It wasn't until Monday morning, in class, that Ken brought something to Luke's attention: his limited-edition keyring was missing.

"You lost your limited-edition keyring. I told you not to flaunt it on your bag—I'm not surprised someone took it," Ken said.

"It wasn't taken," Luke replied. "I dropped it... in the room."

"The room? What room?" Ken asked, frowning.

"Mick's room," Luke said casually.

"Mick's room? Who's Mick?" Ken asked, confused.

"The guy who's been visiting my room," Luke explained.

"Hang on... so the 'ghost' has a name?" Ken's eyebrows shot up.

"He's not a ghost. He's... one year from the future," Luke said matter-of-factly.

Ken folded his arms, processing the words, then sat upright. "Wait. One year in the future? One year! Does that even make sense? In four months, it'll be the new school year. Whoever that person is will be moving into your room? What is going on?"

"Good questions. I have no idea," Luke admitted.

"So, even if we want to figure out who he is and why this is happening, we'll have to wait until the new school year?"

"Mmm. Seems that way." Luke rubbed his temple. With everything on his mind—his grandfather, his family, and now this—it was a struggle to make sense of it all.

"Man, this is messed up. Are you sure it's not all in your head?" Ken asked, placing a concerned hand on Luke's shoulder.

Luke shot him an irritated look. "It's not in my head. He's definitely real."

"I think I need to change my degree to a science subject," Ken muttered.

"Like you'd be smart enough to figure this out," Luke shot back.

"Ow. I'm smart enough. But not for this. Should we ask someone smarter?" Ken suggested.

"And get them to confirm I'm crazy? No thanks. Let's see where this goes. I'm convinced our paths are tied... I just don't know why yet."

"Ohhh... next-level parallel-universe relationship," Ken joked.

"Shut it," Luke said, refusing to admit the thought had crossed his mind.

As lunchtime approached, Luke left Ken and met his mother in the carpark. The restaurant she had chosen was elegant and one of her favourite places to eat.

"I saw your grandfather this morning," Mother said as they settled into their seats. "He's in good spirits."

"That's good to hear. Have you spoken to the doctors? Did they say what's wrong with him?" Luke asked.

"They haven't pinpointed it exactly," Mother replied, "but it's something to do with his stomach. They've adjusted his diet and cut out all sweets."

"Ah... no more cookies for him, then," Luke remarked.

"No. Which reminds me, I have some in the car for you—but it might be the last batch now that your grandfather can't eat them anymore."

Luke nodded, he wasn't going to tell is mother he was yet to eat any.

"Have you spoken to your father lately?" Mother asked as their meals arrived.

"I haven't. With everything going on with grandfather and studying, I've been preoccupied."

"When you're next at the main house, see him," Mother advised. "Since grandfather was admitted, he hasn't had much to do."

"Does he need a new hobby?" Luke joked.

"I hope not," Mother said with a wry smile. "I've tried convincing him to go back to work, but he loves being a househusband. I swear, if he comes home with one more animal, we're opening a pet shop."

Luke laughed.

"Are you disappointed you don't have any siblings?" Mother asked suddenly, her tone serious, her expression softening in a way that took Luke by surprise.

"What? No. I'm grateful for you and Father. Growing up with Jan and Jamie has always been enough."

"I sometimes think your father would have liked more children," Mother said quietly.

"You have me. What more could you want?" Luke said, trying to lighten the mood.

"We have you," Mother said, leaning forward to squeeze Luke's cheek. "A blessing you are. Not a day goes by when we aren't grateful to have you in our lives."

"Thank you, Mother," Luke replied, feeling a warmth in his chest and a slight blush on his cheeks.

After their meal, back at the dormitory, Mother reassured him again. "Focus on your studies. Nothing is going to change immediately. And if anything occurs that involves you, your aunt and I will be here to make sure everything goes smoothly."

"Thank you, Mother," Luke said, leaning over to hug her goodbye.

~

Midweek, Mick stood in front of his bedroom door, phone in hand. He considered calling Paul but decided against it—he didn't want his friend to feel obliged to be there every time Mick needed to enter his room.

"It's alright," Mick muttered to himself. "If it's not my room, I'll turn around and walk out. Simple."

That small pep talk seemed to work. He unlocked the door and peeked inside. The room was quiet—too quiet—and as he edged the door open further to check the desk, the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting from the bathroom made his heart skip a beat.

Without hesitation, Mick entered the room and then the bathroom. Luke was slumped on the cold tiled floor, face over the toilet bowl, gagging again. Mick dropped his bag by the desk, closed the bedroom door, and crouched beside him.

"Are you okay? What can I do to help?" Mick asked, placing a steady hand on Luke's shoulder.

Luke lifted his head slowly, eyes watery, and reached out to grab Mick's shirt.

