The narrow streets of Tokyo buzzed with the hum of mid-afternoon life as Misaki Takahashi trudged up the rickety stairs to Akihiko Usami’s apartment, a stack of textbooks weighing down his arms and a scowl etching lines into his otherwise youthful face. “Lazy, overrated novelist,” he muttered under his breath, kicking a stray pebble off the landing. “Can’t even write a grocery list without someone holding his hand, and now I’m stuck babysitting him through basic economics. Unbelievable.”
He barely had time to knock before the door swung open, revealing Akihiko in all his disheveled glory—shirtless, a glass of wine dangling from one hand at 2 PM, and a smirk that could melt steel. The man’s silver hair was mussed, as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and his violet eyes gleamed with something far from academic interest. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite little tutor,” Akihiko drawled, leaning against the doorframe. “Come to rescue me from the perils of ignorance?”
Misaki’s jaw tightened as he shoved past, deliberately ignoring the heat radiating from Akihiko’s bare chest. “Move it, Usami. And put on a damn shirt before I catch a cold from your ego.” He stormed into the cluttered apartment, a chaotic den of a famous author—papers strewn everywhere, empty coffee mugs teetering on precarious stacks of manuscripts, and, inexplicably, a giant stuffed bear looming in the corner like a silent voyeur. Misaki slammed the textbooks onto the nearest table, sending a cascade of loose pages fluttering to the floor.
Akihiko chuckled, the sound low and rich, as he sauntered over to a chair and plucked a loose button-up from the backrest. “So bossy today, Misaki. I like it.” He took his sweet time slipping into the shirt, leaving it half-open to reveal a tantalizing sliver of skin, before sprawling onto the couch with the grace of a panther. His eyes tracked Misaki’s every move, predatory amusement dancing in their depths. “You know, I’m already learning so much just watching you.”
“Focus on the books, not me,” Misaki snapped, dragging a chair over with more force than necessary. He flipped open the first textbook, his voice dripping with the strained patience of a saint on the verge of a breakdown. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Basic supply and demand. Even a rabbit-brained author like you should be able to grasp this if you stop doodling for five seconds.”
Sure enough, Akihiko’s pen was already wandering, sketching something decidedly suggestive in the margins of his notebook—a pair of lips, a curve of a hip, and was that a—? Misaki’s eyes narrowed, but he pressed on, determined to ignore the distraction. Until Akihiko leaned back, twirling the pen between his fingers, and purred, “You know, your angry face is cuter than most people’s smiles. It’s almost distracting.”
The pencil in Misaki’s hand snapped. Before he could stop himself, he hurled the broken piece at Akihiko, who dodged it with a laugh. “Pay attention, you overgrown child!” Misaki barked, surging to his feet. Despite the height difference, he loomed over Akihiko with an intensity that could’ve stopped traffic, jabbing a finger into the older man’s chest. “Focus, or I’ll tutor your sorry ass with a rolled-up newspaper. Don’t test me.”
Akihiko’s smirk widened. In a flash, he caught Misaki’s wrist mid-jab, tugging him closer with a strength that belied his lazy demeanor. Their faces were inches apart, and Akihiko’s voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Oh, I’d much rather study something more… hands-on. What do you say, Misaki?”
Heat flooded Misaki’s face, a furious red that clashed with the green of his eyes. He yanked his hand back as if burned, stumbling a step. “You perverted old man!” he spat, storming to the other side of the room to put a safe barrier of clutter between them. His heart was pounding, but he’d be damned if he let Akihiko see it. He crossed his arms, glaring daggers. “Keep your creepy fantasies to yourself before I gag you with one of your own manuscripts.”
Akihiko threw his head back and laughed, completely unfazed. He stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, his shirt slipping further open. “You’re blushing, Misaki. It’s more inspiring than any deadline I’ve ever missed. Should I write a poem about it? ‘Ode to a Fiery Tutor,’ perhaps?”
“Shut up,” Misaki growled through gritted teeth, reluctantly dragging himself back to the table but keeping a wary distance. “Useless rabbit-brained author. Can’t even pretend to care for ten minutes.” His mutters were barely audible, but Akihiko’s sharp ears caught every word, and his grin only grew.
Pretending to read the textbook, Akihiko leaned in far too close, his breath hot against Misaki’s neck. “How about some extra credit?” he whispered, his tone dripping with innuendo. “I’m a very… dedicated student when properly motivated.”
Misaki’s reaction was instantaneous. He snapped the heavy textbook shut—right on Akihiko’s wandering fingers. The older man yelped, pulling his hand back with exaggerated drama, while Misaki smirked, a rare glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Sit still, or I’ll tie you to that stupid bear in the corner and leave you there for your editor to find. Try me, Usami.”
Rubbing his hand with mock pain, Akihiko pouted, though the mischief in his eyes hadn’t dimmed one bit. “Fine, fine, I’ll behave. For now. But you’re a cruel taskmaster, Misaki. I think I’m falling for you all over again.”
“Save it for your cheesy novels,” Misaki shot back, rolling his eyes as he resumed the lesson, though his tone carried a reluctant edge of amusement. The rest of the session passed in a tense stalemate, with Akihiko’s teasing kept to sly glances and Misaki’s sharp retorts cutting through any attempt at flirtation.
By the time Misaki packed up his books, he was exhausted but victorious, having maintained control against the relentless onslaught of Akihiko’s charm. He slung his bag over his shoulder, casting one last withering look at the man still lounging on the couch. “Don’t think this is over, Usami. Next time, I’m bringing duct tape.”
Akihiko’s knowing smile followed him to the door, his voice a lazy drawl. “I’ll be counting the minutes, my dear tutor. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
Misaki didn’t bother to respond, slamming the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. But as he descended the stairs, a faint flush lingered on his cheeks, and Akihiko’s parting gaze burned in his mind—a silent promise that this game was far from over.
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