Ryan blinked against the harsh white light, groaning as the sterile smell of disinfectant clawed at his senses. His head throbbed, and his vision swam with faint shapes. For a long moment, he wasn't sure where he was.
A figure moved into focus, and then another. A nurse in crisp uniform knelt beside him, checking his pulse. A clipboard rested on the edge of the bed. Beside her, standing silently, was Adrian Val. His posture calm, composed, the kind of control Ryan could feel even without a word.
"Hey," Ryan croaked, his throat dry, words rasping. He swallowed, coughing lightly. "Th-thank you."
Adrian said nothing, just inclined his head slightly, dark eyes observing. The silence was heavy, yet not unkind.
The nurse fussed over him, asking questions, making him sip water, telling him to lie still. Ryan's mind floated somewhere between lucidity and memory.
He saw flashes: leaving Dr. Mensah's office, palms damp, chest tight, legs quivering. The sunlight through the hallway windows glaring like it was mocking him. Then the blur — the floor rushing up, cool tiles against his skin, arms scooping him up without thought. Adrian. He remembered the brief impression of calm authority, the silent strength that seemed to exist without effort. And then black.
Ryan's stomach clenched. Embarrassment, dread, and a strange awareness gnawed at him. He had always been the one to push through, to manage, to survive. Never the one to collapse in front of anyone — and certainly not Adrian Val.
Adrian shifted slightly, as if sensing Ryan's attention. "Now I'm sure you're okay," he said finally, his voice low, measured. "I should get going."
Something about the way he said it — casual, detached — made Ryan's chest tighten. The thought of Adrian leaving felt intolerable. Without thinking, he reached up and tugged at the hem of Adrian's shirt. The motion was hesitant, almost embarrassed, but enough to stop him.
Adrian's brow lifted slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity in his dark gaze. He didn't comment, didn't move. He waited.
Ryan's heart raced. His thoughts tumbled over themselves — confusion, guilt, anxiety, embarrassment. He was already asking for help from someone from another world, someone untouchably perfect, and now he had to force the words out.
"I… I need help," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. "I… can't do this alone. Can you… tutor me?"
Ryan's words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain. Adrian didn't move. Didn't blink. He just stared down at him, dark eyes unreadable, and the silence stretched so long it felt like gravity itself had thickened. Ryan's chest tightened. He couldn't read him. He had no clue what Adrian was thinking, and that only made him more nervous.
The nurse had left quietly, leaving a few papers and prescriptions on the bedside table with a stack of instructions. She'd fussed over Ryan, warned him about rest, hydration, and meals he was clearly skipping, but once she was gone, it was just the two of them — Ryan and the immovable presence of Adrian Val.
Ryan shifted, gingerly pulling himself into a sitting position. His legs shook, his stomach churned. Adrian's gaze stayed locked on him, deep and black, not aggressive but suffocatingly watchful. Every time Ryan dared to lift his eyes, he felt himself faltering, like his thoughts were being peeled apart. He knew for sure he couldn't hold a staring contest with this man. His eyeballs jittered, his vision flickering, and the tightness in his chest turned into a knot.
Words started tumbling out before he even thought about them. Nervous, jumbled, almost incoherent, "I—I don't know where to start. I mean, I've tried on my own, I really have. I—um, my GPA… I just can't seem to catch up. I've been working, I know, it's not ideal, and I'm behind, obviously, but I swear I'll— I'll put in the hours, I'll study extra, I just… I don't want to fail, I can't fail, and I—please, I just… I need someone who knows this stuff, and I… I can follow your instructions, I will, I just… please…"
He froze mid-ramble, cheeks burning, chest heaving, because for a second he realized he was spilling his entire panic, entire life, into the air between them, and Adrian was just… watching. Nothing more. No expression, no judgement. Nothing he could anchor his nerves to.
And then, finally, Adrian spoke. Low. Calm. Precise.
"Can you afford it?"
Ryan blinked. His mouth went dry. For a split second, he couldn't process whether Adrian was asking about money, time, or effort. "Uh… I… I—I mean, I'll—whatever you mean, I can… I can manage," he stammered, his words tripping over themselves.
"Forget it," Adrian said sharply. "Go find yourself another tutor."
He turned on his heel and walked toward the door with that same effortless poise leaving Ryan all dumbfounded.
