The door to Akihiko Usami’s lavish Tokyo apartment slammed shut with a force that sent a tremor through the towering stacks of novels lining the walls. Misaki Takahashi stormed in, his university bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, his face a storm cloud of frustration. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and the faint tang of red wine. Akihiko’s grand desk sat in the corner, buried under manuscripts and empty coffee cups, while the plush couch—oh, that couch—had witnessed more drama than a soap opera.
“Stupid group project. Stupid lazy teammates. Do I have to do everything myself?” Misaki muttered, kicking off his shoes with unnecessary aggression. A stray book toppled from a nearby pile, and he didn’t even flinch.
Lounging on the aforementioned couch, Akihiko Usami barely lifted his gaze from the manuscript in his lap. Dressed in a silk robe that clung to his broad shoulders, a glass of wine dangled lazily from one hand. His silver hair caught the dim light of the evening, and a smirk played on his lips as he absorbed Misaki’s entrance with the calm amusement of a predator watching prey stumble into its den.
“Welcome home, darling,” Akihiko drawled, his voice smooth as the wine he sipped. “I see university is treating you as kindly as ever.”
Misaki’s head snapped up, green eyes blazing as he zeroed in on Akihiko’s infuriatingly relaxed posture. “Oh, don’t start with me, Usami. I’m not in the mood for your nonsense. Do you ever do anything besides play the lazy lord of the manor while I’m out there drowning in real-world problems?”
Akihiko set his wine glass down on the coffee table with deliberate slowness, his violet eyes glinting with mischief. He leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other, the silk of his robe slipping just enough to reveal a hint of toned thigh. “My, my, Misaki. You’re wound tighter than a spring. You need to loosen up before you combust from all that stress.”
Misaki’s cheeks flushed a furious shade of red, a mix of anger and embarrassment warring on his face. He dropped his bag with a thud and pointed an accusing finger at Akihiko. “Loosen up? Loosen up?! You wouldn’t know stress if it bit you on your over-pampered ass, you perverted old man!”
Akihiko rose from the couch with a predator’s grace, his tall frame unfolding as he closed the distance between them in a few measured steps. The air shifted, charged with something electric and dangerous. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, each word dripping with intent. “Careful, little rabbit. I know a very specific way to relieve that tension of yours. Shall I demonstrate?”
Misaki’s mouth opened, then closed, his words tripping over themselves as he tried to hold onto his outrage. But his eyes—damn them—flickered with a spark of curiosity as Akihiko’s hand brushed against his arm, lingering just a second too long. The touch was light, but it burned.
“W-What are you even talking about?” Misaki stammered, stepping back only to find himself inches from a bookcase. “Keep your weird fantasies to yourself!”
Akihiko chuckled, low and dangerous, the sound sending a shiver down Misaki’s spine. He tilted his head, his gaze pinning Misaki in place as he gestured toward the couch with an infuriatingly smug grin. “Come now, Misaki. Prove you’re not just all bark and no bite. I’m right here.”
Misaki’s jaw tightened, his pride refusing to let him back down. With a huff, he shoved Akihiko—playfully, but with enough force to make the taller man stumble a step. “I’m not some blushing maiden for you to toy with, you creep! I can handle myself just fine!”
Akihiko caught himself easily, his laughter ringing out, rich and unrestrained. In a flash, he reversed their positions, pinning Misaki against the wall with a firm but careful grip. His breath was hot against Misaki’s ear as he murmured, “Oh, I know you can handle yourself. But why don’t you handle me instead? I dare you.”
Misaki’s resolve wavered, his body betraying him with a racing pulse despite the sharp retort on his tongue. “Your overinflated ego needs more attention than I do, you smug bastard,” he fired back, his voice less steady than he’d hoped.
Akihiko’s grip tightened just enough to make Misaki’s breath hitch, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “I’m more than happy to give you all the attention you can handle, Misaki. Just say the word.”
Flustered but refusing to lose ground, Misaki twisted out of Akihiko’s hold with a quick maneuver, pointing a finger at him as he put some distance between them. “Keep your creepy hands to yourself, Usami! I’m not one of your dumb romance novel characters!” But the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, and he knew it.
The tension simmered in the air, thick and heady, as Akihiko stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. His violet eyes gleamed with amusement. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave… for now. But we both know you secretly enjoy being hunted, don’t you, little rabbit?”
Misaki’s face burned as he spun on his heel, storming toward the kitchen to “cool down.” Under his breath, he muttered a string of insults—something about “arrogant perverts” and “stupid writers”—but the words lacked their usual venom. Behind him, Akihiko watched him go, his predatory grin widening as he leaned against the wall, already plotting his next move.
The game was far from over.
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