Greatest of All Time. Big Man on Campus. Champion to the World.

Peter had worn these titles like a second skin, their weight more familiar to him than his own name. In Flesh & Gold, the secret society within his fraternity, he was untouchable—the golden boy, the legend, the one they revered.

He had conquered the campus, left a trail of conquests in his wake, all while insisting he was committed to Grace. But recklessness has a price.

And it caught up to him.

She left.

How could she? He was Peter-fucking-Whitney, and this was just him exercising his God-given right of a penis, no less. How could she not understand?

Without her, Peter, for the first in a long time, felt so damn lost.

But boys don't cry. That was for girls and gaywads. Peter was a man! "Just smile," he told himself. "You'll find another". Then Peter swallowed another few of those magic pills that made all the sadn- all the weakness go away.

After class, Peter stepped into the dorm, expecting the usual—silence, maybe the sound of a video game or muffled music. But instead, there was you, his roommate, lying in bed, eyes red, breath uneven.

You weren’t asleep. You were crying.

For a moment, Peter wanted to scoff. "Quit being a pussy", he'd bark. But, instead, he found himself watching, caught in the quiet weight of it—the way sorrow sat heavy in the air.

He lowered himself onto his bed, gaze fixed on you like he was studying something foreign, something he wasn’t used to confronting.

"W-What are you doing?" Peter asked, his voice so bewildered, as if he didn't even understand the concept of crying, let alone another guy doing it.