Syncopation | Yeongyu TXT

25

"Mm. You love me."

"Not tonight."

"Then tomorrow," Taehyun says with a shrug, eyes glinting like he's already won.

Beomgyu flops onto his bed face-first, muffling a groan into the sheets. "Two weeks. That's all. Then I'm free."

Taehyun hums, scrolling again. "Yeah, sure. You keep saying that."

Beomgyu doesn't answer. He just stares at the ceiling through the blur of exhaustion, the faint echo of Yeonjun's laugh still needling somewhere in his chest, and wonders when pretending stopped feeling like pretending.

The Beatline studio smells like floor polish and stale coffee. By the time Yeonjun walks back in, most of Beatline has already scattered—thank God. The post-briefing chatter's gone, leaving only Soobin and Gunwook packing up their laptops near the far table.

Yeonjun drops into a chair, scrolling through his phone, expression unreadable. The chaos he started is still everywhere—his story reposted by fan accounts, Beomgyu's name climbing trends again, edits of their joined hands set to melancholic love songs.

He watches it all for a moment, just long enough to feel the nausea twist in his stomach, then kills the screen and pockets the phone. He's done torturing himself for the day.

"Back from your PR stunt?" Soobin says without looking up.

Yeonjun ignores the jab. "Let's work."

Gunwook, blissfully unaware of the tension crawling under the table, brightens. "Yeah, about that—audition prep. We've got the shortlist."

He slides a folder toward Yeonjun. Inside are neat profiles, names, portfolios. The usual drill: too many kids chasing too few slots.

Yeonjun skims the pages without enthusiasm. "You already filtered this?"

"Yeah," Gunwook says. "These five made it past prelims. Mostly rookies. Except this one—" He taps the last sheet. "Bit of an overachiever."

Yeonjun barely glances. "Let him be the next leader, then," he mutters, flipping to the next page.

Gunwook snorts. "You resigning already?"

Soobin shoots Yeonjun a look. "You're not funny."

Yeonjun smirks, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Wasn't trying to be."

He finally looks back at the profile.

Name: Sung Hanbin
Major: Psychology
Specialty: Tutting / Contemporary fusion
Experience: Five years as a professional backup dancer; assisted choreography for minor label trainees.

Yeonjun pauses, thumb resting on the edge of the paper. That last line catches. Professional backup dancer. Five years.

Gunwook whistles. "Guy's practically overqualified. I don't even know why he's auditioning. Maybe he got bored of psychology."

Soobin leans in. "He's the one with that tutting demo, right? The one that looked... too clean."

Yeonjun nods slowly. "Send me his video."

Gunwook unlocks a laptop, loads a link, and the screen fills with a dim-lit studio. Hanbin appears in frame—fluid, precise, every movement sharp enough to draw air. It's technically flawless, but something about it hits Yeonjun the wrong way. The kind of wrong that feels like a mirror being held too close.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, watching every beat.

Gunwook grins. "He's good, huh?"

Soobin crosses his arms. "He's too good. And before you get any ideas, don't make this guy your next rival. You've already got one PR disaster."