Chapter Text
You didn't start out hating Akira. Really, you didn't.
You'd even willingly picked him as your partner for a project - the project - the one that counted for fifty percent of your total grade in the class you shared together. You went right up to him as he fidgeted awkwardly at his desk, looked over by everyone else clamoring to partner up with one another, and asked if he'd like to partner up with you. And sure, it wasn't exactly pure altruism that inspired the move; part of the reason why you did this was simply because he was smart, and because the alternative was picking one of the other guys lining up to partner with you, who were a.) Stupid, and b.) Just wanted to use this as an excuse to get up your skirt.
But regardless, he'd accepted, and had pulled in his share of the work, too. You knew he would - he was a good guy.
Was.
Anyway.
You were totally going to pass this class, and with the college scholarship you were interested in, that meant everything.
Except for one little thing. One little, itty bitty bit of fine print on this assignment you hadn't even been bothered to worry about until it was too late, because why would you? Akira was one of the school’s top students, and you surely weren’t about to screw this up.
You should have been worried.
Attendance of both group members in presenting the project to the class was absolutely, unwaveringly, set-in-stone mandatory.
And that shy, crybaby bastard hadn't bothered to show up for class that day, of all days.
You failed the project, and therefore, you failed the class. You could kiss your hopes at that dream scholarship goodbye.
You were going to kill that asshole, regardless of what your dear friend Miki would think of you murdering the guy who was basically her brother.
No, literally - you were going to wring his scrawny neck until that annoying, good-hearted light faded from his teary, trembling eyes
Only… his neck wasn't so scrawny the next time you saw him - when he actually bothered to come to school again several days later.
Nor were his eyes those big, doleful things that used to be perfect windows into his pure little soul. His black lashes were longer and thicker somehow. And his eyes were darker. They were… sharp; dangerous obsidian arrowheads. Like his gaze might cut you if you looked at it for too long.
They were different.
He was different.
Huge, even. Little, scrawny Akira now had the body and overpowering presence of a badass - you'd have never believed it if you hadn't seen it for yourself. He was… a different person, almost. And undeniably sexy as hell, which just made you hate him even more, and made all the other girls finally pay attention to him.
What the hell happened to him?
"Hey!" You'd screamed when you finally spotted him those several days later. "Akira!"
He'd glanced up from his phone in order to stare down the hall at you, apathy written on his every suddenly-handsome feature.
That hallway was a war path, and you forged through it, stomping your way toward him with hands balled into fists at your sides.
"Yeah?" He asked, not even trying to sound interested.
You stormed right up to him and poked him repeatedly in his inexplicably broad, muscled chest. God, his torso is like a brick wall. And when did he get so tall??
"Where were you on Monday?!"
His eyes narrowed, and he snatched your wrist in one large hand to keep you from poking him further. "Around."
"Around?!" You practically shrieked up at him. "We failed our project thanks to you being around?!?!"
"Will you simmer down?" He questioned, one dark, sculpted eyebrow arched as he regarded you like you were having some kind of hysterical meltdown. "It's just a project. It’s not like it’s the end of the world."
"Just a project?!" Your eyes stung with prickles of warmth despite yourself, and you ripped your wrist free of his uncaring grasp. Great, now you were the crybaby. "That just a project cost me the only way I was getting into my dream college!"
He'd eyed you, his lips as flat as his regard. "Guess you better figure out plan B, then."
And then the bastard's dark eyes had flittered away from your face, sinking down to take in the full view of you instead, his gaze trailing over your every curve without even a hint of decency. And he actually gulped - you saw it, saw his large adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. But he wasn’t nervous. He was something else. Something sweating with abrupt, newfound interest. "I can help you come up with a few alternatives," he purred suggestively. "But first I might need you to find a creative way of convincing me to help you."
You gawked up at him. Who is this guy?! And what did he do with Akira?
"I think I've had enough of your help, thanks! "
"Relax,” he mused, his eyes never leaving you. They lingered on the gentle swells of your breasts, like he was taking his time to memorize their every detail, until you'd folded your arms across yourself and huffed at him. That brought his attention back to your face again - for a while, anyway. “There's more important things than a grade on a paper."
"Maybe to you, apparently!"
“You know, in light of a lot of new things in my life, my priorities have recently come into question."
You wanted to slap him, and you probably would have, if a sudden flock of fluttering, twitterpated schoolgirls hadn't arrived out of the blue to swarm him like it was time for a man-eating feeding frenzy.
"Akira!"
“Oh my god, he’s so hot now - did he get plastic surgery?”
“What’s his deal? He was such a dork like one second ago.”
“Do you wanna date me? Like, I didn't think you were that hot before, but–”
"Akira, would you walk me home today pretty please?"
"No fucking way, you stupid whore! He's walking me home, he already agreed! Right, Akira?"
