At the sound of knuckles rapping on the door, Akira stiffened with his towel still draped over his shoulders like a makeshift shawl. A measly door prevented whoever was out there from seeing him damp and dripping with water, the rivulets trailing over every ridge and curve of his body.

Thin, flimsy wood.

Daichi felt a surge of protectiveness so sharp it had his teeth gritting. He pushed himself upright, wondering who the hell would be here so late. Well, it didn’t really matter, because he didn’t want anyone catching even a whiff of a scantily clad Akira.

“It’s me,” the professor called, annoyingly calm. “I’ve got the last of the marked papers.”

Surya rose to his feet, motioning for Akira to move somewhere out of sight.

“Surya?” The professor knocked again. “…Malay?”

Before anyone could stop him, Akira stepped forward and opened the door. Daichi stopped inches from grabbing his shoulder, his jaw clenching hard enough to crack.

The professor fell silent at the sight of them before smiling at Akira. “Ah, I heard Surya was tutoring you.”

“Torturing, actually.” Akira’s response was notably short, which had to be intentional.

“You must’ve come straight from practice.” Masami was all smiles for Akira, while ignoring Daichi entirely. “Have you finished?”

“Just about. You’re like a bloodhound, sir. How’d you know I was here?”

“You weren’t at the bus stop,” he shrugged. “I was going to offer you a ride home, and I was worried when you weren’t there.”

Daichi’s fingers curled into fists at his side. “That’s a very busy night for you, sir.” He inserted himself by leaning against the wall beside Akira. “Driving Akira home, dropping off these tests.”

Masami’s gaze finally met Daichi’s and drastically cooled.

“Thanks for delivering the papers,” Surya cut in smoothly, moving to stand on Akira’s other side. “I’ll finish moderating them by the end of this week.”

“It’s no trouble.” Masami dumped the heavy stack in Daichi’s arms. Then he crossed the threshold to continue speaking to Akira. “If you’re done studying, have you eaten?”

Akira stood awkwardly in front of him. There were a few faint hickeys along the curve of his shoulder, and Masami’s gaze lingered on them. He shot a sharp glare at Daichi, and it wasn’t hard to see the accusation there.

“We’ll probably eat now, then finish studying,” Akira said, adjusting the towel to hide his bruises.

Masami nodded slowly. “I’m impressed by how hard you’ve been working, but don’t overdo it. It’s getting late.”

“Late or not, he can’t leave until he gets more than three answers right,” Daichi chimed in, earning a frown from Akira. “Or so the tutor says.”

Surya discreetly rolled his eyes at that copout, but Masami only smiled. “Then I don’t want to keep you. I’ll be just across the hall. Over there, 302. Once you’re done, you can let me know and I’ll take you home, okay?”

“I can’t predict how late we’ll end,” Surya lamented, glancing at Daichi.

“And I’ll still be up,” he said. “So I’ll drive him home.”

“Well, he can always knock on my door if he’d like.” Masami then focused on Akira, his brow creasing. “My couch is still yours if you need it.”

Akira, who was quite comfortable sleeping on their couch, just smiled. “Thanks for the offer, sir, but I should be good here.”

Ever Daichi’s hero, Surya started edging Masami out the door, and Daichi seized his chance to pass half the stack of papers to Akira.

“Help me carry these,” he said, and Akira awkwardly balanced them on one arm, keeping a white-knuckled grip on his towel as he shuffled after him.

He glanced over those unruly curls and saw Masami still watching them. He shifted to block Akira from view while Surya took up the doorway, acting like a literal gate.

It surprised him when Akira dropped back a step, and he bent his head to listen.

“Can I please borrow a shirt?” Akira whispered, exciting him. “I look like a grandma in this.”

“Nothing wrong with that, but sure.” He immediately fetched the smallest shirt he could find. “Here we go, try this. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He waited at the table, and when Akira reappeared, he started to clap. Turns out his smallest shirt was the perfect size. The fabric hugged Akira’s slender frame, showing off the slender curve of his spine and his muscles, which was very attractive.

“You’re way too tiny,” Daichi remarked. “Eat more.”

“Don’t body shame me,” Akira said, but his small smile was warm. He took a seat at the table, tugging at his shirt like it was a little too tight. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows lifted. “What did I do?”

“I’m pretty sure you were defending me,” Akira grinned, like he was battling not to laugh.

“I made your basketball senses tingle, huh?”

Surya entered the kitchen, looking perplexed. “Hey, that was weird, right? Was it just me?”

“Not at all,” Daichi replied. “I’d just like to say, for the record, that I’ve never liked Masami.”

“I didn’t think he’d go after a first-year, though.”

Akira frowned. “He isn’t. He’s not a bad person.”

“Oh, so there’s another reason you didn’t want to go with him?” Daichi asked.

Akira hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I just don’t want a closer relationship with him. That says nothing about his character.”

“He might not be a terrible person,” Surya allowed, “but his behaviour just now was inappropriate.”

Daichi wasn’t nearly as diplomatic. “You can’t be such a pushover, Akira. He just tried to cross a line with you as his student. You wouldn’t have seriously gone with him if we hadn’t intervened, would you?”

“I would’ve handled it.”

“Oh, come on,” Daichi snapped, his anger flaring. “You shouldn’t have opened the door for him in the first place.”

“He already knew I was here!”

“But not that you were half-fucking-naked. What do you think you looked like, huh?” Daichi seethed. “He was eyeing you like you were a slut for a –”

“Stop it,” Akira shouted, then flinched, like he’d given himself a fright.

Daichi felt like a cold bucket of water had been emptied over his head. He looked at Surya, feeling sick, and Surya put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. It made him feel like he could breathe again, but adjacent to them, Akira sat alone.

“I-I would’ve handled it,” Akira repeated, visibly calming himself. His nails stopped digging into the edge of the table. “I’m sorry that I opened the door without your consent. I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m…I’m not a…”

“You’re not,” he immediately agreed. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I think we were both caught off-guard by Masami,” Surya added, helping to ease the tension.

They watched as Akira’s throat rolled, and Daichi wondered if he was going to cry. His guilt would probably eat him alive if he did. He’d seen this boy locked up in a trunk, blackmailed by Surya, and frozen half to death on a bench, without batting an eye. So he’d feel like a monster if he was the reason Akira broke down.

“I might’ve gone with him because sleeping on his couch is better than that bus stop, and I might’ve eaten his food, but that doesn’t make me desperate or naïve,” Akira tried to tell them, looking pained. “Masami’s done a lot for me, and to me, he’s a good person.

“Okay,” Daichi said, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. “It made me angry that a person in his position gave off the impression that he…Was interested in you, but I know in my head that you could’ve handled it. You’ve been handling it, so far.”

The defensiveness in Akira’s expression began to ease. He relaxed in his chair, giving an embarrassed smile. “W-well, I appreciate you two helping me with this particular thing.”

“What a vague thing to say,” Surya muttered.

Just as Daichi demanded, “What else is happening besides this?”

“My hunger.” Akira’s forehead thumped against the table. “Please feed me.”