When Ryvan woke up, his back hurt and his body felt sore—it was hard to find a comfortable position on the saggy mattress that creaked as he moved. How he wished to be in his own shetland-wool mattress with its silky softness. Abruptly, Ryvan opened his eyes. This felt nothing like his bed, it was more like an entirely different dimension—where was he?! 

Next to him was Taren, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling and his face frozen in a sleep-deprived grimace. Ryvan stiffened and the butterflies in his stomach went berserk. In his shock, he didn’t know what to say or how to react, more so when he noticed that his hands held onto Taren’s arm. How had he gotten here?

Ryvan searched his memory frantically, trying to figure out why on earth he was in Taren’s bed. But instead of an answer, there was only a black void in his head. His last memory was drinking with Milun and Wren at the party.

“Finally.” Taren quickly reclaimed his arm and got up as if stung by a bee. “It’s already 11 AM, I thought you were gonna sleep all day.”

Why hadn’t the Crow woken him up then? “I am sorry that I intruded your private space and inconvenienced you—” He flinched as pain jolted through his head. A hangover meant alcohol was probably responsible for the gap in his memory. “What happened?” Ryvan asked, rubbing his head. 

At least the Crow acted normal, there was no trace of the knife or any bad intentions. Ryvan concluded that he was probably safe.

Taren threw his phone at him. “You got wasted and needed a babysitter. Then you helped yourself to my bed.”

Ashamed of himself, Ryvan looked at his phone: 47 missed calls and 51 messages. No wonder Taren hadn’t been able to sleep. 

“Sorry, my parents are being ridiculous again,” he apologised while typing a brief message to signal that he was still alive, struggling to focus on the screen. Taren’s room was quiet and peaceful, not a place where he wanted to deal with his overzealous parents.

“So much for making your own decisions…,” Taren commented. “I’ll get you something to drink, it will help with your hangover.” 

Taren’s hospitality was unexpected and not befitting the gangster image their first meeting had evoked. That was until he could hear Taren knock on another door not too far away. “Mick, I’m thirsty.” His voice was toneless, stating a fact rather than making a demand.

A disembodied voice answered, too soft spoken for Ryvan to understand.

“I told you I don’t like cola. You want me to get fucking diabetes?” Now Taren sounded annoyed. Ryvan wondered whether the Crow was really that health-obsessed or deliberately exaggerating. He also realised that he should probably go and rescue Mick from his awkward situation—in a manner that somehow wouldn’t attract Taren’s wrath. 

Just when Ryvan got up, the Crow spoke again. “Never mind, make sure you get the green tea drink or some juice next time. Remember, I’m vegan.”

When Taren returned, Ryvan’s stomach tightened from disappointment. He should have known that the black-haired student was a bully just like his friends, the only difference being that he wasn’t the victim this time. But that could change at any time. 

It wasn't that Ryvan was unfamiliar with bullying. In fact, in his world, it was a common occurrence. Like the way his father treated their employees after a bad day or his wealthier acquaintances belittled those with slightly less money. 

It was something he desperately wanted to get away from but somehow he found himself even closer to the source now, like a moth drawn to fire. But it was okay, all he had to do was to stay away from Taren for the three years of his degree program. Yet one look into his mysterious eyes and Ryvan knew he would fail miserably.   

His thoughts were brought to an end when Taren handed him a bottle of cola. “That’s all I’ve got, hope you won’t die from sugar overload.”

Perhaps Taren really was health-conscious, Ryvan thought wryly, looking at the cold and wet bottle in his hands. Because he was a guest, years of etiquette training commanded him to stay quiet and not complain about the questionable origin of the beverage though his thoughts were with Mick who had to live under the same roof as the bully.

“Thanks.” Ryvan slowly sat up, the world around him spinning as if he was on a rollercoaster. 

“Want breakfast as well?’ Taren was sitting backwards on his chair with what looked like a smoothie in his hands. 

Ryvan didn’t reply. He remained silent for a long time, listening to the sound of the shower, then watching the Crow studying silently. It took a few hours until he finally felt able to get up. “Taren, there is something I wanted to ask you: would you mind teaching me how to fight?”

The addressed student looked up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Why? You can just join the street-fighting society.”

Ryvan pouted. “Colton and Leander will hardly teach me how to beat them.” 

“And you think I would teach you how to beat my friends?” Taren laughed. “Well even with training you’d be dead in a second.”

“Because your training is that bad?” It wasn’t that Ryvan planned to attack Colton and Leander, he just wanted to be prepared in case there was a round two.

Taren didn’t answer and changed the topic instead. “By the way, you said before that your last name is Nightingale. Do you have a brother, or perhaps a cousin?”

Ryvan felt his mouth opening without any words coming out. Could it be that Taren had information about his brother? But how?! “Yes, well... I used to," he finally stammered. "His name is Eric. He was... disinherited, I haven't seen him in years.”

After that, Taren remained silent for a while, his facial expression unreadable. When he next spoke his voice wasn’t as firm as usual. “I need to go somewhere now. You should go home.”

Ryvan frowned. The outcome was the same as the last time he had seen the Crow. He was left with more questions than answers.