The door to Akihiko Usami’s apartment loomed before Misaki Takahashi like the entrance to a lion’s den. His fingers tightened around the stack of textbooks cradled against his chest, the edges digging into his ribs as his nerves rattled like loose change in a tin can. He’d heard the rumors about Usami—brilliant author, eccentric recluse, and, most disturbingly, a shameless flirt who could charm the paint off a wall. Misaki steeled himself. This was just a tutoring session. Strictly academic. He wasn’t about to let some overrated novelist throw him off his game.
He knocked, the sound sharp against the polished wood, and the door swung open almost instantly. There stood Akihiko Usami in all his disheveled glory, a silk shirt hanging half-unbuttoned on his lean frame, revealing a sliver of pale chest that Misaki absolutely did *not* notice. A smirk curled Akihiko’s lips as his violet eyes raked over Misaki with the lazy confidence of a predator sizing up a particularly tasty morsel.
“Well, well,” Akihiko drawled, leaning against the doorframe, his voice a low, velvet purr. “You must be Misaki. I was expecting someone... stuffier. But you’ve got a certain spark, don’t you?”
Misaki’s jaw clenched, his grip on the textbooks tightening as he fought the urge to bolt. “I’m here to study, not to be ogled by some sloppy pervert,” he muttered under his breath, stepping past Akihiko with a determined stride. The apartment was a chaotic masterpiece—towering stacks of novels and manuscripts teetered precariously atop high-end furniture, the air heavy with the faint scent of lavender and ink. It was as maddeningly disorganized as the man himself.
“Sloppy? Pervert?” Akihiko echoed, closing the door with a soft click and following Misaki inside, his tone dripping with mock offense. “My dear boy, I’m wounded. I prefer ‘artistically chaotic’ and... let’s say, ‘appreciative of beauty.’”
Misaki snorted, refusing to turn around as he scanned the room for a place to set up. “Call it whatever you want. I’m not here for your word games, Usami-san. Let’s just get this over with.”
Akihiko gestured toward a plush velvet couch, its deep indigo hue a stark contrast to the clutter surrounding it. “Have a seat, Misaki. Make yourself at home. I don’t bite... unless asked nicely.”
Misaki shot him a withering glare but perched on the edge of the couch, his posture rigid as a board. Akihiko, of course, had no such reservations. He dropped down beside Misaki with a casual grace, his thigh brushing against Misaki’s in a way that sent an unexpected jolt through the younger man’s body. Misaki stiffened, his breath catching for a split second before he regained control.
“Back off, you overgrown child,” he snapped, shoving a textbook between them as a makeshift barrier. His cheeks flushed with a mix of irritation and something he staunchly refused to name. “Personal space. Ever heard of it?”
Akihiko chuckled, the sound low and rich, as he leaned in just close enough for Misaki to feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. “Oh, Misaki, your feisty attitude is far more interesting than any math equation. I could spend hours solving *you* instead.”
Misaki jerked back so fast he nearly toppled off the couch, his heart hammering as he pointed an accusing finger at Akihiko. “You’re a walking HR violation, you know that? Do you even *try* to act like a normal human being, or is this just your default setting?”
Akihiko sprawled back against the couch with a dramatic sigh, one arm flung over the backrest as his violet eyes glinted with mischief. “Normal is overrated, don’t you think? I’m just testing your focus, Misaki. A good tutor needs to know if his student can handle... distractions.”
“Distractions?” Misaki’s voice climbed an octave, laced with exasperation and barely contained panic. “You’re not a distraction, you’re a full-blown disaster! Can we just focus on algebra before I lose what’s left of my sanity?”
He slammed open a textbook with more force than necessary, the pages rustling as his hands trembled slightly. Akihiko complied—for the moment—leaning over to peer at the page, though his tone remained anything but academic. “Ah, solving for X. You know, Misaki, there are other kinds of equations I’d much rather explore with you. Ones that don’t involve numbers at all.”
Misaki’s face burned, his grip on the pencil tightening until he was sure it would snap. “You’re a brain-dead horndog, Usami-san. Keep it up, and I’m out of here. I don’t care how much I need this tutoring—I’m not putting up with your nonsense.”
Akihiko tilted his head, his smirk widening as he studied Misaki’s flushed expression. “Oh, but you’re still here, aren’t you? I think you like sparring with me just a little. Admit it.”
“Dream on,” Misaki shot back, though he stayed rooted to the spot, too stubborn to back down from the challenge in Akihiko’s gaze. “I’m here to learn, not to entertain your inflated ego.”
Akihiko’s laughter was a low, throaty sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down Misaki’s spine. The older man leaned closer under the pretense of helping with a problem, his fingers brushing against Misaki’s as he pointed to a line of text. The touch lingered just long enough to make Misaki’s breath hitch, a fleeting warmth that left him momentarily frozen.
Misaki yanked his hand away as if burned, his voice cracking as he snapped, “Keep your paws to yourself, Usami-san! I’m not some toy for you to play with!”
“Apologies,” Akihiko said, though his tone was anything but remorseful. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with a casual elegance. “I’ll behave... for now. How about a break, though? You look like you could use one. I’ve got tea. Or something stronger, if you’re feeling adventurous.”
Misaki glared, his emerald eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms over his chest. “No breaks. No tea. No ‘something stronger.’ We’re powering through this session, and you’re going to keep your hands, your comments, and your creepy smirks to yourself. Got it?”
Akihiko raised his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eyes promised this was far from over. “As you wish, Misaki. But I must warn you—resistance only makes the game more fun.”
Misaki grit his teeth, his resolve warring with the strange heat curling in his chest. He wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t let this infuriating man get under his skin. But as he turned back to the textbook, pretending to focus on the numbers swimming before him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Akihiko Usami was a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve—and yet, couldn’t quite walk away from.
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