He just sat there, mouth dry, chest tight, staring at the door as it closed behind him. Embarrassment flared hot and sharp — he had begged, he had exposed every insecurity, every failure — and Adrian had brushed it off like it was nothing.
And yet… something inside him ignited. The deflation, the shame, the frustration — they all mixed into a stubborn, burning determination. He wouldn't let this be the end. He would find a way to convince Adrian. Somehow.
Ryan exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the bed. His knees still trembled, but there was a spark now: he was going to make this work, even if it killed him to do it.
Ryan didn't linger, that evening he was discharged and he headed back to his hostel room with Adrian in his throbbing headspace. Ethan was lounging on his bed, headset off, looking unusually alert. "Where've you been since lectures? I know you don't have a shift today, and you've been MIA," he asked, tilting his head.
Ryan slumped onto his bed, running a hand through his hair. "I… fainted," he admitted quietly.
Ethan froze. "Wait, what? Fainted? How?"
Ryan told him everything — how he'd left Dr. Mensah's office, chest tight, legs quivering, the world tilting, the floor rushing up — and Adrian had caught him, carried him to the clinic, stayed until he woke, and how he'd… finally asked Adrian to tutor him.
Ethan's mouth fell open, then curved into a wide grin. "Hold on — wait. Adrian? Ran with you in his arms? Stayed until you woke? And you actually… talked to him?"
Ryan's face burned. "I didn't say much. Just… tried not to make things worse."
Ethan shook his head in disbelief. "Bro, this is insane. You were that close to Adrian Val! And he engaged with you — stayed there, watched you, didn't just walk off immediately… wow."
Then his expression shifted to confusion. "But… he dismissed you? Asked if you could afford it and left? That's so out of character. Did you say something wrong? Like offending him by accident?"
Ryan shook his head. "No… I was careful. I mean, I stammered, embarrassed myself probably, but didn't offend him. He just… left."
Ethan leaned back, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Huh. Weird. But okay… you still want to speak to him again, right?"
Ryan nodded firmly. "Yes. I need to. He's the only one who can help me pass this semester. I'm not letting it go."
Ethan scoffed, "Now you've realized he's the only one that help you, huh? What happened to I don't need anyone like him…"
"You're helping me or not?" Ryan was annoyed and embarrassed. He hated this situation but he has no choice.
Ethan grinned, tapping his fingers on the bedframe. "Good. I like this. Let's plan. First, scope him out — where he hangs, when he's free. Approach smart, confident, serious, not desperate. Make him see you're committed." (don't rush this part. Make it sound natural)
Ryan exhaled, rubbing his face. "I can do that. I will."
Ethan's eyes lit up. "Also, come to basketball training this weekend — evening. Not for skill, just for presence. Might give you a chance to… you know, cross paths strategically."
Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Basketball? I'm terrible—"
Ethan waved him off. "Doesn't matter. Be seen. Be strategic. That's the plan." (also don't rush this part. Make it natural.)
Ryan leaned back, thoughts tangled with Adrian's calm, unreadable gaze, the tutoring request, and the subtle thrill of finally taking action. For the first time, his determination felt sharp, focused, and real. (stop laying a lot of emphasis and over mentioning ryan's situation and adrian's aura)
Saturday evening, the gym smelled of sweat and rubber, echoing with the sharp squeak of sneakers and the bounce of balls. Ryan lingered near the bleachers, backpack slung over one shoulder, pretending to scroll through his phone. He had barely touched a basketball in years, and the thought of doing anything on the court made his stomach knot.
Ethan was already there, dribbling casually, waving Ryan over. "Remember — we're not here to impress anyone with skill. Just presence," he reminded.
Ryan nodded, trying to steady his breathing. He moved closer to the court, careful to stay in view without standing in the way. Every so often, his gaze flicked toward Adrian, who was shooting hoops with Dylan and Liam. Adrian moved effortlessly, focused, like the court belonged to him and no one else even registered.
Ryan couldn't tell if Adrian even noticed him. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn't. It was impossible to know — Adrian wasn't the type to look at someone he didn't care about, and Ryan had no reason to expect anything different.
He kept himself moving, bouncing the ball awkwardly, pretending to warm up. Every time Adrian made a smooth shot, Ryan's chest tightened, a mix of admiration and frustration twisting inside him. He was here for a reason, and yet, being present felt like shouting into a void.
