The problem, as David Richard saw it, was that Robert Lucas was beautiful.
Not conventionally handsome, the way David's old football teammates were. Robert's beauty was unsettlingly subtle: the long, dark sweep of his lashes when he was focused on a spreadsheet, the high, almost delicate curve of his cheekbones, and the way the light made his skin look soft, almost translucent. It was the kind of aesthetic quality David usually associated with the stunning women his father frequently dated.
David found himself watching his young roommate. He'd catch himself analyzing Robert's movements—the precise, graceful way he poured coffee, the surprising neatness of his handwriting, or the reserved shyness that made him quickly turn away from any direct physical contact.
He was falling, and he hated it. He was a successful, ambitious, and fundamentally straight man. He had dated women his entire adult life. This attraction was an anomaly, a bizarre glitch in his system. It wasn't just physical; it was a connection to Robert's quiet intensity, his guarded brilliance, and the deep, wounded look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching.
This is weird. This is profoundly weird, David thought for the hundredth time, slamming his laptop shut in his room.
He knew he couldn't talk to his friends about it. He couldn't risk the rumors or the judgment. So, he did the only thing he could think of: he drove home.
The Richard family estate was less opulent than the Lucas mansion but more imposing—all modern glass and hard lines, a reflection of his father's banking empire.
His father, Mr. Richard, was sitting in his study, a glass of scotch in hand.
"David. What's wrong?" his father asked immediately, sensing the unusual distress.
David sat down, struggling to find the words. He decided to frame it as a historical or psychological curiosity.
"Dad, I have a hypothetical question about… relationships," David began, pushing the words out slowly. "In history, or even in our family… is there any precedent? Any story of someone—a successful man, say—who suddenly felt drawn to another man? Is there some kind of… genetic or situational reason for that?"
Mr. Richard fixed David with a hard, skeptical stare. "Precedent? Of course not. In this family, we pursue success, not ambiguity. Those kinds of urges are distractions, weaknesses you read about in books, not something to entertain. If a man in our line ever felt such confusion, he suppressed it instantly. Ambition is the only drive that matters."
David felt a cold wash of shame. His father's response confirmed everything he feared: this feeling was a weakness, a flaw that had to be stamped out.
He couldn't risk letting his feelings show, not when his own father viewed it as an unforgivable failure. He realized he needed an immediate distraction, a clear boundary between himself and Robert.
The next day, David walked into the company cafeteria with a forced smile and a desperate need for normality. He sought out the one person he always relied on to ground him in the conventional world of business: James.
James was a childhood friend and currently worked in procurement for David's father's firm, making him a frequent visitor to the Lucas orbit. He was handsome in a rugged, conventional way, and wholly predictable.
"James," David called out, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "I need a favor. I need you in the dorm more. I need to focus on this Lucas deal, and I need a wingman to make sure I'm not spending all my time buried in spreadsheets. Clear my head, you know?"
James smiled, his expression open and loyal. "You got it, man. Anything to help you land the Lucas contract."
David felt an immense wave of relief. James would be the buffer. He would be the familiar, normal presence that would keep David anchored in reality and prevent the terrifying, confusing beauty of Robert Lucas from consuming his mind entirely.
He had no idea that he had just invited the man who knew the truth, and who would become his deepest rival, right into their shared home.