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Jackson's train of concentration was abruptly interrupted by the faint sound of the halls of residence's ringing telephone. He furrowed his brows, his hands hovering over the keys of his typewriter, suddenly unable to continue any further with the unwavering distraction beyond the walls of his dorm room. He had been so close to getting to the sweet spot of the paragraph; the part that would contain unfathomably brilliant wisdom that only experience could muse on a rainy Sunday night.

After a minute of sitting there in a state of literary paralysis, he admitted defeat and got to his feet. It was frustrating for two reasons: he was the only person on the floor of his residence because almost half of the boarding students went to a party at a big house with its own cinema, which meant that it was solely his responsibility to answer the stupid phone. The second reason was that he was determined to finish his assignment as soon as possible so that he could edit it with pretty words that meant ultimately nothing in the grander scheme of his assignment. 

Moving away from his desk and opening the door, Jackson was swift to make his way down the other end of the hall, where the pay phone was located. His sneakers held a swift yet silent pace to them, his gaze fixed on the dim light fixture that hung at the other end of the otherwise dark hallway. Someone called at such an intimate time at night, only to be disappointed by a sleep-addled stranger. 

Picking up the phone, he mumbled out a flat: "What do you want?"

For a small eternity, no one answered. Jackson fought the urge to shout expletives to the phone, because pranks had never been remotely hilarious to him, but the frayed edges of his sown up fury just managed to keep him composed. His teeth grinded against each other, stuck glaring at the bright gleam of the pay phone's metalwork, which was reflecting the light from the fixture above it. 

"Who is this?"

The voice was muffled, made tinny by the phone's poor audio output. He knew the voice sounded distinctly male, yet, the age of the voice's owner wasn't as easily identifiable. For all Jackson could guess, it would be somewhere between a high school senior with a smoking addiction and a croaky elderly man. Not a very narrow estimate. 

For the sake of the possibility that it might be a senile man trying to call a relative, he decided to reply, though rather impatiently. "Depends. Who are you trying to reach, exactly?"

"What number is this?"

It was almost as if he could hear the man on the phone smiling — a quick curve of the lips that fuelled the playfulness in his tone. This was no senile man. After all, it was almost midnight. He'd wager the man on the phone was reclining on an office chair with his friends, feet propped up on a desk, smirking at the prospect of scaring him silly. The thought was enough for him to sneer. 

"The wrong number. Don't call again."

He slammed the phone back in its place. There was a rush of satisfaction knowing that he probably ruined some freshman high school kid's night of fun. Turning back, he was swallowed by the darkness of the hallway, squinting in the faint light to locate his own room before opening the door. 

His room was humble enough — befitting of an English major. His single sized bed was pushed against the far wall of his room, where there was a rectangular window that sat a few inches above his mattress. The window sill was a quaint little spot where Bea and Stevie adorned the space with a soft brown teddy bear clutching a copy of Alexander Pope's An Essay on Criticism. It was his friends' way of hinting at Jackson that they way he criticised his work was ultimately worse than anything he could ever write. 

A messy desk was pressed all the way to the right side of the wall, which was a mere three steps away from the door. His typewriter sat in the center of his desk, with strewn pages of blank paper and paper with mistakes on them on each side of it. The mistakes contained feeble attempts to write poetry; attempts so humiliating that he wanted to throw himself on the ground and lay there like the discarded, scrunched up wads of paper near his desk chair. 

As soon as he took one step into his room, the pay phone rang again. He let out a tired groan, spinning around to make his way back to the phone. The sound it made was irritating, he'd rather endure a worried parent asking about their grown adult of a child than listening to his incessant ringing. 

When he picked up the phone, his answer was brief. "Yes?"

"Do you like scary movies?"

"What?" What kind of person starts a conversation like that? Why the hell does that even matter? "I'm hanging up."

"I don't think so, Jackson."

Panic ran rampant in his chest, making him straighten and look around the hallway wildly. It was the stranger from before, and he knew Jackson's name. He fucking knew Jackson's name, Jesus Christ. 

"That's not my name," Jackson's voice was failing him, his throat constricting as he spoke, so that the second half of his lie was lowered to a whisper. "So stop calling."

"Don't you fucking dare hang up—"

Jackson slammed the phone back in its place before the stalker on the phone could finish his sentence. His hands were trembling, his throat struggling to swallow when fear was overtaking his rationality. It was best to get back to his room and lock the door before someone took the opportunity to murder him. 

