“You what?” Surya demanded, rising off his pillow to glare at Daichi.

“He clearly doesn’t have a dorm to use. I think he’s quite literally sleeping at that bus stop.” Daichi rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stifling his yawn. “I felt bad for him.”

Surya cast his eyes to the ceiling in a bid for patience.

“So,” Daichi continued, “I offered him your couch.”

“Then came to sleep with me in bed?” Surya hissed. “You don’t think that looks suspicious?”

“Would you rather I crowded the couch with him?”

“The carpet looks pretty comfortable to me,” he bit, anger clipping every word.

Daichi’s mouth curled slightly. He was a trust-fund kid, which explained why he could half-heartedly pursue an artist’s career, yet still own a car and dress so well. He would’ve happily supported Surya if they moved off-campus, but Surya liked being close to class and preferred not to be too dependent.

So they’d packed themselves into Surya’s dorm, which was still an upgrade from their previous one. It had a compact, self-catering kitchen just adjacent to a wide entrance hall. They’d crammed an absurdly thin couch and knee-high table there, which now housed an unwelcome guest.

It felt like Akira was breaking into every corner of Surya’s life. Worse, Daichi, who was usually so aloof and antisocial, had adopted him like a stray cat. Just because Akira was mildly entertaining didn’t mean they had to keep playing with him.

“I’ll put him in your bed next time,” Daichi promised dryly. “And I’ll leave it up to your imagination whether I’m there, too.”

He shot out of bed. “I’m sending him home.”

“Ah, come on,” Daichi protested, and Surya heard him stumbling after him.

But there was no one on the couch.

He hesitated in the doorway, while Daichi peered curiously over his shoulder, murmuring something. Then Daichi wrapped his arms around Surya’s waist, swaying playfully, and pointedly ignored the elbow in his gut.

Palms hit the floor and they both jumped, getting the fright of their lives as Akira pushed himself up. He looked more bewildered than anyone else. His hair stuck out at every odd angle, like he’d been electrocuted. He blinked blankly at the couch beside him, which gave his seniors a chance to step away from each other.

“Morning,” Daichi greeted cheerfully, intrigued enough to approach him. “Want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?” He gave a significant pause. “Whiskey?”

“Um,” Akira mumbled, looking more disoriented.

“I’m afraid we don’t have that,” Daichi said. “However did you end up down there?”

“I think I fell?”

That amused Daichi. He even reached down to help Akira up, and well, it was quite adorable when Akira looked even more frazzled standing. His one sock was missing, and when he blindly followed Daichi toward the kitchen, he bumped into the table and had to be caught.

Somehow he managed to end up in front of Surya. “Hi,” he greeted sheepishly. “Sorry for imposing.”

“Pay us back by making breakfast!” Daichi called from the kitchen.

Akira didn’t move until Surya relented with a nod.

He left them alone in favour of showering, and could hear the low hum of their voices over the spray. It was unusual but not unpleasant. When he was done and drying his hair, he heard a knock, and Akira peeked inside.

“Sorry, j-just wanted to check, is there anything you don’t want on your omelette?” Akira asked.

“I like anything that goes on a normal omelette,” Surya replied.

Akira ducked away, and moments later, Daichi was cackling like a hyena. “Is it your mission in life to trick me?” Akira muttered.

Surya finally took a seat at the tiny kitchen table. Daichi rocked on his chair, with his arm hooked languidly over the backrest, and he turned his half-smile from Akira to Surya. The kitchen felt full with all three of them, and Akira’s cooking smelt heavenly.

“Breakfast is served!” Akira presented their plates with a flourish. He set them down and stood with his hands on his hips, looking immensely pleased with himself.

Surya had to admit it looked delicious. He didn’t usually have breakfast this early, but his stomach was growling. Problem was, he felt a little guilty about digging in after he’d run away from Akira last night. He watched Akira return to the counter to wrap up the cheese.

“About what I said yesterday,” he started.

