Chapter Text
Story inspo from this: 
Zhang Shuaibo was running purely on caffeine, adrenaline, and sheer academic despair.
He had no idea what time it was anymore. The fluorescent lights in the DLSU-D computer lab hummed above him like indifferent gods, watching over a battlefield of sleepless students and dying dreams. He’d been there long enough for the bright morning crowd to fade into the slow afternoon lull, and then into the pre-dinner panic hour when everyone suddenly remembered their deadlines.
The air buzzed with quiet chaos: the low hum of CPUs, the rapid clatter of keyboards, and the desperate squeal of a printer that had clearly seen better days. Students muttered curses under their breath, traded hushed formatting tips, or begged the universe for one last ounce of focus. Someone’s phone kept vibrating on the next desk, ignored in favor of a doomed attempt to finish an essay before five.
And right in the center of it all sat Shuaibo—bleary-eyed, slouched forward, and vibrating with the kind of energy only caffeine and sheer willpower could produce. His fingers moved across the keyboard with the urgency of someone performing digital CPR.
Beside him, an almost-empty cup of iced coffee sat sweating onto the table, the condensation forming a faint ring around his student ID. A neon sticky note with half-legible reminders clung to the base of the monitor, looking just as exhausted as its owner.
He wasn’t supposed to be here this long. If his beloved laptop hadn’t decided to die on him two days ago, he’d be in his dorm right now, typing comfortably in bed with lo-fi beats playing in the background. But his trusty companion was currently in a repair shop in Greenhills, under the care of a technician his cousin had recommended. The man had taken one look at the laptop, frowned, and said in an ominous tone, “Boss, may problema yata sa motherboard nito.”
That was how Shuaibo ended up here, camped out in the computer lab like a digital refugee surviving on caffeine, crackers, and pure determination.
“Five minutes before the deadline,” he muttered, eyes darting between his Word document and the small digital clock on the screen. “Come on, come on…”
His Marketing report, a twenty-page monstrosity filled with charts, graphs, and last-minute statistics, was finally coming together. He switched rapidly between PowerPoint, Word, and Google Docs, whispering pep talks to himself one second and scolding the computer the next.
“Don’t you dare freeze on me now,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”
The upload bar crawled painfully forward. Eighty-two percent. Ninety-one. Ninety-seven.
He held his breath.
Then—finally—100%.
The LMS flashed a glorious green banner: File Submitted Successfully.
Shuaibo leaned back in his chair, releasing a shaky exhale that sounded half like relief and half like disbelief.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, pressing his palms together. “Thank you, Lord. I can finally sleep—”
His gaze flicked to the clock.
And his heart stopped.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed. “My only class for today starts in three minutes!”
Instant panic.
He shot up from his chair so fast it screeched across the floor, startling the girl beside him. He gathered his things in a frenzy— flash drive, phone, notebook, and the iced coffee that had been his emotional support all day. The “No Food or Drinks” sign by the door mocked him from a distance, but he didn’t care.
In his rush, his pen rolled under the next computer, forcing him to crouch down and fumble for it beneath the desk. “Sorry—sorry—sorry,” he blurted to the confused student watching him scramble.
When he finally stood, hair sticking out wildly, he slung his half-zipped bag over his shoulder and began weaving through the narrow rows of cubicles. His books wobbled dangerously in one arm, and his wired earphones dangled from his pocket like loose vines.
“Excuse me, sorry, excuse me,” he muttered as he squeezed past two students. He looked less like a college student and more like a man escaping a collapsing building.
By the time he reached the hallway, the bell had already started ringing.
He broke into a half-run across campus, clutching his coffee like a lifeline.
“Please let Sir Castillo not take attendance right away,” he muttered under his breath. “Please, please, please.”
Then it hit him.
Mid-stride.
He froze.
“Oh no.”
He hadn’t shut down the computer.
Worse, he hadn’t logged out of anything.
Not his DLSU-D email.
Not his OneDrive.
Not his LMS.
Not even his Spotify, which was still blasting his “Study or Die” playlist.
Back in the quiet hum of the computer lab, the monitor he had just abandoned still glowed softly, the cursor blinking beside a cheerful greeting: Welcome, Zhang Shuaibo.
Meanwhile, he was already halfway across campus, hair defying gravity, iced coffee sloshing with every step, and absolutely unaware of what he’d just left behind.
Somewhere in that same lab, someone else was about to sit down at his still-logged-in computer.
A small, innocent mistake.
One that would soon change not just his semester… but maybe, just maybe— his entire love life.
Forever.
TBC~