Misaki Takahashi slumped at his desk, the dim light of his desk lamp casting harsh shadows over the crumpled report card in his hands. The numbers stared back at him like a personal insult, each failing grade a tiny dagger to his already fragile college dreams. “Damn it,” he muttered, raking a hand through his messy brown hair. “Why do numbers hate me so much? I swear, math was invented just to ruin my life.” He tossed the paper onto the desk with a groan, his head thudding against the wood in defeat.
The walk home felt like a march to the gallows. Every step through the familiar, quiet streets of his neighborhood weighed heavier as he mentally drafted a plea for divine intervention. *Please, someone, anyone, save me from this academic hell.* By the time he reached the front door of his modest home, his shoulders were slumped, his spirit thoroughly crushed. But as he fumbled with his keys, a strange sound stopped him cold—giggles. High-pitched, secretive giggles, followed by hushed whispers, drifting from the living room.
“What the…?” Misaki’s brows furrowed as he nudged the door open, his sneakers squeaking softly on the hardwood floor. He crept forward, curiosity edging out exhaustion, and peeked around the corner. His jaw dropped, eyes bugging out at the scene on their worn-out couch. There was his older brother, Takahiro, tangled up in a suspiciously cuddly position with some silver-haired stranger. The guy’s long legs were draped casually over Takahiro’s lap, his head tilted back in laughter, a glass of wine dangling lazily from his fingers.
Misaki’s brain short-circuited. *What in the actual hell am I looking at?* Before he could retreat or scream, Takahiro glanced up, his face lighting up with that oblivious, cheerful grin of his. “Oh, Misaki! You’re home! Come meet my old buddy, Akihiko Usami.” He gestured to the stranger like this was the most normal thing in the world. “He’s gonna be your tutor for the college entrance exams. Isn’t that great?”
Misaki blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Tutor?” he croaked, his gaze snapping to Akihiko, who was now sitting up, fixing him with a smug, lopsided grin. The man’s violet eyes glinted with mischief, his posture so relaxed it bordered on insolent. Misaki’s gut twisted. This guy was trouble. Capital T, bolded, underlined, highlighted in neon.
Akihiko tilted his head, his grin widening as he drawled, “Well, well, if it isn’t the little gremlin who clearly needs saving. Don’t worry, kid. I’ll whip you into shape.” His voice was smooth, teasing, like he was already enjoying this far too much.
Misaki bristled, his cheeks flushing with irritation. “Who’re you calling a gremlin, you lazy-looking perv? And who even asked for your help?” He crossed his arms, glaring daggers at the man who looked more like a playboy than a tutor.
Takahiro laughed, clapping Misaki on the shoulder. “Come on, don’t be like that. Akihiko’s brilliant. He’s a famous author, you know. You’re lucky to have him.”
“Lucky,” Misaki muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as Akihiko handed him a slip of paper with an address scrawled on it. “This is gonna be a disaster. I can feel it.”
---
Days later, Misaki stood outside a sleek, upscale apartment building that screamed money. He double-checked the address, half-hoping he’d gotten it wrong, but no such luck. The glass doors reflected his scowl as he muttered, “Of course this creep lives in a place like this. Probably spends all day sipping champagne and laughing at people like me.” He pushed through, rode the elevator to the top floor, and knocked on Akihiko’s door with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man.
The door swung open, and there stood Akihiko Usami, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed—or off a runway. A silk robe hung loosely off his shoulders, barely tied at the waist, revealing a sliver of toned chest. His silver hair was tousled, and he greeted Misaki with a lazy wink that made the younger man’s skin crawl. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite gremlin. Come on in. Don’t just stand there gawking.”
Misaki’s face twisted in disgust as he stepped inside, his sneakers looking painfully out of place against the polished marble floor. The apartment was a damn movie set—floor-to-ceiling windows, modern furniture, and a view of the city that could make anyone jealous. “Tch. What kind of tutor lives like this?” he grumbled, dropping his backpack by the door.
“The kind who’s very good at what he does,” Akihiko purred, his voice dripping with amusement as he sauntered past. “Make yourself at home, kid. I’ll be right back—just gonna freshen up.” He disappeared down a hallway, leaving Misaki alone in the vast, intimidating space.
Misaki’s eyes roamed the room, landing on a book left casually on the glass coffee table. The cover was bold, suggestive, with two male figures locked in an intimate pose. His curiosity got the better of him, despite the warning bells ringing in his head. “What kind of weirdo leaves something like this out?” he muttered, picking it up and flipping it open. His face burned crimson as he skimmed the pages—explicit scenes, raw and unapologetic, featuring characters that bore an eerie resemblance to Takahiro and… Akihiko.
His hands trembled, rage bubbling up like a volcano ready to erupt. “This sick bastard… he’s writing about my brother? In *this* kind of story?” The betrayal hit like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he stormed toward the hallway, clutching the book like evidence in a murder trial. He slammed open the door to what he assumed was Akihiko’s room, ready to unleash hell.
And there he was. Akihiko, sprawled on his bed, half-naked, a towel slung low on his hips. He looked up, completely unfazed, stretching languidly like a cat in the sun. His lips curled into a predatory smirk as he drawled, “Caught you snooping, huh, gremlin? Like what you read?”
Misaki froze, torn between fury and mortification. He pointed an accusing finger, stammering, “Y-You—! What the hell is this? You’re writing disgusting stuff about my brother! Are you insane?!”
Akihiko sat up slowly, his gaze locking onto Misaki with an intensity that made the air crackle. “Disgusting? Oh, come now, don’t be so dramatic. It’s art. Inspiration strikes where it will.” He tilted his head, his voice lowering to a dangerous purr. “But tell me, little gremlin, why are you so red? Did something in there… catch your interest?”
Misaki’s face flamed hotter, his words tripping over themselves. “W-What?! No! I’m not—! You’re a creep, you know that? A total creep!” But Akihiko’s eyes never wavered, pinning him in place, and for a moment, Misaki felt like prey caught in a trap he didn’t understand.
“Relax,” Akihiko said, his smirk widening as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “We’ve got plenty of time to work on that temper of yours. And who knows? You might learn a thing or two… about more than just math.” His voice was a velvet threat, and Misaki’s heart pounded, unsure if he wanted to punch the man or bolt for the door.
This tutoring arrangement was already a disaster—and it hadn’t even started.
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