Akira’s shoulders moved in a light shrug. “You were right, and I think I overreacted. If you’re willing to tutor me, then I’m grateful. And I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Such a mature response startled Surya, who slowly nodded. “I apologise for yesterday, too. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that or blackmailed you.”

Akira finally met his eyes, giving him an impish grin. “What else would’ve worked?”

Daichi was smiling. “Be honest, Surya – do you prefer this breakfast over what I usually make for us?”

“Oh, is that why you tried to sabotage it?”

“Lies and slander,” Daichi gasped, clutching his chest in mock offence, but Akira squinted at him, and he admitted. “I thought you’d like pickled radishes and chilli.”

“You’re such an ass,” he laughed.

“And a fine one at that.”

Daichi caught Surya’s eye, motioning silently toward Akira, who was packing leftovers into the fridge without any intention of eating with them. He clearly wanted to say something about it, but he’d pulled one too many tricks lately, so Akira was on guard against him.

Surya lowered his fork with a sigh. “Akira, before you go, can you show me how you made this? So I don’t get poisoned in the future.”

“Oh,” Akira paused, looking flustered. “There’s nothing really special about how I made it. I guess I just went a bit wild because of how many things you had in your fridge.”

Not that easy, huh?

“What did you end up using?” Surya rose to stand beside him. “And you just, what, mixed this into the eggs?”

His fingers fumbled with the utensils as he stammered through his demonstration. He made another omelette, only realising he’d been tricked when Surya coolly took the plate and placed it on the table.

“There’s no way I can have seconds,” Daichi declared dramatically, lacing his fingers together under his chin. His grin curved wider, sly and pleased.

Surya ignored him, pulling out a chair for Akira before sitting himself.

“You’re just as bad as he is,” Akira grumbled.

Daichi just slid the salt over.

After Akira tentatively sat, they witnessed him devour his food in a matter of seconds. Then he was taking their plates to the sink to wash them. Surya joined him, towel in hand to dry them. It was unexpectedly fun having Akira up to his elbows in soapy water, laughing at their dumb conversation.

Much later, Surya trailed after him as he went for the door. “It’s the weekend, though,” he argued.

“We could watch a movie,” Daichi suggested from the bedroom.

But Akira stubbornly told them, “I missed my morning run, so I have to run double.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works.” Daichi’s voice then lowered, “But what would I know? I’m no athlete.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult!” Akira whined.

Surya opened the door for him, so that he could bar it with his arm. “Come back after your run. We need to plan your tutoring session, and I can’t contact you without a phone.”

“Ah, okay,” Akira nodded, looking both elated and embarrassed. “But I, I can’t stay long.”

“How come?” he demanded, then caught himself, remembering that it was none of his business.

“I’m catching a lift to work.”

Surya’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re going to run in your hoodie?”

“Fine, take my hoodie hostage.”

Akira crossed his arms and grabbed the hem of it, starting to pull it off. His back arched slightly, and Surya caught a glimpse of his tanned midriff. It would’ve been exceptionally cute, if not enticing, if the fabric hadn’t caught on his chin and sent him stumbling into the wall.

He pushed his hoodie against Surya’s chest, ducking under his arm, and escaped. “See you guys later!” he called over his shoulder.

Scowling, Surya shut the door after him and went to sprawl beside Daichi, who started the movie. But the fact that Akira had shunned every one of their invitations to join bothered him. He wasn’t used to people shying away from him, and he hated that it might be because of his petty behaviour yesterday.

If he was going to be Akira’s mentor and impress Masami this year, he had to fix this. He didn’t want Akira growing attached by any means, but he needed to be a somewhat trustworthy, responsible tutor.

It was always easier with Daichi. Probably because he didn’t care about anyone’s business but his own, which had made Surya want to break him down and make him his. He felt that same appeal with Akira, but why? Akira wasn’t anything like Daichi, the casual trickster with rough hands and light laughter. Akira was so innocent that he was practically clueless, and it made him an easy target for college bullies and Daichi.

Unlike Daichi, who Surya could trust to remain uninvolved in anything boring or overly taxing, Akira felt like a ticking bomb he now had to handle.