Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

16

The silence between them is a live wire.

Yeonjun breaks it first, because of course he does—leaning back against the amp stack like he owns the oxygen in the room, voice dripping honey and gasoline.

"Why make it a big deal?" He shrugs, casual as a cat licking its claws. "You're in a band now. People were going to find out eventually. I just... accelerated the process."

Taehyun's laugh is sharp and humorless. "The audacity."

Yeonjun's brows arch in mock innocence. "What? I did him a favor. Free promo. Exposure."

"Exposure," Taehyun repeats, tone cracking like ice. "He's not a product, you—"

"Could've fooled me," Yeonjun cuts in, grin slicing wider. "The whole campus is obsessed with his little mystery act. Trending edits, thirst threads—hell, people were calling him Guitar Prince before they even knew his name. And now they do. Congratulations."

Beomgyu's chair screeches against the floor as he stands so fast it rattles the mic stand. His fists clench white at his sides, voice shredding raw through the stale air.

"Congratulations for what?"

Yeonjun blinks, momentarily caught off guard by the edge in his tone—but then his grin slinks back like smoke. "For existing, apparently. People love you."

"People don't know me," Beomgyu snaps. His voice isn't loud, but it hits like a blade—low, furious, shaking in a way that feels like it's holding back a scream. "They know a clip. A guitar. A fucking nickname I never asked for."

Yeonjun opens his mouth, but Beomgyu barrels on, words tumbling like glass off a ledge.

"I didn't ask for any of this. Not the stares. Not the comments. Not the fantasy version of me everyone's drooling over like I'm some goddamn mascot." His voice cracks, sharp and bitter. "Why can't people just—leave me the hell alone?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke, thick and choking. For a second, Yeonjun's smirk falters—not much, but enough to spark something unreadable in his eyes.

Then Taehyun moves.

"Enough, Beomgyu." His voice isn't loud, but it's steel wrapped in velvet. It slices clean through the tension as he steps forward, planting himself between them like a barricade. His gaze flicks over Beomgyu's face—and whatever he sees there drains the color from his own.

Because Beomgyu looks pale. Paler than yesterday. Paler than anyone with a pulse should look. His lips are cracked, hands trembling just enough to betray him when they curl into fists.

Taehyun's throat works hard. His voice dips low, almost breaking as he says, "Stop. Please. I don't—I don't want yesterday happening again."

The plea guts the room. Even Yeonjun straightens slightly, brows knitting in something dangerously close to concern.

Beomgyu freezes. His jaw locks, eyes darting away like the floor might swallow him whole.

Yeonjun catches that. Catches the flicker in Taehyun's tone, the word yesterday loaded like a gun with a silencer. His mind hooks on it fast, sharp as a knife.
What the hell happened yesterday?

But he swallows the question, filing it away like a secret waiting to be cracked open.

Taehyun exhales hard, dragging a hand down his face before spearing Yeonjun with a glare so sharp it could cut tendon. "You. Out. Now."

For once, Yeonjun doesn't argue. Not because he's scared—but because his curiosity outweighs his ego. Because the look on Beomgyu's face—half fury, half something cracked and raw—feels like a puzzle he suddenly needs to solve.