The door to Akihiko Usami’s apartment loomed before Misaki Takahashi like the gateway to some decadent, literary hell. He adjusted his grip on the stack of textbooks clutched to his chest, the weight of them a flimsy shield against whatever chaos awaited inside. The building itself screamed money—polished marble floors, gilded accents, and an elevator that purred like a contented cat—but Misaki knew better than to be fooled. Behind that door was a man who could turn a simple tutoring session into a battlefield of innuendo and embarrassment. With a deep breath, he knocked, already dreading the inevitable weirdness.
The door swung open, and there stood Akihiko, looking like he’d just stepped out of a romance novel cover shoot. His silk shirt hung unbuttoned, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of toned chest, and a smirk played on his lips as he swirled a glass of red wine in one hand. His silver hair fell artfully into his violet eyes, and Misaki hated how effortlessly handsome he looked. Hardly the image of a serious tutor.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite student,” Akihiko drawled, leaning against the doorframe. “Right on time, Misaki. I was starting to think you’d run off with some boring study group instead of gracing me with your presence.”
Misaki’s jaw tightened as he pushed past him, refusing to meet his gaze. “Let’s just get this over with, Usami-san. I’ve got better things to do than deal with your nonsense.” He marched into the lavish apartment, his sneakers squeaking against the hardwood floor. The space was a chaotic masterpiece—towering bookshelves stuffed to bursting, plush velvet furniture that begged to be lounged on, and papers strewn about like a hurricane had hit. In the corner sat a massive teddy bear, Suzuki-san, its beady eyes staring ominously as if judging Misaki’s life choices.
He slammed his books onto the nearest table, the sound echoing through the room. “We’re focusing on literature today. No distractions, no weird tangents. Got it?”
Akihiko sauntered over, his smirk widening as he took in Misaki’s flushed, determined expression. “Oh, I love it when you get all bossy. It’s adorable.” He set his wine glass down with a deliberate clink, his gaze never leaving Misaki. “But tell me, little Misaki, how am I supposed to focus on dusty old books when you’re sitting there looking so… distractingly frustrated?”
Misaki’s ears turned pink, but he shot Akihiko a withering glare. “Can you not? For five minutes? I’m here to study, not to be your personal entertainment.”
Akihiko chuckled, pulling up a chair far too close for comfort. He leaned over to “help” with a passage from the textbook, his breath warm against Misaki’s ear as he murmured, “Let’s see… ah, here. This line about unrequited longing. Don’t you think it’s rather… evocative?”
Misaki squirmed, the heat of Akihiko’s proximity making his skin prickle. He could smell the faint tang of wine and something uniquely Akihiko—sandalwood, maybe, or sheer audacity. “Back off, you perverted old man!” he snapped, shoving Akihiko away with more force than necessary. His voice wavered, betraying the embarrassment clawing at his throat.
Akihiko threw his head back and laughed, completely unfazed. “Old man? Ouch, Misaki, you wound me. But I must say, you’re too cute when you’re angry. That little pout of yours—absolutely devastating.”
“Shut up!” Misaki growled, his face now a full-on tomato. “I’m not cute, and I’m not pouting! Can we please just stick to the damn book?”
The tutoring session quickly devolved into a battle of wits. Misaki tried valiantly to steer the conversation back to literary analysis, but Akihiko seemed determined to sprinkle innuendos like confetti at a parade. “Oh, come now,” Akihiko purred at one point, casually draping an arm around Misaki’s shoulders under the guise of pointing at a line of text. “This metaphor about forbidden fruit—don’t you think it’s… ripe with possibility?” His fingers lingered just a little too long on the nape of Misaki’s neck, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine.
Misaki jerked away, nearly toppling his chair in the process. “Are you serious right now? Stop messing around, Usami-san! If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’m out of here!” His voice was a mix of fury and fluster, his cheeks burning as he tried to regain some semblance of control.
Akihiko’s expression shifted to mock sincerity, though his sly grin betrayed him. “My apologies, Misaki. I’ll behave. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in a mock salute, but the glint in his eyes suggested he was already plotting his next move.
Misaki muttered under his breath, reluctantly sitting back down. “You’re a walking disaster, you know that? I don’t even know why I put up with this.” He tried to ignore the lingering heat from Akihiko’s touch, focusing instead on the textbook in front of him. But his concentration was shattered when Akihiko, in a move that could only be described as suspiciously deliberate, “accidentally” tipped his wine glass over Misaki’s notes.
“Oops,” Akihiko said, not sounding sorry in the slightest as crimson liquid seeped into the paper. “My bad.”
Misaki let out an exasperated groan, scrambling to salvage what he could. “You clumsy idiot! Do you ever do anything right?” Their hands brushed awkwardly as they both reached for the same napkin, and Misaki yanked his back as if he’d been burned. Despite himself, a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes—Akihiko’s sheer incompetence was almost impressive.
Seizing the moment, Akihiko leaned back with a lazy grin. “How about we take a break? I’ve got another bottle of this delightful vintage. Care to join me?” He dangled the offer like a cat toying with a mouse, his tone dripping with suggestion.
Misaki’s response was immediate and scathing. “Are you out of your mind? I’m not drinking with you, you insufferable, wine-spilling, innuendo-dropping creep! I’d rather choke on my own textbook!”
Akihiko’s laughter filled the room, rich and unapologetic. “Fair enough, fair enough. But you’re staying, aren’t you? I knew you couldn’t resist my charm.”
Misaki rolled his eyes, slumping back into his chair with a huff. “I’m staying because I need to pass this stupid class, not because of your so-called charm. Let’s just… get back to work.”
But as they resumed the session, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a static charge that neither could ignore. Misaki kept his eyes glued to the page, but every so often, he’d catch Akihiko watching him with that infuriating, knowing smirk. And though he’d never admit it, a small, traitorous part of him wondered just how far this game of tutor and tormentor would go.
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