The next morning I awoke feeling better than I ever had before. It was like I had let out some of the frustration that had been building up inside me, and that had enabled me to finally get some proper sleep. I was so comfortable that I didn't want to move at all. The sense of relief I felt was indescribable, and I was worried that as soon as I got up it would all go back to normal.

It felt almost like I was in a protective bubble. The couch was comfortable and warm, and the room was being gently illuminated by a window near the front door. It was clearly sunny outside. The room was completely silent besides a gentle buzzing coming from the television set which I found strangely comforting. As far as I knew it always did that.

Unfortunately I was broken out of my half-asleep trance when I realized that I needed to go to the bathroom. Obviously, as that would mean getting out from under my warm blanket and making the –albeit short- journey to the other side of the room, I wasn't best pleased.

I sat up as slowly as I possibly could in fear of angering the pain in my head again, but thankfully it had no effect, and I found myself actually smiling when I realized that the headache wasn't coming back any time soon.

I glanced around the room briefly, enjoying the feeling of being able to see clearly again and testing to see if the pain would stay away no matter what angle my head was at. It did. I did, however, get a shock when I saw Vashyron sitting on the floor beside me. At first I was about to apologize about taking up the couch when he clearly wanted to sit down and watch TV or something, but then I realized that he was asleep.

He didn't look very comfortable. After all, the floor was cold, and he was still wearing the same clothes as he had been last night; sweatpants and a loose tank top which didn't look very warm. His hair was tied up as usual, but it was messy and some of it was coming out of the band, as if he had been moving around a lot in his sleep. That was when it hit me.

He had slept there all night.

For a good minute or so my mind was blank as I stared at him in disbelief. Had he slept there because he was worried about me?

He was clearly cold. I knew that because I was starting to feel the chill myself after only spending a few minutes out from under the blanket. On top of that, the floor in the living room was bare stone, and he was sleeping sitting up with his head resting against the couch at what looked like a slightly uncomfortable angle.

My first thought was to give him the blanket. It was the least I could do after he spent the small hours of the morning trying to calm me down and then slept on the ground just so he could watch over me through the night. The only problem was that if I moved to put the blanket over him he might wake up. Awkward situations like that I could definitely do without. What's more, despite probably being uncomfortable, he looked somewhat peaceful, and after waking him up in the middle of the night I thought it best to let him sleep for longer.

This meant that I was too scared to get up and go to the bathroom, however. The only thing I could do was sit there and stare at him, waiting to detect any slight movement that would suggest he was waking up. Luckily, he seemed to be in a deep sleep. His cheek was resting against the edge of the couch next to one of my knees –which I didn't dare move, despite being in a slightly uncomfortable position-, and his arms were folded across his chest in an obvious attempt to keep himself warm. As he was facing me I decided to take this opportunity to look at him properly. I spent most of my time avoiding any eye contact with him, so I had never really thought about what he looked like.

Although he had not yet told me his age, I deduced that he was probably still quite young. The only mark I could see on his face was a scar just below his hairline, which I assumed would normally be covered by his fringe. Other than that his skin was practically flawless, and I could find no other clues that would tell me anything about him. He was good-looking; there was no mistake about that. In fact, I found myself thinking that he looked rather out of place in this house and in the clothes he usually wore. In this part of town, even.

He looked like he ought to be wearing an expensive suit and living in a modern apartment somewhere in Chandelier. Yet, his home, the things in it, and his attire suggested someone who was part of the working class crowd, and the fact that there was a stash of weapons in the living room definitely did not say 'business man'. On top of that, he was well-built, and, considering his physique, it was obvious that he was very active, whatever his job was. He was clearly someone who enjoyed what he did, too, as he was cheerful all of the time, and although the house was nothing impressive, his clothing seemed quite expensive.

I already had a lot of respect for him, despite only having been here about two weeks. He had tried to kill me, sure, but he probably had a good reason, and I deserved it.

I was quickly brought back to reality when he opened his eyes and looked straight at me. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

Did he know that I was watching him all this time?

What felt like an hour of silence passed between us as his grey-blue eyes were fixed on mine, but it was only a few seconds, and he broke it by moving to sit upright, groaning slightly as he did.

I stayed where I was on the couch, still watching him silently, wondering if I should speak. He was the first to break the silence, however. His voice was quiet and a little coarse.

"What time is it?"

That simple question was enough to make me panic. Was I supposed to know what time it was? Would he be mad if I didn't know?

"I...I don't know. I just woke up," I lied, watching as he turned his body to face me properly, leaning his elbow on the couch beside me, smiling.

"Are you feeling okay this morning, sport?"

