L

The Student Union building was usually a chaotic symphony of slamming locker doors, overpriced coffee machines, and the frantic shuffling of feet. But Room 302, tucked away at the end of a quiet corridor, felt like a different world entirely.

Yunho adjusted his backpack strap, feeling a rare surge of nerves. Behind him, the rest of the group was uncharacteristically subdued. Even Wooyoung, who usually had enough energy to power the entire campus, was fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

"Okay, remember what the coordinator said," Yeosang murmured, his voice steadying the group. "We aren't here to be heroes or babysitters. We’re here to be peers. Just act like yourselves."

"Easier said than done," Mingi muttered, though he offered a small, supportive smile. "I just don't want to accidentally step on anyone's toes. Or, you know, say something stupid."

"You always say something stupid, Mingi. That’s your brand," San joked, nudging him with an elbow. The tension broke slightly as they pushed open the heavy oak door.

Inside, the room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun. Two students were already seated at a large circular table near the window.

One of them was hunched over a tablet, his face mere inches from the screen. He wore thick, black-framed glasses that seemed far too large for his sharp features, the lenses so dense they slightly distorted the shape of his eyes. His straight black hair fell in a heavy fringe, obscuring his forehead and brushing against the top of his frames.

The other student sat perfectly upright, his posture elegant and relaxed. He had soft, dark hair that framed a face of striking, gentle beauty. When the door clicked shut, he didn’t turn his head, but his eyes remained fixed on the person beside him, watching with an expression of quiet patience.

"Hi there!" Jongho called out, his voice naturally projecting across the room.

The boy with the thick glasses flinched slightly, his head snapping up. He squinted, his eyes darting behind the lenses as he tried to locate the source of the sound. He reached up, pushing his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose, but the movement seemed more like a habit than a fix.

"Hello?" the boy said, his voice raspy but firm. "Is that the volunteer group?"

The second boy, the one with the gentle face, noticed the movement. He tapped the other’s arm lightly, then turned toward the door. As his eyes landed on the six newcomers, a bright, welcoming smile broke across his face.

He raised his hands in a fluid motion, his fingers dancing through the air with practiced grace. As he signed, he spoke, his voice carrying a unique, airy quality—slightly melodic and carefully measured.

"Hello. I am Seonghwa," he said, his hands mimicking the sentiment in Korean Sign Language. "It is very nice to meet you all. This is Hongjoong."

Hongjoong waved a hand vaguely in their direction, though his gaze was anchored somewhere to the left of where Yunho was actually standing. "I’m the one who can’t see you, and he’s the one who can’t hear you. We’re a matched set. Efficiency at its finest."

The bluntness of the statement caught them off guard, but Wooyoung let out a bright laugh that immediately filled the room. "I like him already. I’m Wooyoung! This is San, Yunho, Yeosang, Mingi, and the one who sounds like a gym teacher is Jongho."

The group moved closer, pulling up chairs to join them at the table.

"Sorry if we’re a bit loud," San said, then immediately looked at Seonghwa with a sheepish expression. "Oh, wait. Sorry."

Seonghwa laughed, a soft sound that seemed to vibrate in his chest. He watched San’s lips closely, then signed and spoke simultaneously. "It is okay. I can feel the energy. You are very... vibrant."

"He reads lips," Hongjoong explained, finally setting his tablet aside. He leaned back, his eyes hidden behind the reflection of his thick lenses. "But if you all talk at once, he’s going to get a migraine trying to track you. And if you move around too much while talking to me, I’m just going to end up talking to a wall. So, let’s keep the chaos organized, yeah?"

Yunho sat across from Hongjoong, noticing how the older boy’s hands hovered near the edge of the table, constantly seeking tactile landmarks. "We can do that. We’re actually here because we wanted to help with the note-taking and the campus navigation program. I heard you’re a music major, Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong’s entire demeanor shifted. A spark of pride lit up his face. "Composition and Production. It’s the one thing I don't need my eyes for. I can see the sound in my head better than I can see this room."

"That’s incredible," Yeosang said softly. "I’m in Art History. I can’t imagine studying something so reliant on a single sense."

"It’s not just one sense," Seonghwa intervened, his hands moving slowly so they could follow. "Music is feeling. When Hongjoong works in the studio, I sit on the floor. I can feel the bass in the wood. We work together. He tells me what the colors of the sound are, and I help him find the right buttons on the board when his eyes get too tired."

