Raven Mayonaka is the sole survivor of the mysterious Mayonaka clan. He lives alone in a run-down apartment in New York after 'graduating' from a high school, that he honestly can't remember the name of. It isn't much, but it's enough for him; that...
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Present Time...
"Ugh, I'm soo bored!" I proclaim, to no one in particular. My name's Raven Mayonaka, a broke high school graduate living in a cheap apartment in New York.
And, yes, I did just introduce myself; got a problem with that?
I blow a stray strand of white hair out of my face before standing up. I walk over to the small kitchen counter and just stand there, still a little dazed. I glance at a broken but still functional wall clock.
Damn, it's already four-thirty… Guess I should go get ready.
I take a fresh towel from the old wardrobe, and head into the tiny cramped space; aka, the toilet.
After about half an hour in the shower, I hear someone knocking. "Oi, oi! Anyone 'ome?" An irritatingly loud accented voice yells, followed by more impatient pounding. I sigh, wraping a towel around my waist and head out. Opening the door, I glare at the male angrily.
"What are you trying to do, huh? Break my door?" I ask with a huff, but I signal for the guy to come in nonetheless. Meet my annoyingly handsome best friend, Howard Maxwell Stone—or just Max. We met in middle school and really hit it off.
Or rather, Maxwell, for some reason, stubbornly wanted to be my friend. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful he did but—
"Sorry, bud. Just thought you were snoozin' or somethin'," he says breezily, breaking my train of thought as he carelessly plops himself on my bed. I roll my eyes at him, then take out a few articles of clothing.
"Aww, you're gonna put on some clothes now?" Max mumbles with a pout. I raise a brow at him. "C'mon! It's not every day I get to see your hot bod," the blond snickers.
Oh yeah, did I mention Max is a shameless flirt? There isn't someone under 40 he hasn't tried flirting with—thankfully, it's usually mild. That doesn't make it less aggravatingly annoying though.
"Yeah, yeah." I wave him off dismissively. I put on my shirt and pants then my jacket. Me and Max have always been casual with each other—it's not the first time he's seen me naked or me dressing in front of him, and vice versa. I guess that's why people think we're brothers, or a couple; though the former isn't entirely inaccurate. We both have, in his words, a brotherly bond. Well, enough about this. I have more pressing matters to take care of. I take out a comb from the drawer.
Max plucks the plastic comb out my hands and—without prompting—starts brushing my hair. Lots of people wouldn't have even thought about it, but Max is actually kinda feminine—he says it's probably because he has four sisters. I close my eyes as his skilled hands play and brush my white locks.
