Uh God. _ I am so terribly sorry for the immense wait. Microsoft Word wasn't being my friend this time: it completely threw out what I had written for this chapter (or from what it was), forcing me to rewrite all that I had lost. It was so...painstaking... ;_; So in warning to you now, this chapter may seem slightly rushed and possibly even that of complete crap (or premature, even). But anyways, I do hope you have fun reading, despite what I just said. c:

All was silent as Jack Merridew quietly stepped through the remote, almost eerie hallway. Every identical wood door uniformly aligned across the walls until the end by the final immense double doors. Nothing made a sound behind each rectangular passage as the man passed by; behind each door kept in quiescence like people in hiding during a war.

Upon approaching the oak doors, to his surprise, something from underneath his shoe crunched. When he lifted his foot and stepped away, he discovered a leaf, coarse and fragile, all spread apart in greens and reds across beige tile, standing out like splattered blood. Wonder where that came from? Perhaps Jack brought it in by accident. Or someone else prior to his arrival? He quickly brushed off the thought as he approached the exit, creaking it open until he was surrounded by the familiar cylindrical room.

Once he heard the door shut, he immediately dug his hand into his pocket, already having the dorm number erased from his memory. He examined the envelope, scanning for any numbers until he found his answer: three floors away was his destination. At that, he returned the paper back into his pocket, having fulfilled one half of his duty, already trekking up the metal steps without a thought more, numbly watching the grated stairs circulate like a fan losing power; instead of a uniform wind, a steady draft wafted throughout the tall room.

The fourth floor arrived shorter than expected, but as Jack continued walking up the steps, he noticed, upon the metal platform by the hallway entrance, a man. Draped in half his uniform with only the school's blazer as far as Jack could see, fixed with baggy trousers too long for his legs, pooling at the floor, he solemnly slouched over the railing, watching nothing. The man's stress seemed to seep out of him as smoke lifted away from his head, traveling up, almost flummoxing about toward the fifth floor. Jack spotted only a glimpse of the man's cigarette between his index and middle finger until the spiral of steps obscured his vision.

The ginger hastily reached the fifth floor, stepping off onto the platform when the man-in-question's name popped into the front of his brain.

Roger.

Where has he heard that name before?

Roger.

Rarely has Jack run into a gentleman named Roger, save for perhaps the one etched into a nametag working tediously behind a cash register. They hadn't even exchanged five words to each other. Even then, that doesn't seem to correlate with the Roger in the letter.

Roger…

Since he lives in these dorms, obviously the man operating that register is far too old to be attending college. If that's true, then there's only one thing left to do: approach the man's door and give 'Roger' his letter, and only then will Jack find his answer.

The thoughts eluded the ginger as soon as his feet took him into the fifth floor hallway, hearing the click of the large doors behind him as he traveled through, passing each numbered door. A small steel plate bolted onto the centre of every wooden door held a three digit number starting from 500…501…502…503. Here it is.

For some reason, however, Jack hesitated. Something felt almost off with this situation; he could almost see a dark and forlorn aura emanating through the door he stood in front of. But why? He couldn't quite press a proper finger down on the nagging feeling. With that, though, would it then be a better idea to simply slip the letter underneath the door, completely avoiding an entire social situation that might end in complete disaster? On the other hand, Jack could knock on the door and finally justify his question. And even if he were to slide the envelope through the door, there is a possibility that Roger might miss it by the time he would need to pass his front door, much like how Jack did.

With a quick decision, Jack shrugged off his concern and tapped his knuckles against the wood: no rhythm or a particular tune, just three simple raps upon the door until it ripped open.

"I thought I told you tah leave me alone!"

W-What?

"What part of-!"

Who?

The man abruptly stopped, relaxing himself, easing his sharp shoulders. His hand raked through his black hair, squeezing his eyes shut and knitting his dark brows together. His mouth let out a deep sigh as his lids slowly reopened.

"Oh… you."

Wait huh?

The black-haired gentleman dug his palm high onto the edge of his door, revealing his shirtless chest, his blazer curtaining around his torso. Seemingly deep in thought, he stood across the doorframe without the decency of covering his undershorts. Jack avoided the sight as best he could.

"Um…" He uttered, gaining the latter's attention.

"Whacha want?" The black-haired man nudged his head up, seemingly gratified by the distraction.

"Do…Do we know each other…by any chance?" Jack enquired monotonously with a stiff expression. There was a slight pause. The half-naked man leaned away from the door, switching his weight to his other leg.

"No."

Oh.

"Well, then…"

"Do I have to ask again?"

"Is your name Roger?" The redhead finally asked, pointing his chin at the floor, prepared to rummage through his pocket for the final time. He pulled the paper out when he noticed the nod he had been anticipating.

"Your mail was delivered to me by accident," The ginger handed the envelope toward the disheveled character "The dorm number had been mistaken. It's from a girl named Fiona."

"'Fiona'…?"

