Misaki Takahashi slumped over his desk, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting harsh shadows over a report card that might as well have been scrawled in blood. The numbers sneered back at him—mocking, ruthless, a death sentence to his college dreams. “Damn it,” he muttered, raking a hand through his messy brown hair. “Why do numbers hate me so much? I didn’t do anything to them. I just want to pass, not solve the meaning of life!”
With a groan, he shoved the offending paper aside and trudged downstairs, his stomach growling for some semblance of comfort food. Maybe a sandwich would dull the sting of academic failure. But as he rounded the corner into the living room, he froze mid-step, his hunger forgotten. There, on the couch, was his older brother Takahiro, wrapped in a suspiciously cozy embrace with a tall, silver-haired stranger. Their laughter echoed softly, intimate, and Misaki’s jaw hit the floor.
Takahiro, blissfully unaware of Misaki’s wide-eyed horror, glanced up with a grin that screamed trouble. “Oh, hey, Misaki! Didn’t hear you come down. Meet Akihiko Usami, an old friend of mine.” He patted the man’s shoulder with a familiarity that made Misaki’s skin prickle.
Akihiko turned, his piercing violet eyes locking onto Misaki with an intensity that felt like a challenge. A slow, smug smirk curled his lips as he inclined his head. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”
Misaki blinked, his brain short-circuiting. *Old friend? Old friend my foot. What the hell is this guy doing cuddling up to my brother like he owns the place?* He opened his mouth to sputter something—anything—but Takahiro barreled on, oblivious as ever.
“By the way, I’ve got great news! Akihiko’s agreed to tutor you for your college entrance exams. He’s brilliant, trust me. You’ll be acing those tests in no time.”
Misaki’s eyes bugged out. “W-what?! Tutor? Him? No way! I don’t even know this guy, and—” He gestured wildly at Akihiko, who was now lounging back on the couch like a king on a throne. “—he looks like he flunked charm school!”
Akihiko’s smirk widened, and he winked, his voice dripping with honeyed mockery. “Oh, don’t worry, little Takahashi. I’ll whip you into shape. You’ll be begging for more... lessons.”
Misaki’s skin crawled, heat creeping up his neck. *What the hell is that supposed to mean?* He shot a glare at Takahiro, hoping for backup, but his brother just laughed and waved it off. “You’ll thank me later, Misaki. Akihiko’s the best. Now, I’ve gotta run—work calls. Be nice, okay?”
And with that, Takahiro was gone, leaving Misaki alone with the silver-haired menace who was now eyeing him like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
---
Later that evening, Misaki stood outside Akihiko’s upscale apartment, his reluctance weighing heavier than the textbooks in his bag. The building screamed wealth—glass and steel, modern and sleek, the kind of place Misaki could only dream of affording. He muttered under his breath as he pressed the buzzer. “This better not be a waste of my time, you pretentious creep.”
The door buzzed open, and Misaki stepped inside, his jaw dropping as he took in the interior. Polished floors, minimalist furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city skyline. “Okay, fine,” he grumbled to himself, “so he’s loaded. Doesn’t mean he’s not a weirdo.”
Akihiko wasn’t there to greet him, so Misaki dropped his bag in the living room and paced, his nerves buzzing. His eyes landed on a book left carelessly on the coffee table, its cover innocent enough—a simple black design with elegant gold lettering. Curiosity tugged at him, and against his better judgment, he picked it up and flipped it open.
Big mistake.
His eyes widened as he scanned the page, heat flooding his face. The words painted a steamy, graphic scene—two men, unmistakably based on Takahiro and Akihiko, tangled in a passionate encounter that left nothing to the imagination. Misaki’s hands trembled, his breath hitching. “What... the... hell? This is disgusting! Who writes this kind of perverted nonsense?!”
Fury bubbled up, hot and sharp, as he clutched the book like a weapon. Without a second thought, he stormed down the hallway toward the room Akihiko had disappeared into earlier. He didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate—just barged in, ready to unleash hell.
And there was Akihiko, sprawled across a massive bed, shirtless and looking annoyingly perfect. His silver hair was tousled, his toned chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of someone half-asleep. Misaki’s rage stuttered for a split second, thrown off by the sight, but he quickly shook it off. *No way. I’m not letting this guy distract me with... whatever this is!*
Akihiko blinked awake, his violet eyes sharpening as they landed on Misaki—and the book in his trembling hands. A low, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s been snooping. Enjoying the read, little Takahashi?”
Misaki’s face burned, and he waved the book like a flag of war. “Are you kidding me?! What is this garbage? You wrote this, didn’t you? About my brother! You’re sick, you know that? Absolutely twisted!”
Akihiko’s grin was lazy, predatory, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, his height looming as he approached. “Garbage? Ouch. I’ll have you know, that’s some of my best work. And if it got your heart racing, I’d say it’s doing its job.”
Misaki took a step back, his voice cracking with indignation. “My heart is not racing! I’m just—disgusted! How dare you drag my brother into your creepy fantasies? I should burn this trash!”
Akihiko closed the distance between them, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent an involuntary shiver down Misaki’s spine. “Burn it? Oh, come now. Don’t be so dramatic. Besides...” His gaze raked over Misaki, slow and deliberate, as his hand brushed lightly against Misaki’s arm. “...you could be quite the inspiration yourself, you know. All that fire in you. I could write pages.”
Misaki froze, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Akihiko could hear it. The air between them crackled, thick with tension, as he fought the urge to bolt for the door. *What the hell is wrong with this guy? And why am I not running?* He glared up at Akihiko, trying to muster every ounce of defiance he had. “Back off, pervert. I’m here to study, not to star in your weird little stories.”
Akihiko’s lips twitched, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh, we’ll study. But I think you’ll find my methods... unconventional. Shall we get started, Misaki?”
Misaki swallowed hard, torn between the urge to slap that smug look off Akihiko’s face and the strange, unsettling pull that kept him rooted to the spot. This was going to be a long, dangerous tutoring session—and he wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever twisted game Akihiko was playing.
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