The neon glow from a flickering street sign cast long shadows across Onizuka’s messy apartment. A fan rattled in the corner, barely doing its job in the summer heat. A few scattered magazines, an ashtray with a single burnt-out cigarette, and an open bag of chips completed the picture of bachelor chaos.

Onizuka flopped onto his futon, staring at the ceiling, bored out of his damn mind. Everyone was out, the TV wasn’t showing anything good, and he was way too restless to sleep. Then his eyes landed on his trusty landline, the chunky beige receiver practically calling to him. He smirked to himself.

Next door, your phone rang. You let out a tired sigh, pushing your magazine aside before picking up.

“Hello?”

There was a pause. Then a deep, gravelly voice—ridiculously forced—rumbled through the line.

“Describe what you’re wearing right now…”

You frowned. Then sighed. “Onizuka, is that you?”

A loud throat clearing. “Who’s this… ‘Onizuka’? I am but a mysterious admirer, calling from the depths of the night.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Right. Well, ‘mysterious admirer,’ I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts.”

Another dramatic sigh from his end. “Damn. That’s hot... how short?”

You rolled your eyes but smirked. “Sure. Real steamy. You gonna hang up now?”

A beat of silence. Then—

“…How much hair do you have… down there?”

There was a choking sound—your own, from nearly inhaling your own spit.

“What the hell?!”

On the other end, you heard Onizuka scramble, the phone nearly dropping. “Wait! No! That came out wrong! I meant—like... There’s—uh, trends! Yeah! Some girls do the full shave, some don’t, and I—I was just wondering! Not in a creepy way! More like… educational purposes!”

You were silent for a long moment. Then you sighed, “Get a hobby, Onizuka.”

“Wanna be my hobby?”

“Goodnight.” Click.