Misaki Takahashi sat slumped over his desk in the cramped, dimly lit room of his family’s modest home, the offending piece of paper in front of him glaring back like a guillotine blade poised to sever his dreams. His report card was a battlefield of red ink, each failing grade a fresh wound to his pride. College, that shimmering beacon of escape, seemed to slip further away with every passing second.
“Life is just one giant middle finger, isn’t it?” he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with the kind of melodramatic angst only a teenager could muster. He pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping against the floor, and trudged downstairs, his sneakers scuffing the worn-out carpet with every resentful step.
As he rounded the corner into the living room, Misaki froze mid-stride, his hazel eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. There, on the couch, was his older brother, Takahiro, in a position that could only be described as suspiciously intimate with a tall, silver-haired man whose very presence screamed ‘trouble.’ Takahiro’s arm was slung casually over the man’s shoulder, their laughter filling the room like they were sharing some private joke.
“Misaki! Perfect timing!” Takahiro chirped, completely oblivious to the sheer awkwardness radiating from his younger brother. He gestured to the stranger with a wide, clueless grin. “Meet Akihiko Usami, my good friend. He’s gonna be your new tutor!”
Misaki’s jaw dropped so fast it nearly hit the floor. His gaze darted to Akihiko, who lounged with the kind of effortless confidence that made Misaki’s skin crawl. The man’s sharp violet eyes glinted with amusement, and a smug smirk played on his lips as if he knew every chaotic thought racing through Misaki’s head. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, Akihiko looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine—or a villain’s lair.
“ Tutor?” Misaki croaked, his voice cracking under the weight of his disbelief. His mind spun with wild assumptions, each more scandalous than the last. Was this guy some kind of sugar daddy? A secret lover? What the hell was Takahiro getting him into?
Akihiko raised a hand in a lazy wave, his voice sliding out like silk over steel. “A pleasure, Misaki. I hope you’re as cute when you study as you are when you blush.”
The words hit Misaki like a slap, and his cheeks flared a violent shade of red. “W-what the hell is that supposed to mean, you creepy old man?!” he snapped, his voice pitching higher than he intended. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but the retort only seemed to amuse Akihiko further, his smirk widening into something dangerously charming.
Takahiro chuckled, clapping Misaki on the shoulder. “Oh, come on, lighten up! Akihiko’s a genius. You’ll be acing those exams in no time.”
“Yeah, right,” Misaki grumbled under his breath, shooting Akihiko a glare that could’ve melted steel. “If I survive whatever weird game this guy’s playing.”
---
Later that evening, Misaki found himself standing outside the sleek, modern building that housed Akihiko Usami’s apartment. He stared up at the towering glass structure, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and muttered to himself, “Who even needs this much money? Freaking weirdos.”
The elevator ride to the penthouse floor felt like an eternity, each ding of the floors passing by only fueling his irritation. When the doors finally slid open, Misaki stepped into a space that looked more like a museum than a home. Polished marble floors stretched endlessly, modern art hung on the walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline.
“Some people clearly don’t deserve this much space,” he muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room. He dropped his bag by the door, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of the so-called tutor. His gaze landed on a book resting innocently on the glass coffee table, its cover plain but oddly inviting. Curiosity, that old devil, tugged at him, and against his better judgment, he picked it up and flipped it open.
Big mistake.
His face contorted in horror as his eyes skimmed the pages. The explicit scenes within were vivid, graphic, and—worst of all—featured characters who bore an unsettling resemblance to Takahiro and Akihiko. Misaki’s hands trembled as he gripped the book, his stomach churning with a mix of disgust and fury.
“What… the actual… hell?!” he hissed, slamming the book shut. His blood boiled as he stormed toward the hallway, the offending novel clutched in his hand like a weapon. “This perverted novelist is gonna get an earful!”
Without a second thought, he burst through the door to what he assumed was Akihiko’s room, his mouth already open to unleash a tirade. “Hey, you sick freak, what kind of twisted—!”
The words died in his throat. Akihiko was there, roused from sleep, sitting up in bed with a lazy stretch that made Misaki’s brain short-circuit. The dim light filtering through the window caught the planes of his bare chest, highlighting every defined line and curve. His silver hair was tousled just enough to look effortlessly perfect, and that damnable smirk was back, curling his lips as he regarded Misaki with a teasing, predatory gaze.
“Well, well,” Akihiko drawled, his voice low and suggestive, “if I’d known you were so eager to see me, I’d have left the door unlocked sooner.”
Misaki’s face burned hotter than the sun, his grip on the book tightening as he waved it accusingly. “W-what is this garbage?! Are you some kind of pervert writing creepy fantasies about my brother?!”
Akihiko leaned back against the headboard, utterly unperturbed, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, that? Just a little creative outlet. You’re welcome to be my next muse if you’re so interested.” He tilted his head, his gaze raking over Misaki in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. “I bet you’d make quite the compelling character… all that fire in you.”
“Shut up!” Misaki snapped, though his voice wavered with embarrassment. He took a step back, trying to ignore the way his heart thudded in his chest. “I’m not here to be part of your weird stories! I’m here to study, so stop messing around and act like a damn tutor for once!”
Akihiko chuckled, the sound rich and maddening. “Relax, Misaki. We’ll get to the books… eventually. But first, why don’t you sit down? You look like you could use a lesson in loosening up.”
Misaki glared, his mind screaming at him to storm out, but something in Akihiko’s gaze held him rooted to the spot. This man was dangerous—not in a physical sense, but in the way he seemed to unravel every defense Misaki had with just a look or a word. And as much as he hated to admit it, part of him was… curious.
“Fine,” he spat, crossing his arms defiantly. “But if you try anything weird, I’m out of here faster than you can say ‘creep.’”
Akihiko’s smirk widened, and he gestured to the chair across from the bed. “Deal. Now, let’s see if you’re as quick with your studies as you are with your tongue.”
Misaki’s blush deepened, but he sat down, determined to keep his guard up. Whatever game Akihiko was playing, he wasn’t about to lose. Not yet, anyway.
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