By the time practice ended, the gym's noise faded, the last dribbles echoing as players filtered out. Ryan felt a heavy weight of frustration. He hadn't done anything impressive. He hadn't caught Adrian's attention. He hadn't even been sure if Adrian remembered their earlier encounter in the clinic.
He watched as Adrian strode toward the locker room, calm and unbothered. Without thinking, Ryan followed, his steps tentative. Something in him demanded he not let the evening slip by — maybe it was hope, maybe stubbornness. Either way, he moved after Adrian, silent, careful not to draw attention, heart hammering with every step.
The locker room door loomed ahead. Ryan's stomach knotted. He wasn't sure what he would say, or if he would even manage to speak at all. But the moment felt critical — too critical to turn back now.
Ryan hesitated just outside the locker room, heart hammering in his chest. He drew in a shaky breath. "Uh… hey—"
Adrian paused mid-step, eyes narrowing as if he was trying to place Ryan from somewhere in the fog of his memory. "Do I… know you?" His voice was calm, but the faint flicker of recognition — quickly suppressed — sent a jolt through Ryan.
"I… we met at the clinic," Ryan began, voice tight. "You… you carried me when I fainted, and… I asked if you could tutor me."
Adrian's gaze sharpened, scanning Ryan as if weighing the absurdity of the request. "I gave it some thought," Ryan continued, trying to steady his voice despite the pounding in his ears, "and… maybe if you just tell me your fee, I'll try to meet it. I… I really want to pass this semester."
Adrian's lips twitched with what could have been amusement—or disdain. Then he let out a harsh, incredulous scoff. "Meet up to it? You can't even get ten percent. You're a scholarship student, running through shifts, struggling to get basic textbooks, and you think you can afford the knowledge I acquired through expensive textbooks, study academies and groups, private tutoring, and one hundred percent attendance to lectures. Not to mention the time I'd have to waste on you. Do you really think I'd give it up for your pennies?"
Ryan's stomach sank. His mouth opened to protest, but no words came. Adrian ran a hand through his dark, straight hair, exhaling sharply in frustration. "Don't even dream of it," he said, then spun on his heel and walked away.
Ryan stayed frozen, dumbfounded, tears threatening to spill. Adrian was cruel, but… not entirely wrong. What had he been thinking? That Adrian Val — the perfect, untouchable Adrian Val — would drop everything to tutor him?
He sank to the nearest bench, head in his hands, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He hadn't even realized someone tall and slender had been standing nearby the whole time.
"Don't take what he said to heart." A hand landed on his shoulder, firm but gentle. Ryan looked up, blinking at Mike — the tall guy who had been at the corner — bending down to bring his face level with Ryan's. He wiped away a stray tear. "Adrian's quite sensitive right after a workout. Maybe after a few minutes, he'll cool off."
Mike patted his back reassuringly. "So don't be sad, okay? Try again next time."
Before Ryan could respond, Mike straightened and called after Adrian, jogging to catch up. "Why would you say that to that kid? He's about to cry!"
Adrian didn't reply. Ryan remained on the bench, motionless, eyes fixed on the two broad backs disappearing down the hallway.
And then it all came — the tears he'd been holding back, the frustration, the exhaustion, the shame, the hopelessness — flowing freely. He didn't even know if it was because of everything he'd been pushing through or just what Adrian had said, but he let them fall anyway, alone with the weight of it all.
Ryan finally forced himself to stand, legs stiff and weak from sitting too long. He walked toward the basketball court where Ethan had waited, sensing he'd follow Adrian inside but choosing to stay behind.
Ethan's gaze immediately caught him. He didn't comment on Ryan's red eyes — he knew better than to press — but the subtle widening of his expression told Ryan that his friend had noticed he'd cried. Ryan's throat tightened, but he didn't say a word about it. That part was too humiliating to share.
"Alright," Ryan said quietly, lowering himself onto the bleachers beside Ethan. "Here's what happened…" He recounted the encounter at the locker room, Adrian's harsh words, and Mike's suggestion to wait a little before trying again. He skipped the part about the tears, his voice careful, clipped.
"So… what now?" Ryan asked, rubbing his face, still trying to calm the sting of humiliation. "Mike said I should wait for him to cool off, but… I… I think I need to try one last time. If he refuses, then…" He trailed off, the word heavy on his tongue. "…then I guess I'd have to give up."