"You... are here," he murmured.

Mick nodded. "Mmm. I'm here."

"Medicine," Luke whispered, releasing his grip.

Mick retrieved the medicine kit from the bathroom cupboard—the same spot he always kept it—and removed the anti-vomiting liquid. Crouching again beside Luke, he held the small cup to his lips as Luke swallowed.

"Water," Luke added, his face scrunched in distaste.

Mick filled a glass from the sink and helped him sip. Water dribbled down Luke's chin, but Mick gently wiped it away and rubbed his back as he remained hunched over the toilet. After several minutes, Luke whispered, "Help me up."

Mick took him under the arms, and together they managed to get Luke up. "Bed," Luke said weakly. Mick threw back the covers and carefully lowered him onto his side, curling into a ball as he shivered.

"Should I call a doctor?" Mick asked, kneeling beside him.

"No," Luke murmured. "There's a bug going around. My turn to get it. You should go, in case you catch it too."

Mick nodded, about to leave, but paused. Memories of Paul's illness came to mind.

"Let me wipe you down before I go," Mick offered.

"No," Luke said, reaching out and grabbing Mick's pants.

Mick glanced down, surprised. Luke whispered, "If you walk through the door frame, you'll return to your world."

Ah. Mick understood. He knelt again, gently moving damp hair from Luke's face.

"Can you stay a little longer?" Luke asked quietly, eyes closed, breathing laboured. He knew he was being selfish, but with everything happening, he needed someone there.

Mick's concern deepened. It was early evening; he wasn't needed anywhere else. He could stay a while.

"Okay," he whispered, sitting against the head of the bed. His hand hovered uncertainly over Luke's hair before lowering to brush it back. Luke turned his face to nestle against Mick's side. Mick paused for a moment, then began rubbing his back in slow, comforting circles, promising himself he would wait until Luke fell asleep before leaving.

Luke's nose twitched at an odd odour beneath him. Slowly, he woke and realised he was nestled against someone. He wasn't alone. Eyes still closed, he remembered the evening before—Mick had been there to help him.

Carefully, Luke lifted his head to see the person beside him. Mick lay there, arm still wrapped around Luke's shoulder, sleeping peacefully against the head of the bed. Luke swallowed, unsure how they had ended up in this position.

As he shifted slightly, Mick stirred, pulling his arm free. Their eyes met.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Mick asked, blinking and looking anywhere but at Luke.

Luke sat up, giving him space. "Better. Thank you... for helping last night."

"That's okay. Lucky I came into your room and not mine," Mick murmured, his voice tinged with awkwardness.

Luke nodded, unsure what to say. Mick glanced toward the door. "If you're feeling better, I should get going."

At the entrance, Mick reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar keyring. "This is yours?"

Luke nodded. "Mmm. Limited edition."

Mick placed the keyring on the table. "Then... until next time," he said, avoiding eye contact as embarrassment crept across his face.

The moment the door clicked shut, Luke rose and opened it again. The empty corridor confirmed what he already knew: Mick had gone.

The unpredictability of Mick entering his room had become the most frustrating part of the experience. For the next week, each time he stepped into his bedroom, Luke hoped to see Mick, to know he was okay—but it never happened. As the next week began, his concerns only grew.

Midweek, Mick sat in class, staring absentmindedly across the room. Paul waved his hand in front of Mick's face. When Mick didn't respond, Paul banged on the table.

"What was that for?" Mick snapped, startled.

"You were miles away. What were you thinking?" Paul asked.

"Nothing," Mick replied, packing his bag.

"Still scared about your room?" Paul teased.

"Shut it," Mick growled.

"You haven't said if anything else happened. Has it stopped?" Paul asked.

The lecture hall was nearly empty. Mick zipped up his bag. "Actually... it happened again," he admitted.

"Seriously? What happened?" Paul asked, leaning in.

Mick recounted the events from almost two weeks prior, describing everything in detail.

"Wait... you spent the entire night in his room?" Paul asked, incredulous.

Mick nodded. "Mmm."

Paul paused, counting off facts on his fingers. "His name is Luke. He's a year in the past. He shares the same room as you... wait!" Paul's eyes widened. "If he's in the same room, why isn't he here this year?"

"Maybe he moved out," Mick guessed.

"Or maybe the weirdness of the room forced him to leave," Paul added.

They fell silent, Mick considering Paul's words. Had Luke really moved out because of him? Was that why he hadn't returned to the room?

"You know what," Paul said, a spark of excitement in his eyes, "there's a way to find out."

"How?" Mick asked, leaning forward.

"We can ask building management about the former occupant of your room. They should be able to tell us if he moved out—and maybe even when."

Mick's smile broadened at the idea. Grabbing his bag, he left the classroom with Paul in tow, both eager to uncover the truth.