Hm? Wait. Was this the right Roger? If he didn't know the girl, then perhaps some of the information is wrong. Perhaps the address hadn't been mistaken and the only thing wrong would be the one addressed. But that would depend on Fiona's intelligence: if she's smart and observant, she couldn't possibly mistake anything in the letter and that proves that the man standing before Jack is in fact Roger, leaving the simple mistake of a switch in dorm numbers. However, if she's a duffer and couldn't figure out names and numbers, then the man standing before Jack could be complete coincidence and furthermore resulting in him being wrong. But that just doesn't sound quite right…

"Am I mistaken?" Merridew finally asked, suppressing his anxiety if he had any. There was a pause before Roger replied, staring coldly at the letter in the former's hand.

"I don't accept things from people I don't know." After a brief pause of processing thought, the raven-haired man gestured the redhead in, stepping aside from the frame as Jack firmly pinched the envelope between his anxious fingers. Surely he'll find his answer if he takes the offer.

A curtained room illuminated by muffled sunlight shining through the only window of the dorm lit the entire room, bathing what little furniture hugging the walls with quaint afternoon light. With the arrangement of furniture and architectural design, the room did not feel any different from that of Jack and Gwen's room, nor even Daniel's. By the time Roger had offered to let Jack feel "at home", it honestly wasn't that difficult of a task.

"You can take a seat where ever." The raven-haired gent said under his breath, almost too soft to hear. If Jack apperceived or not, he sat himself down anyway on the closest bed he could find and began absorbing the new atmosphere. An element seems somewhat off-putting in here…

"Like my mum would want me to do; I'd like to offer you tea," Roger explained tastelessly while resting against the wall near the closet across from Jack. "But seeing as though the blokes who made this place didn't install kitchens or at least a stove in here, I can't really offer you anything. Sorry."

The only response the raven-haired man got in return was a shake of the head.

"It's fine. Long past tea time, anyway."

A slip of an oddly familiar silence flooded the room. The mood to this one was different, however, creating a complete new sense that made Jack feel almost uncomfortable. The silence continued on, as if the invitation inside this man's dorm was a waste. Perhaps he should just leave…

"Name."

With a jerk, Jack clicked his attention back onto Roger. Name…? Oh.

"What is it?"

"Jack."

"Jack?"

The ginger nodded, growing a little concerned. Have they not met each other on a previous occasion at all? Unless this Roger was really the Roger manning that register, working a false identity and two jobs. Don't be so childish…

"Surname. What is it?" Roger quizzed, sliding his fingers between the sides of his undershorts and the skin of his waist - probably out of habit - craning his neck toward the ginger curiously, still holding a careful nonchalant figure.

"Jack Merridew."

Everything stopped dead. Roger only stared at the latter with widened brown eyes. It felt almost like a heart attack. Robust silence created the void. A pine for relief began to race. Someone needed to speak. Why wasn't Roger responding?

In a sudden burst ripping the silence, laughter tickled the air. Almost taking the atmosphere slowly by the tongue, then by a devious mouth, he simply laughed like someone told a funny.

"The Jack Merridew? The one from the island - Merridew?" Spurning began to veneer the man's laughter as he tried to kill the jocular mood he seemingly realized was unfitting. He raked his hand into his raven hair again.

"You're different." Jack callously nodded at the blunt comment, almost aloof until their eyes met.

'The Island.'

Roger. That name...he is that boy, drenched in blood. Gripping a pointed stick, advancing through the foliage. He stalks, taking his victim by the arse. Those squeals of pain staining the air. Everyone cheered.

The island...

In bitter flesh, Merridew stood up.

"I-I must go – Business to attend to." With clenched fists and eyes set downcast until complete avoidance took over, the ginger strode toward the exit, wholly displeased by the atmosphere. When his calloused fingertips kissed the knob, his body froze as a hand smashed onto the door.

"Why must you leave so soon, Jack?" Dangerous tones filled his every word, pressing deeply into Jack's skull. "We hardly got a chance to know each other thoroughly."

"You know me." Jack quietly spat at the door, accidentally adding a flare of dread.

"But the delivery boy hasn't finished his job." Irked, Merridew clawed into his pocket and shoved the letter into the oppressor's chest, jostling his dark presence away until the door was free. The ginger scrambled for the knob, turning it open, blood pressing into his temples furiously. In making his exit however, Merridew clouted into the ground face-first in an instant; seeing only the glimpse of a mass of black hair.

"I want to tell you things, Merridew." The words hissed into Jack's ears in pure hostility, forcing the abundance of fear to strike his veins. His arm yanked by an imposing hand behind him, his position locked. Jack chewed his bottom lip, preventing a scream of agony breaking past his throat.

"Why not accompany me a while longer?"

The situation was as hopeless as it was. Jack had to risk an arm if he wanted to escape. When his lip began to seep blood, he finally dropped his head in defeat.

"Good boy."The raven haired man declared with a smile Jack could almost hear. "Our leader has made a wise decision." Roger released his victim, slowly standing up to his feet. On the floor, almost spent of his energy, the sound of the door clicked behind Jack's feet. Shit.

