The dorm was smaller than any of them expected — a single room with white walls, four bunk beds, and a cracked window that let in the noise of campus life. It was supposed to fit eight college students. It barely fit their personalities.

Namjoon arrived first. Thick glasses, tall, calm. He dropped two heavy literature textbooks on the desk and sighed. His major: philosophy. His aesthetic: beige sweaters and endless notebooks. "Okay, this is… cozy," he muttered, pushing his suitcase under the bottom bunk like he was negotiating with it.

Then the door burst open with Seokjin — bright smile, perfect hair, rolling in a massive pink suitcase. "Everyone move. I’m taking the top bunk near the window. Natural light is essential for my skin." His major was culinary arts, though he looked like a lifestyle influencer. Within minutes, he was arranging his skincare bottles in a perfect line on the shelf.

Yoongi came next, dragging a black duffel bag and a keyboard under his arm. He looked half-asleep. "I hope no one snores," he said flatly, plugging in his laptop before even saying hi. His bed — the lower corner — quickly became a mini music studio: wires, a mic stand, a quiet hum of beats through headphones.

Hoseok arrived in full color. His hoodie was lime green, his shoes red, and his smile brighter than the fluorescent lights. "Roommates! Let’s go!" He high-fived everyone whether they wanted it or not. Dance major. Always bouncing, always moving, already talking about choreography while unpacking a dozen energy drinks.

Jimin slipped in quietly behind him, hair soft and neat, smile sweet but cautious. He studied fashion design — his clothes said it all. Pastel sweaters, soft cologne, a touch of gold at his wrist. He took the bunk under the window and neatly arranged his side with folded clothes and a scented candle. "It’s cute here," he said politely, though his eyes said it’s chaos.

Taehyung followed soon after, one hand in his pocket, the other carrying a canvas and a camera. Art major. Vintage shirt, wide pants, slow voice. He didn’t rush to claim a bed — just stood there, studying the light. "The window faces west. Perfect for evening portraits," he said to no one in particular before finally sitting down.

Then came Jungkook — youngest, tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, laptop bag over his shoulder. He looked around, hair half-tied, casual and confident. Graphic design major, gym freak, gamer. "Anyone mind if I take the bottom bunk near the outlet?" he asked, already plugging in his laptop before anyone could answer.

And last, the door opened again — Niko stepped in.

Every head turned. Eight guys now, all different, all from different lives — suddenly forced to share one cramped room.

Namjoon smiled softly. "You’re our final roommate, huh?"

Seokjin pointed toward the last empty bunk. "You can have that one. It’s under me, so if I fall, I’m blaming you."

Hoseok laughed. "We’re basically family now, so get ready for chaos!"

Yoongi didn’t look up. "Just don’t touch my stuff and we’ll be fine."

Jungkook glanced over, half a smirk playing on his lips. "Welcome to the madhouse."

The room looked like a storm of personalities — paint tubes beside protein powder, philosophy books beside dance sneakers, ramen beside cologne. Every inch was already claimed, yet it still felt like a blank canvas waiting for the kind of stories that only happen between strangers.

And as the night went on, laughter started mixing with music, footsteps, and late-night whispers. Eight strangers from different worlds — all learning how to live, breathe, and grow between four bunk beds and too many dreams.