Ethan blinked sharply. "Give up? Ryan, are you serious? That's… not even an option. You don't give up. You're not built for giving up."
Ryan recoiled at his own words. He knew Ethan was right. Giving up wasn't on the table. But right now, facing the reality of Adrian's arrogance and superiority, it had almost slipped out. He closed his eyes briefly. "Okay… fine. No giving up. I'll try one last time. If he says no… I just… I have to figure something else."
Ethan leaned back, still shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "I still can't believe Adrian could act like that. The way he spoke to you… it's almost cruel."
Ryan exhaled, the weight of frustration pressing against him. "I know… but he's not wrong. I can barely manage textbooks, let alone… all the knowledge he's worked for. I can't think like him, and I don't have what he has. But…" His jaw tightened. "…I need him. If I don't get his help, I'm finished this semester."
Ethan nodded, determination lighting his features. "Alright. Let's map this properly. Where does Adrian usually hang out with his friends?"
Ryan shrugged. "Mostly… the usual campus spots. But I've heard about a clubhouse somewhere — I overheard someone say it's only for the elite. Adrian and his crew sometimes go there."
Ethan's brow furrowed. "A clubhouse? Only elites get in, huh… yeah, that sounds like him. You think you can even get past the bouncers? You're… a scholarship student, Ryan, not exactly their usual clientele."
Ryan's stomach twisted. "Exactly. That's why I need your advice. How do I even… get in? Or… do I try somewhere else first?"
Ethan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. "Hmm… well, we'll have to be smart. You can't just walk in, that's obvious. Maybe we observe first, figure out their routine, when it's less crowded, or see if there's a way to slip in without making it obvious. We plan like strategists, not desperate kids."
Ryan nodded slowly, a spark of resolve building despite the earlier embarrassment. He had one last shot. One precise, calculated attempt. If he failed, it wouldn't be because he didn't try — it would just mean he had to find another path.
"But I'm not… I can't…" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "I don't have the luxury of another path. It has to be Adrian. Nothing else works."
Ethan gave him a sharp, encouraging look. "Then we'll make it work. Together."
The night air was warm, heavy with the distant bass of music. The clubhouse stood at the far end of the courtyard — a sleek, two-story building with tinted windows, soft golden lights, and the kind of atmosphere that whispered money.
Ryan's throat was dry as he and Ethan approached the entrance. Two bouncers stood on either side of the door, black-suited and stone-faced. Ethan muttered under his breath, "Alright, we just act like we belong here. Confidence, no hesitation."
They walked up.
One of the bouncers stepped forward, blocking their path. "Permit ID?" he asked flatly.
Ethan froze. "Uh— permit?"
The man's expression didn't change. "Club members only. No permit, no entry."
Ryan's stomach sank. He looked at Ethan, whose fake confidence evaporated in an instant. Before either of them could stammer an excuse, a voice behind them cut through.
"What's the holdup, man?"
They turned.
Dylan.
Tall, sharp-featured, and effortlessly charming — his blond hair was slicked back in that careless way that somehow looked deliberate. He wore a pale denim jacket over a loose white tee, dark jeans hugging long legs, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His presence screamed entitled ease.
He looked at the two of them — clearly amused — then at the bouncer. "They're with me," Dylan said casually. "New recruits for the media team."
The bouncer hesitated for a second before nodding and stepping aside.
Ryan blinked in disbelief. Ethan muttered, "Holy shit…" under his breath.
As they passed, they both turned to thank Dylan. He grinned, tilted his head slightly, and brought his fingers — index and middle — to his temple, pointing at Ethan with a tsk sound from the side of his mouth. The gesture was playful, mischievous — I got you.
For a fleeting second, Ethan thought it was aimed directly at him. His chest tightened, but he quickly brushed it off. Focus. They had a mission.
Inside, the clubhouse was a swirl of dim lights and low chatter. Jazz and soft hip-hop blended under the hum of conversation. The scent of alcohol and expensive cologne lingered in the air.
Ryan's eyes scanned the room — and then he froze.
There.
Dylan had joined his friends at a corner booth — Liam, Mike, and Adrian.
