RISK✵ lrh

1 | Secret Societies

"Luke!" Michael called out, the door slamming shut behind him and rattling the house's windows. His loud footsteps echoed throughout the home, battling with the noise of the television. Michael carelessly tossed his bag on the small wooden dining table before turning all his undivided attention to the blond lazily lying on the couch.

Luke slumped in a growingly uncomfortable position on a comfortable couch, his overheating laptop on his lap with a million tabs open. He took Michael's sudden burst and intrusion as an excuse to pry his focus away from the words on the screen that had all blended into an incomprehensible mess.

Michael was moving around the kitchen, opening cabinets, the fridge, and random drawers – looking for what, Luke wasn't sure. To be fair, Michael was energized; he felt like a man who had just discovered millions in treasure or uncovered some grand conspiracy that he was called crazy for believing.

However, in a sense, he did precisely that.

Michael moved from the fridge to the couch, carrying a sizeable caffeinated drink as he dropped onto the cushions. Luke looked at his best friend. Was Michael sweating? It was hardly warm or sunny in February, and the campus was only a fifteen-minute walk away.

The boy brushed his vibrant red hair back, took a generous sip from his energy drink, and said, "Remember last year when I said there were secret societies here?"

Luke tried resisting the urge to roll his eyes and let out a groan instead. He couldn't deal with any more of Michael's conspiracies about the alleged secret societies – an unhealthy obsession that once plagued an entire month of conversation. It was fun at first when they were both freshers and desperate for a friend, but it's been over a year, and neither Luke nor Michael had seen any leads to the supposed 'secret societies' that run behind the scenes.

For the first four months at university, Michael and Luke stalked the halls, camped at the libraries, and listened to every conversation in the dining hall. Their justification was a rumour Michael read online and confirmed via a drunk student in a pub bathroom.

Luke hoped Michael had dropped the subject and stopped investigating the mystery of the individual colleges' secret societies. After a while, it lost its appeal because what's so interesting about an exclusively private—and high-key—elitist version of a frat party? Luke started to believe these groups were cults masquerading themselves as prime opportunities for networking and excessive drinking.

"This again, Mike? Luke sighed, shutting his laptop and placing it on one of the couch cushions as he prepared to give his – temporary – undivided attention to his friend. "What is it now? Was someone wearing a suspicious patch on their jacket?" He questioned, "Or are you sure it wasn't just the Marxist society?"

It was Michael's turn to roll his eyes, "If you would've let me finish," he said, "you would've known sooner that I think I found a way in."

The blond turned his head away from the television, a heavy look of skepticism painting his features – and maybe, a tiny bit of intrigue, a hint the eighteen-year-old boy who was desperate to explore a centuries-old university rising to the surface.

"What do you mean you think you've found a way in?" He questioned.

"Now who's interested?" Michael remarked, a shit-eating-prideful grin on his lips. "Look, today, when I was at work, this guy came in with a friend." He explained, "I was sifting through a box of records that just arrived, and I found a Radiohead vinyl – it was a little bit beat up, but it's a second-hand record–"

"Your point?" Luke interrupted. Sometimes, the blond wondered how, out of all people, Michael was also 1 out of the 3,000 who was granted the opportunity to spend tens of thousands in fees and attend a university which prides itself on academic excellence.