Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

10

Beomgyu doesn't answer. Can't.
But when Taehyun tosses the phone onto the table and adds, "Eat before you pass out, dumbass," something in his chest loosens enough to breathe again.

For ten glorious minutes, there's silence.

Beomgyu sits on the edge of the table, chewing through the kimbap Taehyun shoved at him, letting his pulse settle. The weight in his chest eases—just a fraction—enough to make him think maybe he can survive this day without setting himself on fire.

Then his phone pings.
Once. Twice. Then a rapid-fire buzz that makes the table hum.

Beomgyu freezes mid-bite. "...Please tell me that's an Amber Alert."

Taehyun glances at the screen—and his mouth curves slow, evil. "Oh no. It's better."

Beomgyu snatches the phone, heart already clawing its way up his throat. Opens Instagram—

And almost dies.

Because there it is.
A crisp, high-res photo of the band room from earlier—amps in the background, cables snaking across the floor, six bodies sprawled in chaotic harmony. Kai grinning like a menace behind his drum kit, Yujin throwing a peace sign, Taerae soft-smiling near a mic stand, Jay perched like a predator on an amp—and dead center, hunched over a guitar like an idiot who trusted people, Beomgyu.

Caption, in obnoxious bold font.

"new era loading. 🎸 stay tuned. #Syncope #BandLife"

The account?
@syncope.official. Verified by sheer audacity.

Beomgyu's vision tunnels. "WHAT. THE. HELL."

Taehyun, sipping water like this is live theater: "I like the filter. Very warm."

Beomgyu scrolls, praying this is a fever dream.
The comments crush that hope in half a second.

"IS THAT—WAIT IS THAT GUITAR PRINCE??"
"so he wasn't just teasing us with that clip?? he's in a BAND??"
"oh my god imagine them performing at the FESTIVAL I'D SELL MY KIDNEY."
"syncope?? they really said faint bitch."
"hold on. his snippet today—was that THEIR SONG??"
"pls collab with yeonjun OR FIGHT HIM ON STAGE."

Beomgyu's brain flatlines. His fingers swipe down like muscle memory, but the comments just keep multiplying, mutating into conspiracy threads, edit dumps, thirst essays, shipping wars—

Kai's DM pops up at the top like confetti from hell.

@nothueningsorry: ur welcome king 🔥 we soft-launched u

Followed by a voice note of Kai laughing like a maniac.

"Marketing icon," Taehyun says, scrolling his own feed like this is better than Netflix.

"What."

"You heard me." He tilts the phone so Beomgyu sees @syncope.official's follower count ticking upward like a bomb timer. "Good job, Rockstar. You just doubled our engagement."

Beomgyu stares at him, hollow. "I'm going to fake my death."

"Do it after rehearsal," Taehyun says calmly. "We've got work."

And then—because the universe loves irony—another notification slices through the noise.
Not from @syncope.official.
From the top of his screen.
A DM.

From @yawnjun.

The preview burns into his retina like a curse.

so you're in a band now? cute.

Beomgyu doesn't breathe.
Doesn't blink.
Just stares at the screen while Taehyun, oblivious, hums to himself like a man who knows everything and nothing at once.

The phone vibrates again. Another line.

hope your strings don't snap when the spotlight hits 😉

Beomgyu exhales one word, low and murderous.
"...Bastard."

"Yo—Jun."

Yeonjun doesn't look up. He's busy tightening his laces on the studio floor, hair damp from the last run. His body hums with the clean burn of choreography, but his mind? It's already on the next play.

Soobin, however, sounds like someone just found a dead body.
"Please tell me you've seen this."

A phone shoves into his peripheral vision.
Yeonjun flicks his gaze sideways—and there it is.
@syncope.official.

A photo bright enough to blind. Six guys tangled in instrument cables like an aesthetic crime scene, grins loud enough to hear through the screen.
And dead center, hunched over a guitar like he owns oxygen, Beomgyu.

Yeonjun hums. "Took them long enough."

Soobin blinks. "You knew?"

"Mm." Yeonjun slides his thumb, opening the comments like peeling a lid off chaos. The numbers spike upward so fast the bar graph might have a stroke.

'IS THAT GUITAR PRINCE??'
'syncope??? fainting??? same.'
'HE POSTED A SNIPPET AND NOW THIS?? I CAN'T BREATHE.'
'FESTIVAL WAR INCOMING.'

Behind him, another dancer whistles low. "Bro, they're already at 8K followers. In like... ten minutes."

"Eleven," Soobin corrects, scrolling with grim efficiency. "And the comments are calling it a rivalry. Hashtag's trending. #BeatlineVsSyncope."

The room hums with mixed reactions—half laughter, half tension.
"New competition?"
"Guess the festival just got spicy."
"Bet half the campus will show up just for them now."

Yeonjun tunes it all out. His eyes are still on the photo, on the stupid way Beomgyu's half-turned toward the camera like he didn't mean to get caught but still looks—
He exhales slow through his nose. A smirk curls, sharp and feral.

"Let them climb," he says finally, slipping his phone out of his pocket. "We like high stakes."

Soobin eyes him like he's watching someone set fire to a gasoline lake.
"What are you doing?"

Yeonjun doesn't answer.
He's already in the DMs.

His thumbs move lazy, deliberate. The first message lands like a pebble dropped in glass.

so you're in a band now? cute.

He waits. Watches the preview bubble flicker at the top of the chat.
Then adds a second strike.

hope your strings don't snap when the spotlight hits 😉

Send. Screen locks.
Yeonjun leans back against the mirror, grin widening slow as thunder in the distance.

Because the thing about storms?
They're more fun when you start them yourself.

••••••
alright. 10 chapters binge update. i think that's enough for now? dont ask about my sanity right now. unless u want to pray for it. (pls)
also. hate to say it. this story genre is painfully slow of the slowest burns
ok bye