Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

22

"Oh my god," Beomgyu whispers, throat tightening like a noose. "They think—what the hell—"

Kai wheezes so hard he almost topples off the stool. "BRO. You're not just rivals now. You're star-crossed exes in the fandom cinematic universe!"

"Kill me," Beomgyu mutters, dragging both hands down his face. "Actually kill me. With this bass."

Jay, grinning like the devil, taps his phone. "You know what this means, right?"

"No," Beomgyu groans into his palms.

"It means," Jay says, voice dripping with mock solemnity, "our band just became collateral damage in the greatest fake soap opera of the decade."

Taehyun doesn't even look up from the screen as he deadpans, "Focus. Or I'm leaking the demo and tagging it #PRincessSessions."

Yujin cackles like a hyena. Kai screams into a hi-hat. And Beomgyu? He just sinks lower in his chair, wishing he could crawl inside the bass case and live there forever.

But even as laughter ricochets off the walls, even as the timeline burns outside, the guilt crawls back under his skin like splinters.
Was I too harsh?
The question digs deep. Won't let go.

He forces his focus back to the page. To the chord chart. To anything that doesn't sound like Yeonjun's voice in his head.

Because the last thing Beomgyu needs—after everything—is that fire in his chest turning into something he can't put out.

The apartment door clicks shut behind Soobin like a final warning shot.

"Draft something. Sooner, not later," he'd said, voice sharp enough to draw blood.
Yeonjun had nodded, because what else was there to do? Let the internet sharpen its teeth until there's nothing left but bone?

Now the room feels hollow. Too quiet, too big. The hum of the city outside crawls through the windows, neon bleeding like bruises against the walls. Yeonjun sits at the desk with his laptop glowing pale and cold, cursor blinking over two words in the notes app.

I'm Sorry.

It looks like a tombstone.

He stares at the screen until the letters blur, heartbeat loud enough to drown out thought. He's been through public storms before—snide comments, petty fan wars, rival crews throwing shade in subtweets—but this? This feels different. This feels like a free fall where the ground keeps dropping.

He exhales slow, drags a hand through his hair, and forces his fingers to the keys.

I want to address what happened yesterday—

Delete. Too formal. Too fake. Try again.

To everyone who's been hurt or disappointed—

Delete. God, no. He sounds like a politician begging for votes.
Yeonjun bites down on the inside of his cheek until the taste of iron blooms.

Maybe Soobin's right. Maybe there's no version of this that doesn't sound like theater. Because isn't that what this is? A show. A stage without lights. And Yeonjun has always known how to perform, even when his chest feels like it's cracking.

The thought curdles something in his gut. He slams the laptop shut like it insulted him. Grabs his phone instead—because if he's going down, he might as well see how bad the fire is burning.

He shouldn't have looked.
God, he shouldn't have looked.

#BeomjunBreakup?? – 2.4M Tweets
#SlapOfLove – 1.8M Tweets
#PRinceAndPrincess – climbing like a goddamn rocket.