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The university was a cathedral in disguise.
That was the first thing Jack thought when he arrived at Baskerville College: that the stone towers, the echoing halls, and the ivy-tangled courtyards were too ancient, too solemn, to be anything as ordinary as a school. Even the clocks seemed to tick slower here.
He liked it.
He liked Oswald even more.
Jack met him on a gray afternoon in the library, two weeks into the semester. Oswald was sitting at the far table by the stained-glass window, reading with the concentration of someone holding the world together by force of will. His black hair fell in sharp lines against his pale face; his eyes, when he looked up, were as still and deep as the space between clock chimes.
Jack said something foolish, as always. Something about the weather, or the way the light hit the window. Oswald barely replied, but his voice stayed with Jack long after: low, careful, threaded with weariness.
From that moment, Jack was caught.
He began finding excuses to see him anywhere, be it in the library, at the edge of lectures, outside old buildings as the bell tower rang the hour. Oswald tolerated him with a kind of exasperated kindness, which only made Jack more determined to get closer.
There was something about him that felt unfinished.
Something haunting.
꧁꧂
October came colder than expected that year, the sky the color of tarnished silver. The campus filled with carved pumpkins and tangled decorations; the students, restless, planned costume parties and haunted house tours.
Jack didn’t care for most of it until he learned that Oswald would spend the night working in the old bell tower.
“It won't be open to students,” Oz said when Jack mentioned it over coffee. “He’s the only one allowed up there. Maintenance or something. The faculty trusts him.”
Jack had faked disinterest in answer, but he had come up with a plan already.
On Halloween night, while the dorms buzzed with laughter and the smell of cheap beer, Jack left the noise behind and climbed the hill toward the tower. The air smelled of rain and dying leaves.
He had been ready to break through a lock, but found that the door at the base was half-open. Maybe as if Oswald had been waiting for him.
Inside, the air was colder, quieter. Dust hung like smoke in the candlelight. He found Oswald partway up the stairs, sitting on a step with a lantern beside him, staring out at the night through a narrow slit of a window.
“You're not allowed to be here,” Oswald said without turning.
“And yet, here I am,” Jack smiled proudly.
Oswald sighed. “It’s late.”
“It’s Halloween, Oswald,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Staying out late is the whole point.”
He climbed the last few steps and sat beside him. The stone was cold through his jeans. Above, the bells waited in silence above them, vast and patient.
“Do you mind that I'm here?” Jack asked.
“Not really,” Oswald murmured. “But it's better for you to leave now. Don't you have a class tomorrow morning?”
Jack laughed. “I don’t care for it. I like being with you, if you'll have me.”
Oswald’s jaw tightened. “I shouldn't...”
“Why not?” Jack said. “Live a little Oswald, come on!”
Oswald turned to look at him, and for a heartbeat, something fragile passed between them: a flicker of surprise, maybe even hurt. Jack wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, but something in the air stopped him.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” Oswald repeated, quieter now.
Jack gasped theatrically. “You're trying to spook me!”
“No,” he shook his head. “I'm trying to protect you.”
Jack frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Oswald stood, picking up the lantern. “Every year, the tower keeps its own time. It’s why the bells sound strange at midnight.”
“Superstitious?”
Oswald’s eyes glinted in the lamplight. “Call it that, if you want.”
“That sounds quite exciting,” Jack grinned.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oswald sighed.
He turned to climb the rest of the stairs, and Jack followed without thinking. The higher they went, the heavier the air became. It seemed filled with the metallic scent of rust, of rain, of something older.
At the top, the bells loomed above them, enormous and silent. The city stretched far below, its lights shimmering like embers.
“Beautiful,” Jack whispered. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me.”
Oswald smiled. “Moments with you… are nice. I almost feel alive.”
“Me too,” Jack smiled, and brushed his hand against Oswald's.
Oswald set down the lantern and looked up at the bells. “They say this place remembers every sound it’s ever heard. Every confession, every lie.”
Jack laughed softly. “Then I should be careful what I say.”
“Indeed.”
Jack smiled smugly. It looked defiant and certain. “I like you.”
