Idle Hands, Golden Intentions
Maxwell awoke before the dormitory bells rang, heart already drumming with quiet excitement. Morning light had only begun to slip through the tall windows of Golden Knight Prep Academy, but his uniform was already laid out across the desk—neatly folded, perfectly pressed. A fresh brush sat beside his loafers, waiting to be used. He wanted everything to be flawless.
It was the first full day of Hobby Block. A time set aside each week for students to explore elegant pursuits—golden hobbies, as the school called them. He wasn't entirely sure what counted. Chadwick (@chevy-gold) had mentioned something about "upkeep discipline" in passing the day before, but Maxwell was too shy to ask. Still, the thought of it—time to polish, prep, refine—thrilled him.
Down in the breakfast hall, golden light streamed through arched windows onto polished wood and quiet conversation. Boys sat in pairs or small groups, all neatly dressed, all perfectly postured. Maxwell clutched his tray with care, trying not to spill his tea. He spotted Chadwick seated by the far wall, a model of Golden etiquette, crisp collar high, hands folded neatly above a plate of sliced fruit.
“Maxwell,” Chadwick said warmly, gesturing to the seat beside him. "Your tie knot is excellent today. Did you adjust the symmetry this morning?"
Maxwell beamed. “Yes, I practiced last night.”
"It shows," Chadwick replied. "There's a small group meeting for Gentleman’s Upkeep during Hobby Block. If you're interested. We take care of our uniforms, shoes, posture. A little tradition of precision."
Maxwell nodded immediately. “I’d love to.”
A soft voice cut in. “May I come too?”
It was Nathaniel (@polo-drone-166). He stood nearby, clutching a book to his chest, eyes wide. His blazer was slightly too big, his expression careful. Chadwick smiled gently and nodded.
“Of course, Nathaniel. We’ll all meet after third bell. Common Room C.”
As the boys returned to their breakfast, a hush settled in. Maxwell stole a glance at Chadwick, then at Nathaniel, and smiled. Maybe this school really was everything he hoped for.
The clock chimed third bell, and Maxwell found his way to Common Room C with nervous anticipation. The room was softly lit, oak-paneled, with golden sconces casting a warm glow over polished floors. A small fireplace crackled in the corner. It felt less like a schoolroom and more like a sanctuary.
Chadwick was already there, seated on a low stool before a row of shining loafers. A polishing kit lay open beside him—brushes, cloths, little tins of golden wax. He looked up and smiled. "Right on time."
Nathaniel arrived just behind Maxwell, looking uncertain but eager. Chadwick gestured for them to kneel beside him. “We start with gratitude,” he said simply, “for the uniforms that shape us, and for the work that keeps us in shape.”
They began. Chadwick showed them how to fold their jackets just so, how to align the seams with the creases, how to stroke polish in even, loving circles. Maxwell watched, then mirrored, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. Nathaniel stayed close to Chadwick, glancing now and then at his hands for confirmation.
A sudden breathy voice broke the quiet. “Sorry, sorry… I’m late.”
Wei-Lun (@goldenherc9) slipped in, breathless, the top buttons of his shirt undone just enough to reveal the soft rise of his chest, his golden collar slightly askew. His uniform was mostly tidy, but the suggestion of disarray in his posture and the sheen of his exposed collarbone gave the moment an unintentional, delicate allure. His face flushed as he noticed the others already mid-task.
Chadwick smiled and rose smoothly, adjusting Wei-Lun’s collar with a firm but kind touch. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Wei-Lun blushed and nodded, kneeling quickly and retrieving a brush. His hands hesitated at first, fingers twitching with self-conscious care, but each motion revealed a quiet precision born from practice and the deep desire to get it right.
Across the room, Alex (@polo-drone-151) sat in a high-backed chair, golden book resting on one knee. He looked serene, almost royal, fingers flipping through “The Art of Obedience.” Without lifting his gaze, he murmured, “Circular motion. Small, even pressure.” His voice floated across the room with calm reassurance, directed gently toward Wei-Lun—as if to affirm he was doing just fine.
The room resumed its gentle rhythm. Soft brushes on leather. The faint clink of polish tins. Golden dust floating in the quiet air. For Maxwell, it felt sacred.
And then, the door creaked open once more. Boots on marble. Swagger in every step.
Camden (@polo-drone-076) entered in fencing whites, jacket undone, grin half-wicked. “What’s this?” he said, arms spread. “Polish club for golden boys?”
Maxwell looked up—and his breath caught. Camden. Of course it would be him. That mix of thrill and dread twisted inside his chest. He admired Camden. He always had. But with the others watching, that admiration felt dangerous, humiliating. He didn’t move. He just watched, helpless.
Camden spotted him instantly. “Still love shining other people’s shoes, Max?”
“Camden,” Chadwick said without turning, “this space is for refinement.”
Camden chuckled. Then, casually, he kicked off his scuffed fencing shoes and let them land with a thud beside Maxwell. “Then go on. Show me how it’s done.”
Maxwell didn’t speak. He didn’t protest. He reached slowly for Camden’s shoes, heart thudding loud in his ears. Every eye in the room was on him, but all he could feel was the weight of Camden’s gaze—amused, expectant, testing.
He set to work. His fingers trembled only once before settling into steady, circular motion. He brushed the dust away, applied the polish, worked it in with reverence. The ritual soothed him, centered him. He would do it right. Not for Camden. Not even for the others. For the golden standard.
Nathaniel shifted beside him, uncertain. Wei-Lun moved closer, offering a soft cloth without a word. Their hands brushed. Maxwell didn’t look up, but he nodded.
Together, they buffed until the leather gleamed. Until even Camden’s cocky smirk wavered. He had been slightly disappointed that Maxwell did not go further and use his tongue, but the result was undeniable. He made a mental note to give him some private lesson later.
He stepped into the room with measured grace, eyes sweeping across the kneeling students. He paused at Camden, then at Maxwell. Then, finally, he spoke.
“You’ve all understood the assignment.”
He turned without another word and disappeared into the hallway.
Camden gave a low whistle and bent to pick up his shoes. He held them up to the light, nodding slightly. Then he leaned in, flicked Maxwell’s chin with a crooked smile.
“Still got it. But I'm sure you can do even better with proper motivation.”
The silence returned, thick and golden.
Chadwick stood and began folding his cloth. Nathaniel, quietly radiant, mirrored him. Wei-Lun lingered beside Maxwell, his eyes soft with pride.
Even Alex closed his book. “Next time,” he said calmly, “I’ll show you how to fold the jacket without wrinkling the lapel.”
Before the hearth, a line of shoes gleamed like polished trophies. The boys sat in gentle silence, gloves dusted in gold, shoulders nearly touching.
Golden hands, idle no longer.
______________
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Precision. Presence. Perfection.
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