Almost every afternoon, the campus cafeteria buzzed with familiar energy. It was one of the few moments when their hectic schedules aligned, and all of them gathered around the same table.

Seonghwa arrived first, sketches sticking out from a worn portfolio, coffee in hand and dark circles under his eyes. He always chose the corner seat, furthest from noise, yet always in perfect view of the others.

Hongjoong showed up next, earbuds still in, a loose hoodie slightly stained with ink. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but the light in his eyes—an idea he hadn’t yet shared—kept him animated. He placed his laptop on the table but didn’t open it.

Yunho walked in, play scripts poking out of his tote bag and a lightness in his step that contrasted with the stress around him. His presence made the others sit straighter, even if they didn’t notice it. He brought the warmth of a spotlight without needing one.

Yeosang arrived with quiet precision. His uniform-like outfit barely wrinkled, his notes tucked into a binder perfectly aligned. He offered a slight nod before taking his seat, observant, silent, always listening more than speaking.

San’s gym bag hit the floor with a dull thud. Sweat still clung to his forehead, but he didn’t mind. His body never stayed still—legs bouncing, fingers tapping. Despite the exhaustion, there was a strange peace in his movement, like restlessness was his rhythm.

Mingi almost crashed into the table with a half-spin, earbuds blasting music even from a distance. He sat backwards on the chair for no reason other than comfort, legs stretching out like he owned the place. There was rhythm in how he moved, even when he wasn't trying.

Wooyoung arrived late, holding a small tupperware of pastries he "accidentally" made too much of. He threw himself into the chair with flair, his apron still tied around his waist. His energy always came in waves—chaotic, warm, a little too loud, but never unwelcome.

Jongho was last, as usual. Not because he was late, but because he made sure everything else was done before allowing himself a break. His presence grounded the table—solid, quiet, firm. His textbooks were heavier than most, and so was the weight of his discipline.

They didn’t always talk much during a few minutes but then they started chatting happily or others just listening. Sometimes they just need a breathing between the pressure of exams, performances, labs and critiques. But here, among half-eaten snacks, tangled bags, and soft music in the background, they found something comfort and safely.

Even if only for an hour, they weren’t students chasing futures—they were just people, orbiting the same table, part of the same story.