I don't know why he always called me that, but I had grown to like it. The fact that he had given me a nickname showed that he had affection for me in some way or another, and, like I said before, knowing that at least one person cared about me gave me hope.

I nodded quickly, trying my best to force a small smile in order to show my gratitude. He seemed to like this a lot, as I could have sworn his face lit up a little, and he chuckled.

"Are you up for some breakfast? I have big plans for today," he said as he pushed himself to his feet using the couch. He took the tie out of his hair and it fell down to his shoulders.

Plans?

What plans?

I couldn't decide whether this was good or bad.

Answering with another nod, I watched as he held the band between his teeth and pushed his hair back with his fingers neatly, tying it in place again.

"Good," he said cheerily, patting me on the shoulder, "You're gonna be okay, so relax a little."

And with that he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me to my thoughts.

At first I had wondered whether the 'big plans' meant that he was going to send me away somewhere. To him that would be a good thing, right? I mean, he was obviously young, fit and healthy; he probably had a well-payed job and a pretty girlfriend. He didn't need an antisocial teenager getting in the way of his life.

But there was something about his expression, something about the way he said it and the way he looked at me that was reassuring.

I knew that he wasn't going to leave me on my own.

After finally going to the bathroom and taking the opportunity to have a quick shower and tidy myself up a bit before getting dressed, I returned to find two plates of scrambled egg on the table. After the ordeal last night I was starving, so even Vashyron's slightly haphazard cooking was welcome. I sat down at the table as he came out of the kitchen, still wearing the clothes he'd slept in, and sat down with me.

I nodded to show my appreciation, before taking a mouthful. It was better than usual, but maybe that's just because I was so hungry I would have eaten anything he had put in front of me. Not that my own cooking skills are better; in fact, they are non-existent, or that Vashyron's cooking was terrible, it just seemed like he didn't do it very often.

After a few more mouthfuls I noticed that he was watching me.

"Is it good?" he chuckled, eating some of his own, leaning his elbows on the table, "I bought a recipe book so I could do it properly."

I couldn't help but feel happy at this.

"...Just because of me?"

He laughed, eating some more, before resting his fork on the edge of the plate, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head.

"Well, now I have someone else to feed, too, I feel like I should make more of an effort."

My heart felt like it skipped a beat. Did that mean he was going to let me stay? I was getting used to living here, and I really enjoyed it. Headaches and nightmares aside, this was the first time my life felt like it had any meaning; like I had a purpose. Before this I was simply surviving, wondering what it was all for, but now I was living properly. It was like all of the pieces were finally starting to come together.

"It's good," I said, finding myself smiling at the plate in front of me, "It's really good."

He chuckled, and I could still feel his eyes on me.

"Maybe you should learn to cook, too."

"Maybe I will," I replied, finally finding the courage to look up at him. He was smiling, as usual.

"Then hurry up and do it so we can eat something decent, because I suck," he laughed, clearing away the plates when they were empty, before going into his room, presumably to get dressed.

I stayed sitting at the table, feeling content, and not just because of the meal. I was just wondering what he had meant by 'big plans', and thinking of the various possibilities –none which seemed very likely- when he returned, wearing his usual combination of leather and denim.

"Well, it's still early, which means we have a lot of time. C'mon."

He didn't explain where we were going, instead just walking to the front door with me following, unquestioning.

When we were outside he locked the front door, before we began a short journey to wherever it was we were going. I didn't really care. It was all too casual to be anything for me to worry about, and he seemed relaxed, simply striking up a conversation as we walked.

"So, now that you're actually talking to me, how about you tell me a bit about yourself?" he chuckled, both watching me and messing with his keys in one hand simultaneously.

The question took me a little by surprise, and, as easy as it was, I realized that nobody had ever asked me before. Therefore, I had absolutely no idea what to say.

"Uh...I don't..."

"You don't have to go into detail, just tell me some basic stuff. What kinda stuff do you like?"

"..."

"Okay, then...what don't you like?"

"...I don't like people asking me questions."

He laughed out loud, and, despite the fact that we got a few strange looks from passers-by, I found myself laughing too.

"Oh, so you can laugh!" he said cheerfully, putting his hands into his jacket pockets, "What a relief. I was beginning to think that I wasn't funny, but I know that can't possibly be true."

He continued to watch me, obviously waiting for a proper answer.

"I...don't like school. It's really boring, and not because it's hard. I guess I just...don't like sitting around doing stuff like that. I wanna do something useful; something where I feel like I'm making a difference. I don't feel...right...when I'm at school."

He seemed somewhat excited by this answer, bringing his hands back out of his pockets and patting my shoulder firmly.

