The weight of the world seemed to slump onto Misaki Takahashi’s shoulders as he trudged home from school, his backpack sagging with more than just textbooks. Each step echoed the thud of his failing grades, the rejection letters from colleges piling up in his mind like a cruel, mocking chorus. Dreams of a bright future felt like ash in his mouth, and by the time he pushed open the door to his modest home, his scowl was as heavy as his bag.
The living room was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place to collapse and forget the day. Instead, Misaki froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. There, on the worn-out couch, was his older brother Takahiro, laughing in a way that was far too intimate, his arm slung casually around a stranger. A tall, silver-haired man with an air of effortless arrogance, his sharp features softened by a sly, knowing smile. Their closeness was... suspicious, to say the least.
“Misaki! Perfect timing!” Takahiro beamed, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in his younger brother’s eyes. He gestured to the man beside him as if presenting a prize. “This is Akihiko Usami. He’s an old friend, and—get this—he’s agreed to tutor you for your college entrance exams!”
Misaki’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to Akihiko. The man’s smirk was infuriating, a lazy curl of lips that seemed to mock everything about Misaki’s existence. His violet eyes raked over him with a predatory glint, as if sizing up a particularly interesting toy. Misaki’s stomach churned with instant dislike.
“Tutoring, huh?” Akihiko’s voice was a low, velvety drawl, dripping with amusement as he leaned back against the couch, crossing one long leg over the other. “I hear you need some... extra special attention, Misaki. Don’t worry, I’m very hands-on.”
Misaki’s face flushed, a mix of anger and embarrassment scorching his cheeks. “I don’t need your kind of help,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. “I can handle my own studies.”
“Oh, come now,” Akihiko purred, tilting his head with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Don’t be so prickly. I promise I don’t bite... unless you ask nicely.”
Takahiro laughed, clapping a hand on Akihiko’s shoulder as if the tension in the room were a mere joke. “Relax, Misaki! Akihiko’s a genius. He’ll whip you into shape in no time. You’ll be thanking him when you’re acing those exams.”
Misaki bit back a retort, his fists clenching at his sides. Thanking him? He’d sooner thank a snake for its venom. But Takahiro’s oblivious cheer left no room for argument, and Misaki could only stew in silence as Akihiko’s smug gaze lingered on him, a promise of trouble glinting in those violet depths.
---
Later that evening, Misaki stood outside Akihiko’s upscale apartment, his stomach twisting with dread. The building itself screamed wealth—sleek lines, glass windows, a doorman who’d eyed him like he didn’t belong. And maybe he didn’t. But Takahiro had insisted, and now here he was, knocking on the devil’s door for his first tutoring session.
The door swung open, and Akihiko greeted him with that same infuriating smirk, gesturing him inside with a flourish. “Welcome to my humble abode, Misaki. Don’t be shy.”
Misaki stepped in, his sneakers squeaking awkwardly on the polished hardwood floor. The apartment was a stark contrast to his own cramped home—modern, minimalist, and reeking of money. His eyes darted around, taking in the leather furniture, the abstract art on the walls, and a small coffee table in the living room that seemed oddly out of place amidst the sterile perfection. A single book lay open on it, its cover unassuming but its presence magnetic.
“Make yourself at home,” Akihiko called over his shoulder, disappearing into the kitchen with a casual wave. “I’ll grab us some drinks. Don’t touch anything... unless you’re curious.”
Misaki rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “As if I’d want to touch anything of yours.” But curiosity, that damnable beast, tugged at him. He edged closer to the coffee table, his fingers brushing the book’s spine before flipping it open. His eyes scanned the first few lines, and heat rushed to his face so fast he nearly dropped the thing.
It was a novel—a steamy, explicit BL novel, no less. Page after page of scandalous encounters, the prose so vivid it burned into his brain. But what stopped his heart cold was the realization of who the characters mirrored. The passionate, silver-haired protagonist was unmistakably Akihiko, and the other... God, it was too close to Takahiro for comfort. The implications hit him like a freight train, rage bubbling up as he clutched the book in trembling hands.
“What the hell is this?!” he growled to himself, storming toward the hallway where he assumed Akihiko’s room was. He didn’t care about propriety or knocking—he wanted answers, and he wanted them now.
Bursting through the door, Misaki froze mid-rant. Akihiko was sprawled across a king-sized bed, shirtless, his pale skin catching the dim light as he stirred from what looked like a nap. His silver hair was mussed, and those violet eyes gleamed with mischief as they locked onto Misaki. A slow, lazy grin spread across his face as he noticed the book in the boy’s hands.
“Enjoying my little masterpiece, kid?” Akihiko drawled, propping himself up on one elbow, his voice a low purr that sent an unwanted shiver down Misaki’s spine.
“You—you pervert!” Misaki stammered, torn between fury and mortification. He thrust the book forward as if it were evidence in a trial. “What is this garbage? Are you seriously writing this... this filth about my brother?!”
Akihiko’s grin only widened, utterly unapologetic as he rose from the bed with a predator’s grace. He closed the distance between them in a few languid steps, towering over Misaki with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. “Oh, Misaki,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper as he leaned in close, his breath warm against the boy’s ear. “Don’t be so quick to judge. Who knows? You might just inspire my next chapter.”
Misaki’s heart thudded in his chest, his face burning as he stumbled back a step, trapped between the wall and Akihiko’s unrelenting gaze. “Stay away from me, you creep!” he snapped, but his voice wavered, betraying the flustered mess beneath his anger.
Akihiko chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that wrapped around Misaki like a vice. “Oh, I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I. Tutoring... and maybe a little more. What do you say, Misaki? Ready to learn something new?”
Misaki glared, his fists trembling at his sides, but the heat in his cheeks and the pounding in his chest told a different story. This was no ordinary tutor, and this was no ordinary lesson. Whatever game Akihiko was playing, Misaki was already in too deep to walk away.
Want to know how it ends?
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