The weight of the day dragged Misaki Takahashi down like a stone tied to his ankles. His backpack, stuffed with crumpled test papers bearing the crimson slashes of failure, felt heavier with every step toward home. His mind churned with the gnawing dread of college admissions—would he even make it? Would he ever escape the suffocating shadow of his own mediocrity? By the time he reached his front door, his shoulders slumped under more than just the physical burden. He fumbled with his keys, expecting the usual stillness of an empty house to greet him.
But the silence was shattered the moment he stepped inside.
Misaki froze, his hand still on the doorknob, as his eyes locked onto the scene unfolding on the couch. His older brother, Takahiro, was there—laughing, carefree, and far too close to a stranger with silver hair that gleamed like moonlight. The man was tall, impossibly so, his long limbs draped casually over the cushions, one arm slung around Takahiro’s shoulders with a familiarity that made Misaki’s stomach twist. Their heads were bent together, Takahiro’s laughter ringing out as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
“What... the hell?” Misaki muttered under his breath, his jaw dropping.
Takahiro’s head snapped up, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Oh, Misaki! You’re home early. Come here, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
Misaki didn’t move. His gaze flicked to the stranger, whose violet eyes met his with a glint of something sharp and unreadable. The man’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk, and Misaki’s gut screamed *danger*. He didn’t like this. Not one bit.
“This is Akihiko Usami,” Takahiro said, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “He’s a close friend of mine. And—get this—he’s agreed to be your tutor for the college entrance exams.”
Misaki’s brain short-circuited. “Tutor?” His voice came out sharper than intended, his eyes narrowing at Akihiko. “*Him?*”
Akihiko’s smirk widened, and he tilted his head, studying Misaki like a cat eyeing a particularly skittish mouse. “A pleasure to meet you, Misaki-kun,” he purred, his voice smooth and low, dripping with an amusement that made Misaki’s skin crawl. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t heard a damn thing about you,” Misaki shot back, crossing his arms defensively. His mind raced, branding the man as a creepy weirdo within seconds. Those eyes, that smirk—nothing about this guy screamed “trustworthy tutor.”
Takahiro laughed, clapping Akihiko on the shoulder. “Don’t be like that, Misaki. Akihiko’s brilliant. He’s got a way of teaching that’s... well, unique, but it works. You’ll see. Give him a chance, okay?”
Misaki’s jaw tightened, but under Takahiro’s pleading gaze, he couldn’t refuse outright. “Fine,” he muttered, barely audible. Under his breath, he added, “Doesn’t mean I trust shady perverts.”
Akihiko’s sharp ears caught the jab, and a low chuckle escaped him, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I think we’re going to get along just fine,” he said, his tone laced with something that made Misaki’s cheeks burn despite himself.
---
The next day, Misaki stood outside Akihiko’s upscale apartment, his stomach churning with a mix of dread and reluctant curiosity. The building was sleek, modern, and screamed money—nothing like the modest home he shared with Takahiro. He pressed the buzzer, muttering curses under his breath about how he’d rather be anywhere else right now.
When the door finally opened, Misaki was grudgingly impressed. The apartment was all clean lines and minimalist design, with towering bookshelves lining the walls, stuffed with volumes that looked both ancient and expensive. It was the kind of place that made you feel small, insignificant. Misaki shifted uncomfortably, waiting for Akihiko to show up.
“Make yourself at home,” Akihiko had drawled before disappearing to “prepare” for their session. Misaki rolled his eyes but wandered over to the coffee table, where a book caught his attention. The cover featured two male figures, their poses suggestive, their faces suspiciously familiar. His brows furrowed as he picked it up, flipping it open out of sheer, stupid curiosity.
His eyes widened. The words on the page burned into his brain—explicit, raw, and unmistakably about Takahiro and Akihiko. Heat flooded Misaki’s face, a chaotic mix of embarrassment and fury. This wasn’t just some random smut. This was personal. This was his *brother*. His hands trembled as he clutched the book, his mind screaming.
“That sick bastard,” he hissed, his voice shaking with rage. He didn’t think twice before storming down the hallway toward the door he assumed led to Akihiko’s room. He didn’t knock. He didn’t care. He shoved the door open, the book raised like a weapon.
And then he froze.
Akihiko was sprawled on his bed, shirtless, the late afternoon light casting shadows over the lean lines of his torso. His silver hair was mussed, his violet eyes half-lidded as if he’d just woken up. He looked... dangerous. Predatory. And that lazy grin spreading across his face as he spotted Misaki only made it worse.
“Well, well,” Akihiko drawled, sitting up with deliberate slowness, his gaze locking onto the book in Misaki’s hands. “Did you enjoy the light reading, Misaki-kun?”
Misaki’s mouth opened, then closed, words tripping over themselves in a mess of anger and mortification. “You—you’re disgusting!” he finally spat, his voice cracking. “How dare you write this... this filth about my brother? What kind of creep are you?”
Akihiko’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew sharper, more amused. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, closing the distance between them with a slow, deliberate stride that made Misaki’s heart pound in his chest. He stopped just close enough for Misaki to feel the heat radiating off him, those violet eyes pinning him in place.
“Creep?” Akihiko murmured, his voice a low, teasing purr. “That’s a harsh word, don’t you think? I prefer... inspired. After all, passion is the best muse.” His gaze flicked down to Misaki’s flushed face, then back up, a spark of something dark and suggestive dancing in his eyes. “Tell me, Misaki-kun... did it make your heart race? Just a little?”
Misaki’s breath hitched, his body betraying him with a rush of unwanted heat. He took a step back, clutching the book tighter, his mind a storm of dread and something he refused to name. “Stay the hell away from me,” he snapped, but his voice lacked the conviction he wanted.
Akihiko only chuckled, low and dangerous, as he leaned in just a fraction closer. “Oh, I don’t think I will. This is going to be far too much fun.”
Misaki’s heart thundered, and he hated himself for the way it did. This was only the beginning, and he already knew—he was in way over his head.
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