Misaki Takahashi slumped over his desk, the dim light of his bedroom casting long shadows across the crumpled report card in front of him. The numbers stared back like a jury delivering a guilty verdict—his college dreams were on death row, and this piece of paper was the executioner’s axe. “Great,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his messy brown hair. “I might as well start practicing my ‘Would you like fries with that?’ speech now.”
In his mind, he pictured himself standing before a stern college admissions officer, only the officer was inexplicably wearing a bright red clown wig. “So, Misaki,” the imaginary officer barked, “explain why your grades look like a toddler’s finger painting!” Misaki groaned aloud, dropping his head onto the desk with a thud. “Yeah, I’m doomed. Maybe I can join the circus instead. At least I’d fit in with the clowns.”
Desperate for a distraction—or at least a sugar rush to numb the pain—he trudged downstairs, his socks sliding on the wooden floor as he aimed for the kitchen. But the universe, apparently, had other plans. He froze mid-step at the bottom of the stairs, his jaw unhinging at the sight before him. His older brother, Takahiro, was in the living room, wrapped in an uncomfortably cozy embrace with a tall, silver-haired man who looked like he’d just stepped out of a gothic romance novel. Their laughter echoed through the room, and Misaki felt his stomach churn. *What the actual hell is this?*
Takahiro, blissfully unaware of Misaki’s internal meltdown, turned with a grin that was far too cheerful for the situation. “Oh, Misaki! Perfect timing. Meet Akihiko Usami, an old friend of mine. He’s gonna be your new tutor!”
Misaki’s brain short-circuited. Tutor? *This* guy? The man in question—Akihiko—leaned against the wall with a posture so lazy it could’ve been an Olympic sport. His violet eyes gleamed with something dangerous, and a smug smirk curled his lips as he gave Misaki a slow once-over. Misaki’s skin prickled with instant dislike. This guy screamed “trouble” louder than a foghorn at a silent retreat.
“Well, well,” Akihiko drawled, his voice smooth and teasing, like velvet dipped in poison. “If it isn’t my little student. I’ve heard so much about you, Misaki-chan.”
Misaki’s eye twitched at the nickname. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “And who even are you? Some creepy old man Takahiro dragged off the street?”
Takahiro laughed, clapping Akihiko on the shoulder like they were sharing some grand inside joke. “Relax, Misaki. Akihiko’s a genius. He’s gonna help you ace your exams. Right, Usagi-san?”
Akihiko’s smirk widened, and he tilted his head, studying Misaki like a predator sizing up prey. “Oh, I’ll whip him into shape, alright. Won’t be easy, though. He looks like a stubborn little thing.”
Misaki’s face burned, and he muttered under his breath, “Yeah, well, I don’t need help from some weirdo who looks like he belongs in a vampire movie.”
Akihiko chuckled, the sound low and dark, sending an involuntary shiver down Misaki’s spine. “Careful, kid. Keep talking like that, and I might just bite.”
Takahiro, oblivious as ever, clapped his hands together. “Alright, it’s settled! Misaki, you’ll start tonight at Akihiko’s place. Be nice, okay?”
Misaki shot his brother a glare that could’ve melted steel, but Takahiro was already halfway out the door, muttering something about a late shift. Left alone with the silver-haired menace, Misaki sighed, resigned to his fate. “Fine. But if you try anything weird, I’m out.”
Akihiko raised an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering. “Weird? Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”
---
Hours later, Misaki stood outside Akihiko’s upscale apartment building, his grumbling silenced by the sheer opulence of the place. The lobby alone looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel—marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers, and the elevator ride to the penthouse felt like a journey to another dimension. When the doors opened to Akihiko’s apartment, Misaki’s jaw dropped. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, a panoramic view of the city sparkled through floor-to-ceiling windows, and every piece of furniture screamed “I’m loaded.”
“Damn,” Misaki muttered, stepping inside. “Does this guy tutor or run a secret empire?”
Akihiko wasn’t there to greet him, so Misaki dropped his bag by the door and wandered over to the coffee table, boredom gnawing at him. A book caught his eye—its cover innocent enough, with a simple floral design. Shrugging, he flipped it open, expecting some dry academic text.
Big mistake.
His eyes widened in horror as he scanned the page. The words painted a vivid, explicit scene featuring two male characters—one suspiciously like Takahiro, the other a dead ringer for Akihiko. The details were so steamy, Misaki felt his face ignite like a furnace. “What the—?!” He slammed the book shut, his heart pounding. Rage bubbled up like a volcano as he clutched the offending novel like it was a grenade. “This sick bastard! Writing about my brother? I’m gonna kill him!”
Storming toward what he assumed was Akihiko’s bedroom, Misaki didn’t bother knocking. He flung the door open with the fury of a thousand suns, only to freeze at the sight before him. Akihiko was sprawled on his bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of toned chest. His silver hair was tousled, and he looked like he’d just rolled out of a scandalous dream. Violet eyes blinked open, focusing on Misaki with a lazy, amused glint.
“Well, well,” Akihiko purred, sitting up slowly, his movements deliberate and predatory. “What’s got my little student so fired up? You look like you’re ready to start a war.”
Misaki’s voice cracked as he waved the book like a weapon. “What the hell is this?! You wrote this disgusting stuff about my brother? Are you insane?!”
Akihiko’s grin was pure mischief as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing with a grace that made Misaki’s stomach flip—against his will. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto Misaki’s flushed face. “Ah, so you’ve discovered my little hobby. I write for… inspiration, shall we say.”
Misaki sputtered, taking a step back, though his legs felt like jelly. “Inspiration? This is sick! You’re a pervert! I’m telling Takahiro!”
Akihiko laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent heat creeping up Misaki’s neck. “Go ahead, darling. But tell me…” He closed the distance between them, his hand brushing Misaki’s cheek with a touch so light it burned. “Didn’t you enjoy it just a little? Your face is so red, I could almost believe you’re flattered.”
Misaki’s breath hitched, his mind a chaotic mess of anger, fear, and—damn it—an unwanted flicker of heat. Akihiko’s whisper ghosted over his ear, outrageously suggestive. “Stick around, Misaki-chan. I’ve got plenty more to teach you… and not just about textbooks.”
Misaki stood frozen, caught in a storm of emotions, as Akihiko’s violet eyes gleamed with wicked promise.
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