Misaki Takahashi slumped over his desk in the cramped, dimly lit corner of his bedroom, the weight of the world pressing down on his hunched shoulders. The report card in front of him wasn’t just a piece of paper—it was a guillotine blade hovering over his college dreams, each failing grade a nick closer to decapitation. “Damn it,” he muttered, raking a hand through his messy brown hair. “How the hell am I supposed to fix this disaster? I’m screwed. Royally, epically screwed.”
With a groan, he pushed himself up and trudged downstairs, his sneakers scuffing against the worn wooden steps. He needed a distraction—maybe Takahiro had leftovers in the fridge. But as he rounded the corner into the living room, he froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. There, on the couch, was his older brother Takahiro, wrapped in an embrace with a tall, silver-haired man Misaki had never seen before. Their closeness wasn’t just friendly; it was *intimate*, the kind of cozy that made Misaki’s skin crawl with secondhand embarrassment.
“What the actual—?!” Misaki’s voice died in his throat as Takahiro finally noticed him, pulling back with a sheepish grin.
“Oh, Misaki! Didn’t hear you come down,” Takahiro said, his tone infuriatingly casual, as if he hadn’t just been caught canoodling with a stranger. “This is Akihiko Usami, a dear friend of mine. And, uh, good news—he’s gonna be your new tutor for the college entrance exams!”
Misaki’s jaw dropped, his green eyes narrowing into slits as he took in the man beside his brother. Akihiko Usami was all sharp angles and effortless elegance, his tailored suit hugging a lean frame that screamed money and trouble. His violet eyes glinted with amusement, and a lazy smirk curled his lips as he lounged against the couch like he owned the damn place. Misaki’s gut screamed one thing: this guy was bad news, wrapped in designer threads and tied with a bow of pure arrogance.
“Well, well,” Akihiko drawled, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “You must be the infamous Misaki. I’ve heard so much about you… though I must say, the scowl is a delightful bonus.”
Misaki’s face burned, his tongue tripping over itself as he forced out a reply. “Uh, y-yeah, hi. Whatever. Can we just get this over with?” Internally, he was already plotting escape routes. Maybe fake a sudden illness? Food poisoning sounded believable.
Takahiro, oblivious to the storm brewing in Misaki’s head, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Give him a chance, okay? Akihiko’s a genius. He’ll whip those grades into shape faster than you can say ‘university scholarship.’ Trust me.”
Misaki bit back a retort, his glare scorching a hole through Akihiko’s smug face. “Fine,” he ground out, each word dripping with reluctance. “But don’t think I’m happy about this.”
Akihiko’s smirk widened, and he had the audacity to wink—*wink*—as if this were all some grand game. “Oh, don’t worry, little Misaki. I’ll make this… educational. Promise.”
Misaki’s fists clenched at his sides, but he held his tongue. For now.
---
A few days later, Misaki stood outside Akihiko’s upscale apartment, his annoyance momentarily eclipsed by sheer awe. The building was a sleek tower of glass and steel, the kind of place that screamed “I’m richer than your wildest dreams.” He muttered under his breath as he rode the elevator up to the penthouse, “Who even needs this much space? Probably compensates for something.”
The door swung open before he could knock, revealing Akihiko in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose forearms that were annoyingly toned. “Right on time,” Akihiko purred, stepping aside with a flourish. “Welcome to my humble abode. Try not to drool on the marble.”
Misaki rolled his eyes, brushing past him. “Humble, my ass. This place looks like a museum had a baby with a tech billionaire’s wet dream.”
Akihiko chuckled, low and warm, trailing behind him. “Oh, I like that mouth of yours. Keep talking, Misaki. It’s… entertaining.”
Ignoring the heat creeping up his neck, Misaki dropped his bag in the sprawling living room and plopped onto a plush leather couch. “Let’s just get started, okay? I’ve got better things to do than—huh?” His eyes snagged on a book resting on the glass coffee table, its cover bold and provocative, all suggestive shadows and entangled limbs. Curiosity gnawed at him, and before he could stop himself, he reached for it.
Flipping through the pages, Misaki’s face ignited in a fiery blush. The story was explicit—*very* explicit—and the characters bore an unsettling resemblance to Takahiro and Akihiko. His stomach churned, a mix of rage and disbelief twisting his gut as he gripped the book tighter, unable to tear his eyes away from the scandalous prose. “What the hell is this?!” he hissed under his breath, his voice trembling with fury.
“Enjoying the read?” Akihiko’s voice sliced through the silence, smooth and teasing, as he leaned against the doorway. His violet eyes gleamed with mischief, and that damned smirk was back in full force. “I didn’t peg you for a literary enthusiast, Misaki.”
Misaki slammed the book shut, his face a furnace as he stumbled over his words. “W-what is this crap?! You’re—you’re writing perverted garbage about my brother! Are you serious right now? You’re disgusting!”
Akihiko’s chuckle was dark, unfazed, as he pushed off the doorway and sauntered closer. Each step was deliberate, predatory, and Misaki instinctively backed up, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Now, now,” Akihiko murmured, his voice a velvet caress laced with danger. “Don’t judge a book—or its author—by its cover. You might find there’s more to me than meets the eye. Or… more to *you*.”
Misaki’s back hit the wall, his breath hitching as Akihiko loomed closer, the air between them crackling with tension. Those violet eyes pinned him in place, daring him to look away, to run, to fight. “Stay back,” Misaki snapped, but his voice wavered, betraying the storm of confusion and heat swirling inside him. “I’m not playing whatever sick game this is.”
Akihiko tilted his head, his smirk sharpening into something almost feral. “Oh, Misaki. This isn’t a game. It’s a lesson. And I’m a very… hands-on teacher.”
The room seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to the space between them, charged with a dangerous, unspoken challenge. Misaki’s mind screamed to push him away, to storm out, but his body refused to move, caught in the tangles of something he couldn’t—wouldn’t—name. Not yet.
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