"Then you're gonna like what we're doing today," he chuckled, stopping outside a large gateway with a broken neon sign reading 'Welcome', some of the letters flickering and sparking. This place clearly wasn't well-maintained.

He led me inside to a desk where there were two men, and I stayed out of the way as he spoke to one of them. From what I saw, Vashyron handed the man some money, and they spoke for a while longer, before he came back to me.

"C'mon. We can go in. We've got a whole hour."

I was about to ask what exactly we had an hour to do, but he didn't give me a chance to answer as the large grating beside the desk slid open, and he walked through, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

Whatever this place was it looked kind of serious, to say the least.

Feeling curious, I followed him inside to find him standing in the middle of what looked like a large arena. At this I became a little concerned, wondering what he had brought me here for, and why.

"So, you prefer being active to sitting around studying?" he asked as I approached him, and I nodded, before he took an expensive but well-used looking handgun out of a holster on his thigh, holding it out to me.

I was a little worried about taking it from him. After what I had done, I wouldn't trust myself with a weapon of any kind, never mind a gun. However, he seemed to be completely nonchalant about it, and he pushed the gun into my hand, forcing me to take it.

"Well, it's your lucky day. I booked this arena for an hour, so you can blow off some steam," he chuckled, motioning around us at the vast, empty space, before several targets popped up out of the ground, each one containing a series of red circles.

"I think you have the wrong impression of me..." I began, trying to give him back the gun, but he pushed my hand aside, shaking his head.

"You at least know how to use a gun, right?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Then I'm gonna teach you how to use one properly."

I'm not going to lie; the prospect excited me a little. I didn't really know how to use guns very well, but every time I had done it before it had been one of the best feelings I knew. The adrenaline rush is like no other.

"So, how about you show me what you can do? The safety's already off." he continued, pointing to one of the targets and moving to stand behind me out of the way.

I was nervous, of course, but the chance to do this again was one I wasn't going to pass up. I held the gun in both hands, lifting my arms and aiming at the target, very aware that he was watching me closely. There was a large part of me that really wanted to impress him.

I pulled the trigger, but before I could check to see where it had hit there was a ringing pain in my head and I dropped the gun, quickly holding my hands over my ears. I felt my breath starting to speed up and once again I could hear my heart pounding in my chest; but just as my vision began to blur my hands were pulled away from my head and I found myself looking at Vashyron.

"Hey," he said, calmly, his eyes locked onto mine just as they had been the night before, "It's okay."

Before I could process what was happening he gripped my shoulders and spun me around to face the target, where there was a bullet-sized hole just left of the centre.

"Very good," he said cheerily, patting me on the back, "With a bit of training you'll be a pro."

The pain in my head was completely gone, as if it had simply been my imagination.

"But you have the wrong posture, and that's the most important thing," he continued, walking around me and picking up the gun from the ground, giving it back to me, "Try it again, but this time let me help."

I nodded, taking the gun in both hands again and raising my arms, but he stopped me.

"You're shaking. You won't be able to handle a gun like that."

"...I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize; just relax. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to help you. Take a deep breath."

I did as I was told.

"Now..." he placed his hand under one of my wrists, lifting my arms a little higher, "...Don't hold the gun too tightly, just use your left hand to keep it steady, and make sure your arms are straight. Then just use the sight on top of the gun as a guideline. You'll get used to aiming the more you practice, so don't worry about it too much."

He moved his hand away, standing beside me.

"Oh...I almost forgot; if you pull the trigger as you breathe out, your hands will be steadier."

Taking all of this into consideration, I took another deep breath, aiming at the target through the sight on top of the pistol and pulling the trigger. This time, there was no pain in my head, but the noise still made me flinch a little, and the bullet missed the centre again. It was closer than last time, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed.

Vashyron, however, seemed overjoyed.

"Good job!" he chuckled, "See? You're really good at this! Looks like I picked the right student!"

I felt my heart jump a little inside my ribcage, the same as this morning, and I found myself once again smiling at nothing. After so long, hearing someone praising me like that was the best feeling in the world.

"Can I...see you do it?" I asked, curiously, holding the gun out towards him. Maybe this would bring me a little further to understanding him.

He laughed, nodding and taking the gun out of my hand.

"Sure."

I wasn't sure whether to be excited or worried by what I saw next.

He lifted the gun with one hand, barely taking a second to look at the target and ready himself, before pulling the trigger and hitting the target dead centre. He made it all look so effortless, and didn't even flinch at the recoil.

It didn't take long for me to realize that Vashyron wasn't an ordinary guy, and I felt both excited and nervous at the thought of him teaching me what he knew. It was like in those few seconds he became the coolest person I had ever met.

But little did I know, it had only just scratched the surface of what he was capable of.

And this man had just become my teacher.