Help, My Buff Roommate is Begging to Touch my Abs - Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Helping with the PPT

The second period was Advanced Mathematics.

The blackboard, covered in functional formulas, looked like a script from another world. Jin Bao’er listened with a furrowed brow, his pen flying across his notebook as he recorded everything, terrified of missing a single word.

Just a few minutes before the end of class, the professor suddenly stopped.

He pushed up his heavy black-framed glasses; his cuffs were buttoned meticulously, and his expression was as grave as someone reading a death sentence.

“We will have a quiz next week. It counts towards your participation grade. Remember, everyone must attend. If you fail or don’t show up, your participation points are gone. If that happens, you’ll need to score at least a 90 on the final exam just to pass the course. In all my years of teaching, someone capable of scoring a 90 on my final hasn’t been born yet.”

He was a classic old-school teacher, the type who clearly never gave students a “free pass.”

The classroom was instantly filled with wails of despair.

The students were thoroughly rattled by this “death threat.” They collectively dropped their playful attitudes, thinking they had better start previewing the material as soon as they got back.

Jin Bao’er also took it seriously, drawing a large star in his notebook and labeling it: “Quiz next week, CRITICAL!”

Turning his head, he saw Zhao Yuheng next to him, still looking down at his phone. The faint blue light of the screen reflected off his face. His thumb moved rapidly, and an occasional sound effect from a short video would leak out.

Jin Bao’er grumbled inwardly. This big dummy… I wonder how he even got into university.

However, Jin Bao’er was entirely mistaken. Just because the guy was playing on his phone didn’t mean he wasn’t learning. He was simply listening to the lecture in the gaps between scrolling through videos.

After class, Jin Bao’er sat with his book trying to review, but he got stuck on a limit problem. He stared at a problem-solving app on his phone for ages, but the steps were skipped so quickly he felt like he was looking through a fog.

“Where are you stuck?”

Zhao Yuheng’s voice suddenly came from above him.

Before Jin Bao’er could react, Zhao Yuheng had already reached out and taken his pen. He leaned forward, bringing with him a faint scent of soap mixed with the smell of sunshine.

In a few quick strokes, he drew a horizontal line under the answer on the scratch paper, the pen tip rustling against the page.

“You don’t need L’Hôpital’s rule for this; substitution is much simpler.”

He pointed at the elegant handwriting, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

Jin Bao’er was stunned. When he finally snapped out of it, he realized that the problem that had given him a headache for half an hour had been solved by this guy in one minute.

After asking, he found out that Zhao Yuheng had scored 145 in Math on the Gaokao (College Entrance Exam). Regular quizzes were a guaranteed full score for him. He was actually still bitter about where those 5 missing points went.

Meanwhile, Jin Bao’er’s math score was only 120. Don’t let the 25-point difference fool you—it represents an unbridgeable chasm in mathematical talent.

Jin Bao’er decided to stop worrying about him. Since the guy had the brains, he’d just stick to his own honest hard work.

…

After the two finished lunch, they headed back to the dorm for a nap.

“Brother Heng, can I borrow your laptop?” Jin Bao’er asked tentatively.

“What do you need it for?” Zhao Yuheng asked while untying his shoelaces.

“To make a PPT.”

“Which teacher gave that assignment?” Zhao Yuheng paused, frowning as he wondered if he had missed another homework deadline.

“No, it’s for the school’s poverty-based financial aid application. I need to make a PPT for the presentation,” Jin Bao’er explained patiently.

“Oh, sure. I’ll give it to you right now.”

“No need, tonight is fine.”

…

That evening, Jin Bao’er returned from his part-time job, his back and muscles aching.

As soon as he entered the dorm, he saw a black laptop bag sitting on his bed. He opened it carefully to find a cool, matte black gaming laptop that carried a rugged aura that suited Zhao Yuheng perfectly.

He powered it on, and the screen lit up.

“Please enter a password.”

“I sent the password to your WeChat,” Zhao Yuheng’s lazy voice drifted down from the top bunk.

Jin Bao’er opened his phone and saw the message: 139xxxx.

A sense of being unconditionally trusted surged in his heart. How could he just hand over something as private as a password so easily? Jin Bao’er licked his dry lips, feeling a strange sweetness in his chest.

Although he had learned basic computer skills in middle and high school, Jin Bao’er only really knew how to turn a computer on and type. He had never actually touched PowerPoint.

He stared at the blue icon for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He typed a line, felt it looked ugly, and deleted it. He picked a template, thought it was too flashy, and switched to a simple one.

The dorm was quiet, save for Zhao Yuheng’s steady breathing and the clumsy clicking of Jin Bao’er’s mouse. The wall clock ticked away until the hands pointed to midnight.

Jin Bao’er rubbed his sore eyes. Looking at the two slides on the screen—which looked like an elementary student’s hand-drawn poster — a sense of frustration washed over him.

At that moment, Zhao Yuheng got up to use the restroom. On his way back, using the light from the hallway, he saw Jin Bao’er still fretting over the computer, his face pale in the glow of the monitor.

“Stop working on it. You have class tomorrow,” Zhao Yuheng reminded him, his voice husky with sleep.

“Okay, almost done.”

Jin Bao’er checked the time; it was indeed late. He quickly saved the file, carefully shut down the laptop, and climbed into bed.

But the PPT needed to be over 20 pages long. Between classes and his part-time job during the day, he only had this one hour at night. Combined with his lack of skill, he was never satisfied and kept making changes. After three nights of staying up late, the progress bar had barely reached one-third.

On the fourth night, Zhao Yuheng returned from the bathroom to find Jin Bao’er still “struggling for survival,” dark circles forming under his eyes.

He finally couldn’t take it anymore.

He walked straight over, snatched the mouse from Jin Bao’er’s hand, and moved the laptop over to himself in one swift motion.

“Send the materials and requirements to my phone.”

“Brother Heng… you’re… you’re going to help me?” Jin Bao’er was stunned.

“I’m watching you go blind,” Zhao Yuheng said, his fingers already flying across the trackpad. “Is this little bit of work really worth taking this long?”

Jin Bao’er rubbed his eyes, his heart blooming with joy. Is “Big Hubby” worried about me? Truthfully, he had wanted to ask for help long ago but didn’t want to be a bother. He hadn’t expected Zhao Yuheng to take the initiative.

Under Zhao Yuheng’s urging, Jin Bao’er quickly sent over the prepared documents.

A man focused on his work really is the most handsome.

Zhao Yuheng’s fingers flew over the keyboard, the rhythmic clicking sounding like a musical performance. He was focused, his usually indifferent eyes now sharp. The jumbled text and images that were a mess in Jin Bao’er’s hands quickly became organized, clean, and professional under Zhao Yuheng’s manipulation.

In less than an hour, Zhao Yuheng closed the laptop.

“Done. Saved it on the E-drive.”

He stood up and gave a massive stretch, his muscle lines faintly visible under his T-shirt.

“Um… Brother Heng, for the presentation in a few days, I might need to use your laptop to… you know, present it…” Jin Bao’er felt a bit embarrassed.

“Take it,” Zhao Yuheng waved him off dismissively.

“But don’t you play games at night?” Jin Bao’er remembered that Zhao Yuheng had a fixed team ranking session every night.

“It’s fine. I can play something else.”

As Zhao Yuheng spoke, he habitually reached out and ruffled Jin Bao’er’s soft buzz cut. Even though they both had buzz cuts, he always seemed to enjoy rubbing Jin Bao’er’s head.

“Thanks a lot, Brother Heng!”

Jin Bao’er hugged the laptop, smiling like a child who had just stolen a piece of candy. Zhao Yuheng ignored him and climbed back into bed. Soon, the bed frame creaked—the weight of a tall, heavy man. Hearing that sound, Jin Bao’er felt exceptionally safe and fell asleep shortly after.

…

Just as Jin Bao’er was drifting off, his phone suddenly vibrated.

It was a WeChat message from his cousin, Liu Yu. Because Jin Bao’er had repeated two grades when he was younger due to poor grades, he and his cousin were actually in the same year now both college freshmen.

Liu Yu: “Bro! Help! We went out for dinner and overspent. The boys and I are trying to scrape together cash for the owner. Lend me 200 yuan, quick!”

Liu Yu: “Just 200! It’s a life-or-death emergency, Bro!”

Jin Bao’er checked the date. It was the end of the month, but he knew Liu Yu’s character.

He replied: “I don’t have it. Go ask your mom.”

Liu Yu replied instantly: “If my mom finds out, she’ll kill me! You’re my only brother in Beijing, my only relative here! Bro, do you have the heart to watch me end up on the streets?”

This was followed by a “kneeling in gratitude” emoji.

Jin Bao’er looked at the screen and sighed helplessly. 200 yuan—it wasn’t that he didn’t have it. Between his part-time job and his novel royalties these past few days, he had saved up over 1,500 yuan. If he lived frugally, it would last him quite a while.

But this money was earned by sacrificing every second of his rest. If he wasn’t in class, he was working as a cashier or writing his novel. He had almost no personal life. Only he knew how hard he worked for that money.

On the other side of the screen, Liu Yu waited anxiously for two minutes.

Finally, the phone buzzed.

Ding.

Transfer successful: 200 yuan.

Liu Yu: “Bro! Thank you, thank you! I’ll come see you in a few days and treat you to something good!”

Jin Bao’er looked at that flimsy “thank you” and didn’t pay it much mind. Liu Yu said those things easily, and Jin Bao’er was numb to it. The money he lent never came back.

So why lend it?

Perhaps it came down to two words: Protective streak.

Even though back home Liu Yu always bullied him grabbing the best food and toys first, leaving Jin Bao’er with the leftovers Jin Bao’er could never forget one thing.

When they were kids and he was being bullied to tears by the fat kid next door, Liu Yu, who was two years younger, had charged in like a little firecracker. Even though Liu Yu ended up with a bruised face and a bloody nose, he had stuck out his neck and roared at the bullies:

“If you ever touch my brother again, I’ll kill you!”

Jin Bao’er remembered those words for a lifetime.