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“I miss you too, but I can’t come home for another few weeks,” Mark is frozen just outside the dorm room, hand gripping the door knob with his books cradled weakly against his chest with the other arm. The crack isn’t large enough for him to see inside the room, but it’s easy to tell that Jackson is on the phone with someone. It sounds like he’s nearing a goodbye, so Mark waits silently, ready to enter the room as soon as he hears the conversation end.
“I might not even be able to make it home for break. It’s expensive… yeah, things are okay. Fine. Good. Things are going well,” Jackson rambles. Mark can hear light thumps, feet on hardwood. They come closer and Mark gets ready to run, ready to get the hellout of there before Jackson finds out he’s listening in on half of what could be an extremely personal conversation. Luckily, the sound fades out again as Jackson moves back away from the door. There’s a sudden, jarring squeak of springs that suggest Jackson has jumped onto his bed, “The only thing I’m worried about are midterms.”
Mark barely contains his snort, unconsciously tilting his head closer to the wood to better hear what’s being said inside the room. There’s nothing surprising about Jackson being unprepared for midterms. They’ve lived together since two weeks before classes started and Mark has never once seen his roommate with a book, let alone reading one. In their single shared class, Jackson brings nothing to discussions but loves to stage whisper bad jokes and rude comments to his neighbors throughout lectures. Jackson is the exact type of student Mark hates: just there to waste time and money getting fucked in any way possible, crowing about the ‘college experience’ and experimentation to anyone who seems to care.
“Of course I’m studying!” Sound bursts from the other side of the door, Jackson’s voice unexpectedly loud after a long period of complete silence. This time, harsh laughter falls from Mark’s mouth before he can help himself. Thankfully, Jackson is too busy ranting to whoever’s on the other line to catch him, “How can you say that? I spendhours at the library, every damn day!” There’s a beat of silence, barely giving Mark time to process this shocking information before Jackson’s voice, soft but pained mumbles out an apology that Mark can hardly understand beyond the word ‘mom’.
Jackson sounds upset when he starts to ramble again and Mark feels, more than ever, that he should get the hell out of there before Jackson finds out that he’s there or says something else that makes Mark almost like him.
“I do study, honestly. There’s a really nice spot I like outside the library, where there’s this kind of circle of trees so it’s shady on hot days and still dry when it rains, and the other library has cubicles instead of tables so there’s nothing to see that will distract me… yeah, I know, I know, yes. Yes, it’s fine, he doesn’t. No, I can study in my dorm, Mark is nice. He’s polite. He doesn’t blast music. No, he goes to sleep before I do. We’re fine. I’m not lying, Mom. I know I never mention him… that doesn’t mean I don’t like him. We… we just don’t have a lot in common, but he’s a really good guy. Best roommate ever, promise,” Mark needs to leave. Either Jackson is going to find him and realize he’s absolutely not a good guy and then kill him for listening to all this, or Jackson is going to contradict himself one more time and Mark will truly go into shock, “I wasn’t mean to him. What do you mean you don’t believe me!? Your own son. Yourflesh and blood. What kind of mother are you?”
Jackson’s laughter dies out as quickly as it began. Silence overtakes the room once again; leaving Mark feeling maybe like the world is ending, just a little bit. Every fundamental truth about Jackson Wang he believed to be true is crumbling apart, and Mark feels a little light headed and a lot confused.
"I know, yeah. I didn’t mean that I wasn’t prepared for midterms, I’m just nervous. I’mso ready, there’s just a lot riding on me doing well, it’s just extra pressure. I told you when we talked last week; the terms of my scholarship require a certain grade point average. Some of my grades will be based entirely on how I score on these stupid tests. Getting kicked out would get me home a hell of a lot quicker, but I like it here, Mom. It’s… it’s different from high school. It’s better. It was a joke, don’t worry, I won’t lose my tuition. I know you… I know you guys can’t help out. I know that too. You’ve done enough for me already. Maybe I’ll look for a job…” Jackson’s voice fades out, and Mark hears him stammer a few times, trying to interrupt, before resuming almost too quietly to be heard through the door. Mark has to strain, pressing his ear fully against the slim opening to catch Jackson’s last few sentences, “It’s not too much. I sleep a bit, enough. I don’t need to sleep every day. I eat! The dining hall is free… I usually make it for dinner… don’t-” Mark tries to adjust his position as Jackson’s volume decreases further, releasing the door to shift his belongings, but he completely loses his balance and goes sprawling, body hitting the ground right outside the doorway while his books goes flying.
Jackson all but shouts a goodbye and an ‘I love you’ from within the room. Mark doesn’t even have time to collect himself before the door swings full open, narrowly missing contact with his right arm.
Mark watches Jackson’s gaze sweep over him, watches his expression for any sign of suspicion or anger, and mentally prepares himself for the stern talking to he absolutely deserves when he gets his hundredth shock of the night, “Are you okay?”
Mark almost sends the question right back, a thousand others ready to follow right behind it. Question after question about why Jackson is hiding and what else is buried beneath his frat boy front and why doesn’t he sleep more and when was the last time he ate a real meal and does he want help studying because Mark has never seen a boy who needs to be taken care of more than Jackson Wang. He’s also never seen a boy who avoids letting anyone know that he might need taking care of as much as Jackson Wang.
Mark looks up at Jackson, who’s staring down with an expression full of worry. Normally, Mark might assume it’s because Jackson suspects he may have just been listening in to a clearly private conversation, but lately, Mark is pretty much always wrong when it comes to his roommate. Jackson can probably see his bleeding palm and torn sweater.
"Just tripped trying to get in," Mark lies, brushing his injured hand across his jeans to wipe away the blood while his knees sting sharply, a delayed reaction to the impact.
"Are you okay?" Jackson repeats, dropping into a crouch to fret over ever part of Mark that hit the ground, grabbing his wrist gently to inspect the punctured skin, and fuck Mark was right - for the moment, Jackson's completely forgotten about the phone call.
After collecting all of his spilled books and the loose papers that fell with them, Jackson pushes his way into the room, muttering about a first aid kit and cleaning Mark up.
Mark stays on the ground, watching Jackson dig around one of his drawers through the open doorway. His t-shirt with the phrase 'wang master' ironed onto the back is as obnoxious as ever, but it doesn't annoy Mark anymore. Jackson Wang is something special and Mark thinks he might want to know everything about him.