When he got back to his room, he rushed to open the door and close it behind him, fumbling with the lock behind him. His eyes were solely focused instead on the open window blowing his curtains around, the copy of Pope's essay knocked to his bed, his teddy bear gone from his line of sight. Jackson swore he could feel his blood run cold... or maybe it was flashing with intense heat from panicking that it felt cold to him. Both extremes made him shiver, his voice caught in his own throat. 

How did the window...?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made him jerk his head to the right, where Kai Parker sat on Jackson's chair, holding up the teddy bear. He was dressed in his usual blue jeans and denim jacket, chewing gum like he was God's fucking gift. The grin on the Parker's face was infuriating. Jackson was thankful for the temporary feeling of annoyance, although it didn't do anything for the fear that came rushing back in like high tide. 

"How the hell did you get here?" Jackson demanded, taking a step away from the door. "I would've heard the elevators."

Kai's grin wavered, visibly noting how high strung the Campbell was. "You seem tense."

"Kai!" He snapped, rushing forwards to snatch the bear away from him. For a psychology major, the Parker was useless at diffusing a situation. "Answer the question." 

"I climbed the lattice fence," Gesturing to the window, Kai added: "I didn't want the RA down there to see me. She's annoying." He made a face of distaste. "I think she has a crush on me."

Jackson stared down at the teddy bear. The person on the phone was a male, and there was a couple of minutes between the time Jackson hung up and tried to find his room in the darkness of the hallway. Kai would've definitely prank called him for a laugh; he never knew when to draw the line with his insensitivity. 

"Were you the man who was calling me?" The question fell past his lips before he fully registered his own words. 

Silence. Irritated by a lack of an answer, Jackson glared over at Kai. In response, Kai's expression only indicated wariness and concern, as if he was unsure how he should answer the question. One wrong step and Jackson would break. The thought of bursting into laughter certainly passed his mind, although he wasn't necessarily looking for a trip to a psychiatric hospital. 

"I didn't call you," Kai answered, softly. His steely blue eyes and furrowed brows indicated confusion, along with the slow snapping of gum. "What happened?"

"A man called and he knew my name just by my voice," Jackson's grip on the teddy bear tightened. "Are you sure it wasn't you? Where is your phone?"

With a quick raise of an eyebrow, Kai made a show of standing up and turning around in a full circle, in an effort to prove himself innocent. Although Jackson saw no bulge of a landline, he still couldn't help but feel annoyed by the manner in which he reassured the Campbell. It was almost mockingly, no doubt a symptom of Kai's insensitivity. 

Perhaps it was best that he made himself comfortable in his own room. Jackson sat himself on his bed while Kai sat back down on the office chair, deciding to ask: "When was the last time you slept?" 

It felt like an accusation. Jackson's teeth grinded against each other, a terrible habit, before letting out an answer. "What are you trying to say?"

"Well..." Kai seemed to be attempting to find the right words to explain his thoughts. "Sleep deprivation can cause hallucinations. And you kinda sacrifice sleep a lot. There's no way I was the one calling you unless my phone just so happened to disappear in a puff of smoke." He waggled his splayed fingers. "Poof!"

This was followed by Kai chuckling at his own little joke. Tactless asshole. Jackson was aware it was Kai's own way of expressing concern over his health and wellbeing, which was a somewhat valiant effort for someone with his condition and background. But it ultimately felt like Kai was dismissing his stress and calling him crazy.

"I wasn't hallucinating," Jackson's words were hardly louder than a whisper. "Someone's trying to wind me up. It could be Jimmy."

A grumble came from the Parker. "Whatever. Good to know I was the first person you thought of when a weird, creepy guy calls you at dead of night."

"Don't start," Jackson scoffed. "Lots of people think you're weird. You're a white boy with a pocket knife on you at all times. Frankly, I'm almost surprised you haven't stabbed anyone with it."

"You think I'm gonna stab you? Is that it?" When Jackson shrugged, his lips twisted to a dry smile, the brunet rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, Jack. If I'm gonna stab anyone, I wouldn't start with you. Duh."

Jesus bloody Christ. "Freak."

Kai stopped chewing his gum, raising both eyebrows at him. "Look who's talking: you're an antisocial loner who wears coats indoors. You hide your stash of bourbon in your closet behind you, but everyone knows you're a functioning alcoholic. But by all means, point the finger at me, why don't ya?"

"Fuck you."

"You do fuck me," Kai paused, gesturing vaguely. "Well, you did. Now I'm not so sure you can get it up anymore."

If there was anything anyone could say to get Jackson to snap, that was it. He stood from his bed, glowering at the Parker who now suddenly decided to bite his own tongue. The thought of his face being as red hot as it felt was well beyond humiliating. "Get out."