The group fell into a comfortable rhythm. They spent the next hour discussing schedules and logistics, but the conversation frequently veered into personal anecdotes. They learned that Hongjoong was legally blind due to a degenerative condition and that his glasses only served to distinguish light from shadow and large shapes. They learned that Seonghwa had been deaf since birth and was a dance major, utilizing the vibrations of the music to keep perfect time.

"Wait, you’re a dancer?" Mingi’s eyes widened. "San and Wooyoung are in the dance department too!"

Seonghwa’s eyes lit up. "Really? Which style?"

"Contemporary and Urban," San replied, leaning forward and making sure to speak clearly so Seonghwa could see his mouth. "We should go to the studio together sometime. I’d love to see how you interpret the rhythm."

Seonghwa nodded enthusiastically, his hands flying. "I would love that. It is hard to find partners who are patient with the count."

While the dancers talked, Hongjoong shifted his attention toward Jongho and Yunho. "I heard you guys are the 'muscle' of the group. Does that mean you’re going to carry me to my 8:00 AMs? Because the hill up to the music wing is a nightmare."

"I’ll carry you on my back if I have to," Jongho said with a straight face.

Hongjoong let out a sharp, surprised laugh. "I might hold you to that, kid."

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the room in deep purples and oranges, the atmosphere felt less like a formal meeting and more like a gathering of old friends.

"Hey, Hongjoong," Wooyoung said, leaning closer. "Can I ask... what does it look like for you? Right now?"

The room went quiet. It was the kind of question people usually avoided out of politeness, but Wooyoung’s tone was genuinely curious, devoid of pity.

Hongjoong reached up, adjusting his glasses again. He turned his head toward the window, where the sunset was at its brightest. "Imagine you’re looking through a thick layer of plastic wrap that’s been smeared with Vaseline. Then, turn the brightness up until it hurts. I can see that the sun is over there," he pointed, his finger only a few inches off the mark. "And I can see that you’re a dark shape against a lighter background. But your faces? Those are just blurs. I know who you are by your voices and the way you move the air when you sit down."

He turned back to the table, a smirk playing on his lips. "It makes things interesting. I don't judge people by their looks. I judge them by how much noise they make when they chew."

Mingi immediately stopped mid-snack, his mouth full of a granola bar, causing the entire table to erupt in laughter.

Seonghwa watched them, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out and gently squeezed Hongjoong’s hand on the table—a silent, grounding gesture.

"We are happy you came," Seonghwa said, his voice soft but clear. "Sometimes, college feels very big and very quiet. Or very blurry."

"Well, it’s about to get a lot louder," Yunho promised. "And we’ll make sure you both get where you’re going."

As they began to pack up their things, Yeosang noticed Hongjoong struggling to find his cane, which had slipped slightly under the table. Instead of grabbing it for him, Yeosang tapped the table near where the cane was.

"To your left, about six inches," Yeosang said calmly.

Hongjoong’s hand swept the area, found the grip, and pulled it up with a nod of thanks. "Good eye, Yeosang."

"I try," Yeosang smiled.

They walked out of the building together, the six of them forming a protective but unobtrusive circle around Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Outside, the campus was alive with the evening rush.

"Dinner?" San suggested. "There’s a place nearby that has the best spicy rice cakes, and the lighting is really dim. Good for light sensitivity, right?"

Hongjoong grinned, his black hair swaying as he nodded. "You’ve done your homework. Lead the way, San."

Seonghwa watched the exchange, then looked at the group of boys surrounding them. He felt the vibration of their footsteps on the pavement, a steady, rhythmic pulse that felt like a new song beginning. He signed a single word to himself, a small gesture close to his chest: *Family.*

Hongjoong couldn't see the sign, and he couldn't see the smiles on his new friends' faces, but as he felt the warmth of the evening air and the steady presence of the people beside him, he realized he didn't need to. For the first time in a long time, the world didn't feel like a series of obstacles. It felt like an invitation.

"Hey, Yunho," Hongjoong called out as they reached the curb.

"Yeah?"

"Don't let me walk into that pole."

Yunho laughed, reaching out to lightly catch Hongjoong’s elbow to guide him around the obstruction. "I’ve got you, Hyung. I’ve got you."

The group moved forward into the twilight, their voices and laughter weaving together, creating a map that no eyes or ears could ever fully capture—a map of friendship, carved out of the silence and the shadows.