"I think it would be worth a hole or two," Ryah replied. Sure, he didn't actually want to mess the place up and he didn't need cops raining down hell on him but there was something about this smug asshole that just rankled him the wrong way and got his hackles up. He didn't know what a fuckboi was but from the sound of it, it wasn't a compliment. He looked the other up and down, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. If Drake wasn't going to be happy to see Kane, Ryah had no reason to help him out. Not that he would have anyway. The fucker had broken into his apartment and he was<i>still</i>eating his pistachios.<br/><br/>"Guess you weren't good enough for him if he left you," the brunet continued, letting a touch of amusement lace his words. "In any case, he's not here. I'm sure you've heard of a thing called a one-night stand, but if not, you should give it a try. Might help get that stick outta your ass. But you know, if I ever run into him at the clubs, I'll be sure to let him know some whackjob with a bad dye job was looking for him. Karl, was it?" Ryah made a show of jotting it down on a scrap piece of paper on the table.<br/><br/>He had always had issues with running his mouth. And it had gotten him into more than a couple of scraps in the past. It probably wasn't the best idea to provoke someone who clearly wasn't exactly all human, if at all, but Ryah did love to piss off assholes. He drolly suggested for the intruder to run along, so he could finish his cup of coffee and head to work. Of course, the moment Kane left, Ryah would be texting Drake, asking him who Mr. Bad Dye Job was.