For some reason, Kai looked as if he felt discomfort with his own regret. "Jack..."

"GET OUT!" Jackson's voice was hoarse from the sudden volume. "GET THE FUCK—"

Swiftly getting to his feet, Kai grabbed Jackson and pressed him against the wall, just a few inches away from the door. The sudden movement was enough to make him drop the bear that was in his grasp. Kai's hand clamped over the Campbell's mouth before he could shout out anything else, trapping the writer with his body. Something aromatic clung to the Parker's jacket. Like the way a forest of pine trees smelt after a rainstorm, or the sea air at the beach. Under the warm yellow glow of the light fixture above them, the Parker's irises morphed into a brown colour. 

"Shut up!" hissed Kai, his pale eyes flickering between Jackson's dark irises. "Do you really want Lindsay to embarrass the both of us by flirting with me?" He exhaled through his mouth, and Jackson could smell the spearmint gum on the Parker's tongue. "I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't have said that. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, believe me."

All that the English major could do was glare at Kai, waiting for him to step away and give him space. Reluctantly, Kai lifted his hand away from Jackson's mouth, and Jackson nearly shoved Kai away because of that show of distrust. 

"You called me crazy," He hissed, glowering down at Kai. "I know what I heard. He knew my name and he threatened me not to hang up - I figured you of all people would believe me."

"You're not crazy, okay? You're not. Of course I believe you," Then, as he lingered there for a moment: "Please don't scream."

The thought of shouting loud enough to get Lindsay's attention was certainly appealing. The look of irritation and betrayal would almost be enough to compensate his own vexation. "Then get away from me. And tell me what you were doing here in the first place."

There was no need to tell Kai twice. He stepped away, somewhat tentatively, before turning around and scooping up the bear Jackson had dropped. Then, Kai being Kai, he made himself at home by plopping onto Jackson's bed. It pained Jackson to know that tonight was going to be a long night. Better to give himself leave from his assignment and give the diva the attention he wants than write poorly and start all over again. 

"I was minding my own business, watching that stupid movie Ghost. Y'know, the one with Patrick Swayze being dead and all, and Demi Moore existing for two hours?" Kai began tossing the teddy bear into the air and catching it. "Anyway, I thought to myself woah, isn't it weird that I totally understand what it's like dating a ghost? I mean, it's crazy, right?"

"Congratulations, Kai," Jackson shot him a wry smile. "You learnt empathy. Toddlers around the world are discovering the concept with you."

"Empathy is a weird feeling," Either the Parker didn't hear Jackson's remark, or simply didn't care. "It clicks in my head but I can't do anything with it. It's like learning a useless fact, or only being able to read a different language but not write in that language. I can always throw it away. Doesn't matter. The movie got me thinking of us: you're the pathetic guy who can't communicate properly and I'm the one that always looks perfect."

"You keep insulting me."

There was a small pause where Kai genuinely seemed to be unaware of this fact, sitting up to shift his focus elsewhere. He let out a soft sigh, rubbing his nasal bridge. "Just get over here."

Hesitation. Jackson lingered at his spot near the door for a brief moment, wavering, then ultimately walking over and sitting next to Kai. Just an inch close and Kai's knee would be brushing against his own. 

"I know I'm a talker, but sometimes I'm not good at talking. I'm insensitive, and selfish, and a little intense. But you already know that," Kai cleared his throat. "In truth, I'm just... really lonely. And the big one year is coming up this weekend. Would it hurt to spend some time with me?"

Jackson rested a hand on Kai's left leg. "You have friends. Jimmy, Bea, Stevie—"

"—are all your friends," His pale gaze was solemn, and sad. Jackson had the good sense to feel guilty dismissing Kai and prioritising his grades. "They're your friends, Jack, not mine. Besides, Stevie hates the sight of me. Do you really wanna suffer through us fighting?"

"Alright, you have a point," Campbell tried for a smile. "After classes, we'll do whatever you want. Just me and you. Sound fair?"

Kai grinned, leaning in to kiss the corner of Jackson's lips before getting to his feet. Jackson waited for Kai to leave his room, although the Parker paused at the door, his hand pushing down the handle.

"I mean, it's a start."

Jackson groaned, grabbing a clean pair of socks he had previously moulded into a ball while folding his laundry and threw it in Kai's direction, hitting the door instead of the brunet man a few inches away. Kai's laughter echoed through the hallway as he left, and he couldn't help but smile at the sound. The smile soon faded in realisation. 

The bastard left the door open.