Oswald looked surprised. “T-thank you, but you shouldn’t. Your feelings are lost on someone like me.”
“It's 2025 Oswald, men can date each other,” Jack joked but his pride had taken a blow.
“T-that's not the problem,” Oswald blushed.
Jack scoffed.“Then what is it?”
Oswald touched one of the bells, fingers tracing the carved initials on its surface.
“Oswald,” Jack said quietly. “What are you hiding?”
“The past,” he frowned sadly.
Something in his tone made Jack’s heart skip. “Whatever it is… It can't be that bad.”
Oswald looked at him, and for a moment, he almost smiled. “I wish it wasn't, Jack, I wish we had… more time.”
The bell above them shuddered. The air trembled, a low hum spreading through the metal.
Midnight.
Jack felt it in his bones.
The sound was not a chime so much as a pulse: deep, resonant, almost alive. It filled the space around them until everything seemed to blur, until even Oswald’s outline wavered.
“Oswald?” Jack reached for him.
His hand passed through smoke.
Jack froze.
Oswald turned slowly, his face illuminated by the lantern’s flicker. There was sorrow there as well as something like relief.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he said sadly.
“What- what do you mean?”
“The tower keeps time,” Oswald said softly, “but it doesn’t easily let go of those who’ve lost their lives to it.”
Jack stared, uncomprehending.
“I died here,” Oswald said. “A century ago, today. Halloween night. The bells fell. On me.”
The world tilted. Jack took a step back, shaking his head. “That’s not- you can’t- I’ve seen you-”
“You saw what remains.”
The bells groaned again, the sound deepening into a low, mournful echo that filled the air like a storm. Shadows danced across the walls; the lantern flickered wildly.
Oswald stepped closer. His outline was clearer now, but his skin was pale as paper. “I'm sorry. You shouldn’t have come.”
Jack’s throat was dry. “Then why did you let me?”
Oswald’s expression softened, almost human again. “Because I wanted to remember what it felt like.”
“What what felt like?”
“To be your friend.”
Jack’s vision blurred. He reached out again, and this time, for an instant, their fingers met: warm, real, heartbreakingly alive.
“Stay,” Jack whispered. “Please.”
Oswald smiled faintly. “I can’t.”
“Then take me with you.”
He shook his head. “You have a life, Jack.”
Jack’s laugh was raw. “I want you in it!”
The bell above them shivered again, louder this time. The air cracked open with light.
Oswald’s voice was barely audible. “When it tolls for the thirteenth time, the living have to leave.”
Jack gripped his hand tighter. “Then I’ll pretend not to hear it.”
“Jack-”
“Let me stay.”
Oswald’s gaze wavered, pain flickering through it. He leaned forward, close enough that Jack could see the faint shimmer of tears at the corner of his eye, or maybe it was only light. Then, he hugged Jack.
“If you love me,” he said quietly, “you’ll remember me. That'll be enough.”
The thirteenth toll hit like thunder.
Oswald's embrace vanished and the world around Jack shattered.
꧁꧂
Jack woke at dawn, slumped at the base of the tower steps. His head ached; his hands were freezing. The door was sealed shut, rusted through. No lantern. No footprints.
Only silence.
He stumbled back to campus in a haze. No one seemed to remember who Oswald was. Not even the teachers had ever heard of him. It was as if he had never existed. His dorm room, when Jack finally found it, was empty. Except… for a single sheet of music paper left on the desk.
The title was written in neat, precise script:
“Our Thirteenth Hour.”
Jack later played it on the piano of the music room that Oswald and he had always used. He laughed and cried all at once.
He returned to the tower the next night, and the night after that. He left candles at the door, flowers in the cracks of the old stone. Sometimes, when the wind was just right, he thought he heard footsteps in the building; slow, deliberate, keeping time.
On next Halloween, when the clock struck midnight, the bells rang thirteen times.
The last note lingered, soft as a kiss.
Jack looked up at the tower, tears cold on his cheeks, and whispered, “I still remember.”
For a moment, just a heartbeat, he thought he saw a figure lovingly looking at him from the highest window, lit by a single flicker of light.
Then the bells fell silent.