…

Across from Merridew sat the black-haired man, composed and all. His legs long as they reached the floor, bare feet flat against the thin carpet. The ginger sat only the same, both staring at each other heinously, impatiently waiting for someone to say something. The atmosphere grew thick as time passed, no one moved, the sun threatening to set outside the window. Shadows beside furniture turned darker, contrasting with the light skittering across the walls.

No one dared to speak. Or perhaps that is only what it felt like. This was wasting his time. He had to leave. He yearned to leave.

Roger. His head shifted, shooting a sigh into the atmosphere. Only then did Jack finally notice the man's facial hair: dead black and silently rimming his jaw, meeting his sideburns.

"…So," Reluctance etched his words: this subject was just as painful for Roger, too. Jack could only glare at him, hostile, as previous actions would aspire. "You…remember, don't you?"

Merridew simply ached to leave. Gwen was waiting. He never asked for this. He was trapped…

The monster wriggled for its freedom, its dirtied pink flesh seeping bright red, fresh blood. A silver blade, almost rusted over from previous layers of its brethren, struck through the thin mass of skin, ripping apart the delicate beast. The beast – no, a meal. Laid out, now lifeless as it drained of its precious nectar beneath the grim dominance of a painted hunter, blinded by the over-powering desire to save himself.

Time dragged on. No answer. Why ask such a question when the answer was obvious? Sharp, bitter pain struck the ginger's heart, soul, memory… Too much all at once, he could not take it. He couldn't word this emotion, this recollection.

A pointed stick at both ends.

No – O God, no! This could not be true. That is in the past: Jack is over it. He was young; too young to even understand his own actions. However, he had been so serious… No…

"Do you, Jack Merridew?"

Quit harassing me, goddammit! This was all too sudden. Like an entire bucket of active grenades poured directly atop of him, heinously ripping open his old wounds, taking charge, filling them with the acrimonious taste of blood, of sand, creepers, paint, Castle Rock—

"Answer me!"

Roger stood, rancourously glaring down at Jack, haughty from the thick stillness between them. His fists only tightened, choking his own fingers. Jack stared, almost intimidated, crawling into his own fearful void, wanting to escape, only giving glares at brown eyes.

"Don't tell me what to do." It was low, venomous and almost suffering in shivers. This wasn't the time to show cowardice.

"I can't be the only one!" The room stilled, silently quaking in the shadow of Jack's own trepidation. Roger stood, grounded, made of stone. He waited. Ire pulsed through his veins, tempting forbidden animal instincts to unleash.

"I've been through too much to only get this far. You're my connection: you must recall." Jack shook his head, obstinate about his own personal quarreling.

"All those fucking years ago and this is how you repay the matter?"

Jack grew silent, indignation scorching his insides. His blue spheres, now downcast beneath vexed brows. He could only feel the nefarious aura engulfing the other man's piercing stare upon his crown.

"You were a hunter, Jack: a fucking hunter. Painted face, proud like the little chorister you were, wielding your weapon - A hunter, a leader," Roger's words advanced in baleful vehemence, only growing louder at each word until malevolence looked him right in the face.

Merridew stood, eyes obscured by pugnacity, his height balancing the differences in mood between both men. Words inflamed his mind, yet he refused the utterance. He had had enough. His final words, "Good day," and he made his leave, unlatching the door, allowing the world of the dormitory to help him. But before he could even make that wish, however, an arm curved over his neck, forcing him backward, nape violently pressing into bone; another arm.

"Who gave you permission to leave?" Too close his words, raking over Jack's ear, forcing a grimace. The grip on his neck tightened, enclosing the space between flesh. By instinct, Jack flailed his hands over the antagonistic arm, desperately trying to liberate himself. Every attempt failed.

"Release me." The ginger pined in growls, clawing over the condemning arm, aching for its dispense.

"You never even gave me a chance, Merridew." His words, dripping in malice, filled Jack's brain, probing his mind, stirring its logic. "How rude..."

Nitrogen only became the true necessity now. This grip was too tight. Everything turned fuzzy, grey. His throat choked, his limbs were losing their dexterity, giving in. He couldn't. Mustn't…

In his withering breath, a muscle of hope, a single leg lifted with utmost strength, craning high, violently crashing with all muster into the dominion's calve, or for what was reached. And until then, everything unraveled as a snake would perish round its victim. Evasive and dull to thought, quick to action, the ginger held his neck as if he could fix his throat into usual comfort, already half-limping toward the exit. Unlatching the golden pole from a silver case folded over in bright cherry oak, Merridew flung the door open, gratitude drowning his heart at an earlier pace as he held it the same as the skin beneath his jaw.

Almost walking the sloppy speed of a lazy chimp, Jack hurried himself toward the exit, wishing his body to be engulfed in safety between the walls of his dorm, underneath the gentle folds of his inviting sheets. The thoughts warmed his soul as his partially impaired body flew him down the spiral steps, rushing him into the third floor hallway, finally jumping into the delicacy called home.

A/N: Honestly, this chapter killed me. I had to revise it twice. Be happy with the result, please. But that's just me being selfish. OTL

Reviews are love. c: