The dim-lit gaming lounge buzzed with low static, rows of monitors flickering like dying stars. A few still glowed with harsh white light, casting long shadows over young faces. They were college kids—fresh-faced, supposed to be full of life—but in this place, they looked drained, haunted, like soldiers on leave from some invisible war.
Nathan Carter sat among them.
He blamed the vibe entirely on the place itself—cracked vinyl sofas, grease-stained desks, grimy black keyboards clogged with crumbs, and mice that barely tracked. The single ceiling bulb cast a piss-yellow glow like it was trying to set the mood for a depression club. Even if a Hollywood heartthrob sat here, he'd look like a deranged hacker on his last life.
The place hadn't changed in decades. Nestled in the edge of a dying strip mall across from campus, it felt like someone had dragged 2002 back from the dead. Every time Nathan walked in, it sent him tumbling into nostalgia—back to sneaking out at age nine to play Counter-Strike until sunrise. That golden era had ended with a belt and a week of lost screen time. But honestly? Even that old place looked fancier than this dump.
...
In the smartphone age, gaming cafés were dinosaurs. But Nathan's university was in the middle of nowhere, and the dorm Wi-Fi was basically a myth past midnight. Sure, you could use mobile data—but for guys like Nathan, who took the "This content is best viewed on Wi-Fi" warning as gospel, this rundown lounge was the last bastion for live-streaming 3AM esports.
Suddenly, his phone exploded with a gravelly rock ringtone—too loud, too aggressive, way too jarring for the hushed space.
He flinched. Lucas Wang calling.
"Where are you?" came Lucas's voice, sharp and to the point.
"Gaming café. What's wrong?"
"Get back. Now. RA's doing random dorm checks. Brought one of the new admin interns too."
"Dude, it's past ten."
"Perfect time. If you're not in, you're officially 'missing.'"
Nathan cursed under his breath. First all-nighter of the semester—and they finally decide to enforce dorm policy?
Without another word, he logged out, shoved his phone into his pocket, and bolted into the night.
The campus was built on the outskirts of a "developing zone"—a fancy way of saying empty, barren, still figuring things out. There were no streetlights, barely any stores, and the sidewalks were mostly cracked concrete and gravel. The dorms sat at the far edge, past a winding, half-finished road that looked like it led straight into a horror movie.
Nathan ran through the dark, shoes thudding on the pavement, breath loud in his ears.
Ding.
Message.
Lucas again:
"They're on our floor now! One of the new RAs is with them—wait, I think it's your ex."
Nathan nearly tripped. He yanked out his phone mid-sprint and replied with a voice message:
"Just passed the science hall! Stall for me—two minutes!"
Seven minutes later, Nathan burst into the dorm building—and ran straight into the last person he wanted to see.
"Look who finally showed up," said Quinn Yeats, arms crossed, standing in front of his door.
Nathan forced a smile. "Evening, Quinn."
Same old Quinn—sharp jawline, clean cut, good at everything, annoyingly composed. And now, apparently, a campus RA.
They stared at each other for a beat too long.
"Where were you?" Quinn asked evenly.
"Fresh air."
"No check-in. That's a demerit."
Lucas, standing behind, had "oh crap" written all over his face.
"But..." Quinn tilted his head. "You did rush back. I'll let it slide. This time."
Nathan didn't respond. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Quinn glanced around the dorm room. His gaze landed on the fake desktop tower sitting under Nathan's desk.
"Seriously?" he said, walking over. "Who even uses these anymore?"
Before anyone could stop him, Quinn knelt down, popped the side panel off with a practiced flick—click.
Inside: no motherboard, no GPU, no wires.
Just a hidden stash of forbidden dorm appliances.
Two mini water boilers. One toaster. One vintage hair dryer.
"Well," Quinn said, standing up and writing in his little black notebook. "You know the rules."
Nathan didn't speak. His soul had already left his body.
...
Back in bed after lights-out, Nathan lay curled under the blanket, phone in hand, fingers flying.
[What the hell is wrong with you?!]
The reply came quickly.
[A man's gotta do what he's gotta do.]
[That was personal revenge and you know it!]
[Do we even have beef?]
Nathan paused.
Did they?
Not really.
Their short-lived fling had ended quietly—no drama, no yelling. They'd even still nod at each other in the dining hall. There was a time Quinn had smiled and whispered in his ear about how he'd hidden all his dorm contraband in a hollowed-out PC case. It had been kind of... hot.
Until tonight.
Tonight, that "cute secret" had blown up in Nathan's face.
Another buzz.
This time from Lucas:
[That was him?]
[Yeah.]
[He's kinda hot.]
[Hot doesn't save your gadgets from confiscation.]
[So what did you like about him?]
Nathan hesitated, then typed:
[Generous.]
He hit send.
Then stared in horror at the screen.
The message read:
[Big]
[…]
[Sleepy. Night.]
"NO! WAIT! COME BACK! I MEANT TO SAY GENEROUS—NOT—BIG—OH GOD."
Nathan buried his face in his pillow.
This night couldn't get any worse.