Adrian sat with a half-empty glass of beer in front of him, head tilted slightly down as he swirled the drink slowly. His posture was relaxed, but something about it screamed detachment. He wasn't part of the noise — he existed above it.
He wore a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms; the first two buttons were undone, just enough to hint at the sharp line of his collarbone. His dark hair, slightly tousled, caught the low light, and the shadows made his sharp jaw look even more pronounced. The aura around him was different — heavier, colder.
In school, he was calm, distant, collected. Here, he looked like someone you didn't dare approach. Off-limits.
Ryan swallowed hard.
He and Ethan found a small table not too far from the group — close enough to watch, far enough to not be noticed. Ethan ordered two sodas to blend in. They waited.
The minutes dragged on, feeling like hours. Dylan and Liam were loud — laughing, teasing, leaning back with the confidence of people who owned the space. Mike was quieter, occasionally chiming in with a smirk or subtle remark. Adrian, though, barely spoke. His eyes stayed mostly on the amber liquid in his glass, expression unreadable.
Ryan's heart pounded with every glance in Adrian's direction. He rehearsed what he'd say over and over in his head, fingers tapping restlessly on his thigh.
Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dylan pushed away from the table with a grin. "Let's hit the dance floor," he said, his words slightly slurred. Liam and Mike followed suit, unsteady but laughing.
Adrian sighed, drained the last of his drink, and leaned back in his chair. He looked faintly tipsy — eyes slightly hooded, expression softer but still distant.
Ethan nudged Ryan under the table. "Now. That's your chance."
Ryan's palms were damp. "Now?"
"Yes, now. Before he disappears again."
Ryan stood, his legs stiff, heart hammering against his ribs. He straightened his shirt, drew a shaky breath, and stepped forward.
But before he could make it halfway across the room — Adrian stood. He pushed his chair back, slow and deliberate, slid his hands into his pockets, and started walking toward the back corridor — alone.
Ryan froze mid-step, words dying in his throat. Ethan's voice echoed faintly behind him: "Go! Don't just stand there—"
Ryan's pulse spiked. He swallowed his fear, tightened his fists, and went after him.
Ryan's lungs burned as he caught up to Adrian just as he reached the garage. He grabbed Adrian's hands, panting, knuckles tightening slightly from the effort.
Adrian, towering and solid, looked down at him. Unlike the locker room encounter, there was no push, no impatience, no trace of annoyance. He didn't pull his hands away, didn't speak. For some reason, he just… waited. Patient. Observant. Ryan felt both embarrassed and strangely grateful.
He forced himself to steady his breathing, wiped at the sweat clinging to his forehead, and finally spoke.
"Sorry for stopping you," Ryan began, voice uneven but determined, "but… can you give me a minute? Your time… can you hear what I'm about to say? And if you still reject me, I promise I won't pester you again."
His gaze lifted to Adrian's. Those deep, dark eyes — usually unreadable, nearly emotionless — held something different tonight. A spark of curiosity. A trace of amusement.
Ryan swallowed, heart hammering. "I've thought about it… and I know my request is unreasonable. But I really can't give up. I… really need you. You've said my pennies aren't worth it…" His words tumbled out, desperate, awkward. "…but is there anything else I can do? Something I can offer to make your time worth it… maybe I can be useful in other ways…"
He paused, staring up at Adrian, hoping, pleading without saying it outright.
For a long moment, Adrian said nothing. Then, slowly, a faint, mischievous smirk tugged at his lips. The tension in Ryan's chest didn't ease, but curiosity gnawed at him.
Finally, Adrian's low, measured voice broke the silence: "Follow me."
Before Ryan could respond, Adrian tugged him along to a sleek black car parked under the garage lights. The paint gleamed even in the dim illumination, flawless. The rims were silver, polished, the kind that reflected light in sharp, sharp angles. Tinted windows hid the interior, but the soft rumble of the engine hinted at power. It wasn't just a car — it was a statement.
Adrian pushed Ryan gently into the passenger seat, then slid into the driver's side. The leather creaked lightly under his weight. He was tipsy, the faint flush in his cheeks telling, but sober enough to handle the car. He adjusted the rearview mirror, glanced at Ryan briefly with that same faint smirk, and started the engine. The low hum filled the space between them, charged and tense.
Ryan exhaled shakily, fingers gripping the edge of his seat, knowing this moment — whatever came next — was his chance.