Jackson had every right to be angry at me, but I couldn’t help but feel like his anger was misplaced. I only had the smallest itch to see what kissing someone else would be like and yet he was blaming me for it entirely. In reality, it was Gi-Eun who had forced herself onto me despite my reclining want. He lips were vicious and scary compared to Jackson’s calming warmth. I thought about Gi-Eun and only freezing darkness surrounded me. When I thought about Jackson, memories of happiness filled my mind. We had so much together. We liked the same movies, music, colour, even down to the sugar we put in our coffee. I lie on Jackson’s bed thinking about how I must have hurt him. I put myself in his shoes as best I could. How would I feel if he I had confessed to him? How would I feel if he had gone and kissed some girl?

My phone started to ring. It was JaeBum.

“Mark, what are you doing?” He asked down the phone.

“Nothing.” I replied, trying not to sound as upset as I was.

“Will you come to my room? I need your help.” He asked. I agreed and took a last look at Jackson’s bed before leaving my own.

They only lived a floor up from us, so it took me about five seconds to get to his room.

When I got to JaeBum’s room, I knocked on the door. YoungJae answered the door.

“Thank god. Can you please tell him he’s an idiot and he needs to go back to school?” He said, standing back to let me in.

“We’re still in school, JaeBum.” YoungJae retorted. He was sitting at this desk with some website I’d never heard of up on his computer screen.

“So, what are you fighting about now?” I asked. This was one of their weekly debates. It happened a lot. I’d seen them get real nasty towards each other sometimes.

“JaeBum seems to think that Jeremy Bentham’s body is stuffed in the University of London.” YoungJae complained to me. At least their bickering was drowning out my thoughts.

“He is.”

“He isn’t.”

What I wouldn’t give for Jackson to be here to make a clever joke about how they argument was as dead as Jeremy Bentham.

“Why would a university want a dead philosopher?”

“He donated himself.”

“What the heck would they use him for, and that question is only IF he really is there.”

“He’s kind of a mascot.”

“So, you think he just sits there, looking at you with his dead eyes?”

“I guess. It’s what he wanted anyway.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re the dumbest person I’ve ever heard of.”

“Hey, guys? Have either of you see Jackson recently?” I break their constant argument. They both look at me and shake their heads.

“Oh, never mind.” I say and they go right back to their heated debate without batting an eyelid.

Maybe they weren’t such a good distraction. I wanted to leave them to it, but something made me stay. It was probably the thought of having an awkward encounter with Jackson that did it. Even now, not wanting to see him, I did. I really wanted to see him.