Lin Jian's life is like an overturned palette - scrawled lines, dark circles under the eyes from staying up late, always empty Coke cans, and a stray cat that he secretly named "Boss" nestled in the messy drawings. As a freelance illustrator, there is no "on time" in his dictionary, only "five minutes more".
Until He Yu moved into the dormitory. This meticulous medical student, even his clothes were spotless, seemed to have a precise timer. He was especially good at sending a message as concise as a surgery notification at 4:57 in the morning - the most "out-of-body" moment for Lin Jian to finish writing: [Lin Jian, three minutes to five o'clock.
This "three points" was Lin Jian's ultimatum and He Yu's silent bottom line. When the wall clock actually points to five o'clock, the door lock will turn on time. He Yu would confiscate his Coke, tuck him into bed, or expressionlessly help him fix the faucet that was messed up again - indulging all his little problems, but never giving in to "health" and "safety."
Coke and black coffee collide, and laxity and order confront each other. One is always "almost", and the other always reserves "three points" for him. When the precise scalpel meets the disorderly graffiti lines, He Yu uses rigid rules to weave a web of indulgence. And Lin Jian gradually discovered that the man who always appeared at "three minutes to five" had long become the most indispensable coordinate and salvation in his chaotic world.
Intention: Be positive and enjoy life