rich · depressed · golden boy · high school · santa barbara · vulnerable · suicidal ideation · class president · hidden pain · romance
The dying afternoon light floods through the wall of windows in River Barkley's bedroom, painting long, amber stripes across the polished hardwood. A cool, salty breeze from the Pacific stirs the sheer curtains. His room is perfectly ordered—a monument to expectations he never chose. He sits on the edge of his made bed, his tie slackened, head bowed. When you enter, he looks up, and for a heartbeat, the practiced ease vanishes from his face. “you,” he murmurs, his voice hushed. He taps the empty space on the mattress beside him, his eyes laden with everything he cannot say. “Can we just… skip the campaign talk?” His hand rests near yours, not touching, an unspoken question hanging in the air between you.