Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

06

The first thing Beomgyu sees when he opens his phone after class is his own damn hood.

Not his face. Not his music. Just... his hood. Blurry, tilted, captured mid-stride like a still from a low-budget documentary about endangered species.

The caption on the campus gossip account screams at him.

"BENCH GUY LIVES 👀 HOODED MYSTERY MAN SPOTTED WITH GUITAR CASE"

The comment section is a dumpster fire of unhinged energy;
"He goes to OUR school?! I'm breathing his air??"
"This looks like Bigfoot with an instrument."
"Drop the name or drop out."
"Hood or no hood, that's him. The STRAP never lies."
"Bro hiding like he committed tax fraud."

Beomgyu slaps a hand over his face and groans into his palm.
Tax fraud sounds easier than this.

He scrolls further—because apparently he hates himself—and stumbles into the hashtags:
#BenchGuy #GuitarPrince #WitnessProtectionChic trending locally.

And then, like a bucket of ice water.

"When's the next cover? GIVE US THE VOICE."
"Imagine him singing live... oh wait, make it happen."

Beomgyu freezes mid-scroll, thumb hovering. His pulse does a weird thing—half panic, half... something else.

Because this? This is the first comment that actually matters. The thing he's been screaming internally since the chaos started;
Talk about the music. Not my damn hair.

It flickers through him like static: a sliver of hope wedged in the mess.

But before he can think too hard, someone shouts his name.

"BEOMGYU!"

He nearly flings his phone into traffic.

Kai barrels across the quad like a golden retriever in human form, hair sticking out under a beanie, drumsticks poking from his back pocket like dangerous antennas. He stops so close Beomgyu can smell his strawberry gum and regret.

"WHY," Kai demands, "did I have to find out from CAMPUS MEMES that my BEST FRIEND is basically a K-drama lead now?!"

Beomgyu yanks his hood lower, clutching his guitar case like a shield. "Keep your voice down before I commit a felony."

Kai ignores him. Of course he does. "Dude. You're famous. You're BEAUTIFUL. People are writing thirst threads about your... wrist or some crap. This is HISTORY."

"Kill me," Beomgyu mutters. "Right here. On the pavement."

Kai beams like the sun and slaps a hand on his shoulder. "OR—and hear me out—you could stop sulking and join the band."

There it is. The speech. The prophecy Kai's been chanting since freshman year.

Beomgyu side-eyes him. "No."

"Yes," Kai shoots back instantly, grinning like he's selling religion. "Imagine it: live stage, lights, fans chanting your name—"

"No thanks. I like my name quiet."

"—Guitar Prince in 4K!"

"Stop calling me that."

Kai leans in, eyes sparkling with evil. "Then why are you hiding under a hood? Afraid the paparazzi will catch you buying ramen?"

Beomgyu tugs the hood tighter until only his nose peeks out. "Yes. And if you don't shut up, you'll be the headline."

Kai snorts. "You look like you're about to rob a convenience store."