The dim glow of a desk lamp cast long shadows across Misaki Takahashi’s room, illuminating the crumpled report card in his hands. The numbers stared back at him like a death knell, each failing grade a dagger to his college dreams. He slumped over the desk, his forehead pressed against the cool wood, muttering to himself, “This is it. I’m done for. No university, no future—just me, a greasy apron, and a lifetime of flipping burgers.”
His internal spiral of doom was interrupted by the creak of the front door. Misaki dragged himself out of his chair, trudging into the living room with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man. He froze mid-step, his eyes widening at the scene before him. His older brother, Takahiro, was wrapped in an embrace with a tall, silver-haired man, their closeness far too intimate for mere friendship. Misaki’s brain short-circuited, a thousand awkward questions piling up in his throat.
Takahiro, blissfully unaware of the tension, turned with a bright grin. “Oh, Misaki! Perfect timing. Meet Akihiko Usami, an old friend of mine. He’s gonna be your new tutor for the entrance exams.”
Misaki’s jaw dropped, his gaze snapping to the stranger. Akihiko stood there, all sharp angles and effortless charisma, dressed in a tailored suit that screamed money and mischief. His violet eyes glinted with something dangerous, and a smug smirk curled his lips as he gave Misaki a once-over. “Hope you’re ready to be whipped into shape, kiddo,” Akihiko drawled, his voice a lazy caress that somehow managed to irritate and unsettle Misaki all at once.
A flush of irritation—and something else he refused to name—crept up Misaki’s neck. “I’m not a kid,” he snapped, crossing his arms defensively. “And I don’t need some creepy old guy babysitting me.”
Akihiko chuckled, low and teasing, stepping closer. “Oh, I’m not here to babysit, Misaki. I’m here to make sure you don’t crash and burn. But if you want to play the brat, I’m more than happy to discipline you.”
Misaki’s face burned hotter, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Takahiro, still oblivious, clapped Akihiko on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. I’ve got a shift to cover. Be good, Misaki!”
As the door clicked shut, Misaki shot Akihiko a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Don’t get any weird ideas, pervert.”
Akihiko raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Weird ideas? Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”
---
Later that evening, Misaki found himself standing outside Akihiko’s upscale apartment, grumbling under his breath. “Creepy old pervert, probably lives in some dank basement full of weird stuff.” He rang the bell, half-expecting to be greeted by cobwebs and questionable artifacts. Instead, the door swung open to reveal a sleek, modern space—polished hardwood floors, minimalist furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that screamed wealth. Misaki’s mouth fell open. “This... this isn’t what I expected.”
Akihiko leaned against the doorframe, looking far too pleased with himself. “What, did you think I lived in a dungeon? I’m a writer, Misaki, not a hermit. Come in, don’t just gawk.”
Misaki shuffled inside, his eyes darting around until they landed on a book resting innocently on the coffee table. The cover was unassuming, but curiosity gnawed at him. He glanced toward the hallway—Akihiko had disappeared to grab something—and quickly flipped it open. The words hit him like a freight train. Explicit, vivid scenes unfolded on the page, featuring characters that bore an uncanny resemblance to Takahiro and... Akihiko himself. Tangled together in ways that made Misaki’s face ignite with a fierce blush.
“What the hell is this?!” he hissed under his breath, rage bubbling up as he clutched the book like a grenade. Storming down the hallway, he flung open the door to what he assumed was Akihiko’s room, ready to tear into him.
He stumbled back a step at the sight that greeted him. Akihiko was sprawled on his bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of toned chest. His silver hair was mussed, and he looked like he’d just rolled out of some scandalous dream. Those violet eyes flickered with amusement as he sat up slowly, catching sight of the book in Misaki’s trembling hands. A predatory grin spread across his face.
“Well, well,” Akihiko purred, his voice dripping with mischief. “Didn’t know you were into my work, Misaki.”
Misaki’s voice cracked as he stammered out his accusations, waving the book like a weapon. “What is this garbage?! Why are you writing creepy stuff about my brother and—and yourself?! Are you some kind of sicko?!”
Akihiko stood, closing the distance between them with a languid stride. “Sicko? That’s harsh, don’t you think? It’s fiction, darling. Pure imagination. Though I must say, I’m flattered you’re so... invested.” He leaned in, his breath warm against Misaki’s ear. “Did you like what you read? Or are you just jealous you’re not in it?”
Misaki jerked back, his heart pounding traitorously fast. “I-I’m not jealous! I’m disgusted! You’re disgusting!”
Akihiko’s grin didn’t falter. His hand brushed against Misaki’s arm, sending an unwanted shiver down his spine. “Oh, I think you’re more curious than disgusted. Stick around, kiddo. I’ve got plenty more to teach you—about books, exams, and... other things.”
Misaki’s breath hitched, his mind a chaotic mess as Akihiko’s teasing words hung heavy in the air. This wasn’t just tutoring. This was a dangerous game, and Misaki had a sinking feeling he was already losing.
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