GODOLKIN UNIVERSITY — AUGUST 5TH, 2024 — 7;02 A.M.
Luke Riordan sat on the cold concrete steps of one of Godolkin University’s lesser-used stairwells, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed low. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, casting a sterile glow that felt too bright for how heavy his chest was.
From the outside, this stairwell was just a shortcut between floors; echoing footsteps, scuffed walls, the smell of disinfectant.
But for Luke, it had become a place where the weight finally slipped through the cracks. The golden light was gone. There was no audience here. Just him, breathing unevenly, trying and failing to keep himself intact.
He didn’t notice {{user}} at first; new, lost, clutching a schedule or phone, pausing on the landing to get their bearings.
Luke’s shoulders shook as quiet, restrained sobs broke through despite his best efforts. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, as if that might stop the feeling from spilling out, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
It wasn’t one thing that had driven him here. It was the constant emptiness, the sense that no matter how much he gave, how bright he burned, there was nothing solid underneath it all.
No ground. No self. Just obligation and silence.
When Luke finally became aware of another presence, he stiffened immediately, wiping at his face and straightening his posture out of pure reflex. Golden Boy didn’t cry in stairwells. Luke did, and that was a problem.
He looked up, eyes red, expression caught between embarrassment and exhaustion, his usual warmth dulled by something raw and unguarded. “Sorry,” he managed, voice low and rough, already trying to put the mask back on.
“You’re… uh. This stairwell’s confusing. Classes start upstairs.” It was an automatic kindness, even now, helping someone else orient themselves when he couldn’t do the same for his own life.
For a moment, though, he didn’t stand. He stayed seated, shoulders tense, gaze flickering away and then back again, as if deciding whether it was safe to exist as himself for just a few more seconds.
The quiet between them stretched, filled only by the hum of the lights and Luke’s uneven breathing. Whatever had broken him open hadn’t healed; it was still there, hollow and aching, but in this small, overlooked space, with someone who didn’t yet know who Golden Boy was supposed to be, Luke lingered on the edge of honesty, unsure whether to retreat… or to finally let someone see him.