normal. Totally normal.

Except for the fact that Beomgyu is now public enemy number one in his own brain.

Hood up. Head down. Bag strap digging into his shoulder like a reminder to stay humble. He walks fast, trying to look like part of the scenery. A tree, maybe. A particularly depressed lamppost. Anything unnoticeable.

If I don't make eye contact, I don't exist, he chants in his head, gripping his phone like a lifeline.

But then—
"...Hey. Isn't that—"