Akira more or less ignored the herd of them, though he had a little self-satisfied smile on his face.
Your expression couldn’t have possibly gone flatter. Ugh, that crybaby asshole has a fan club now?
You were surprised they weren't all just throwing their panties at him, such was the stench of desperation. And seeing as how new-Akira was apparently a giant perv, he'd have probably loved it, too.
He didn’t exactly appear to hate all of the attention, and he barely spared you another glance. "Speaking of more important things," he brooded before sauntering off, hands casually stuffed in his pockets like he was just too cool to give a damn, his fan club rushing to keep up alongside his lanky footsteps.
You'd glared after him with so much hatred, you were genuinely surprised when two eyeball-sized holes didn't scorch through in the back of his head.
So you see, you didn't always hate Akira. But you sure as hell do now.
And as for why he hated you, well… that might have something to do with how you'd thrown the disgusting, leftover deviled eggs from your lunch at him and his fanclub from a classroom window two stories up as the group of them flocked outside, about three minutes after the whole hallway incident. Especially since one particularly decent throw had stuck whipped and paprika'ed egg yolk to his perfectly shaped forehead, and riddled the back of his uniform in crumbles of the stuff that likely left it forever stained.
Sadly, there was no way of knowing for sure whether this invoked his disdain toward you. I mean, for all you knew, the guy loved deviled eggs. But suffice it to say, the two of you were in no way on friendly terms.
In fact, you’d taken to mumbling ‘asshole’ with just enough inflection for him to actually hear it whenever the two of you crossed unfortunate paths, and he’d taken to openly glaring at you without responding, looking like he wanted to squeeze your neck until your head popped off your shoulders.
He'd become your arch nemesis. The thorn in your side. The bane of your existence.
And that brings you to today, one week after the hallway and deviled egg incidents.
The sun is shining, and you haven’t seen your disgustingly good-looking arch nemesis for a few days, seeing as how he keeps skipping school. And you hope he keeps on skipping it - forever, preferably, but you’ll settle for at least until the end of the year.
Honestly, at this rate he’s going to be kicked off the track team with you and Miki due to his lacking attendance, and poor Miki is super antsy about it.
You have entirely different feelings on the matter. Serves him right.
Miki invited you to spend the night at her place tonight, and normally you would’ve immediately pounced on the idea, but today you'd actually hesitated a second before accepting the offer, even though it sounded like fun - because it might also mean that you'd run into him again. But you need to blow off some steam after the bombshell of utter failure in convincing your teacher to let you redo your project, and watching cheesy movies with Miki all night is a great way to do that.
Perhaps you guys are even having a little too much fun, seeing as how you end up arguing over who's cuter in the second movie you’re barely watching in the background, which results in wielding pillows against one another in the battle over who has better cheekbones; blonde guy or red-head dude.
You two are tangled up in each other and trying not to pee yourselves laughing when Akira throws the door to Miki's bedroom open.
"What the hell is going on in–"
He’s wearing all black, and he freezes when his gaze settles on you, his eyes narrowing into ebony slits.
Okay, it's probably safe to say at this point that the man is not a fan of deviled eggs.
"What are you doing here?"
He sounds almost as repulsed to see you there as you are to see him lingering tensely in Miki’s doorway, and you return his heated, inky gaze with a weaponized one of your own. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I live here,” he glowers as if he thinks you’re a moron.
"Guys…" Miki mutters, trying to form some kind of white-flagged middle ground - but the two of you steamroll right over her efforts.
You make a show of rolling your eyes. “I mean in this room - you didn’t even knock, what if we were naked?”
His interest perks at that, his little frown wavering, and his eyes roam over you momentarily like they had in the hallway a week ago. “So it’s that kind of pillow fight, hm?” he wonders as a slow, subdued smile crosses his lips.
“Akira!” Miki butts in, louder this time, her eyebrows pulling into an aggravated knot. “Could you reign in being a pervert for just one evening, please!”
“Am I invited to said naked pillow fight?” he questions instead, ignoring her. His sharpened obsidian eyes are very much on you, as is his devilish half-grin.
He stuffs one hand in the pocket of his slacks, and the overt confidence in his broad-shouldered demeanor has you faltering to come up with some kind of snarky comeback - which is as annoying as it is alarmingly disconcerting - but eventually you still manage to muster up a muttered, “Only if the pillow I pummel you with is filled with bricks.”
He smirks - which isn’t exactly the reaction you were going for. “Kinky.” Leaning the sinewy forearm of his free hand against the doorway, he regards you with a hinted brow as one corner of his lips takes on an amused, knife-like point. “I don’t mind, for the record. If you wanted to get a little rough with me all you had to do was ask.”
For some reason the thought of being rough with him makes your heart skip a beat.
Probably because of how much you hate him.
Definitely because of how much you hate him.
“You're disgusting,” you nearly hiss at him.
He glowers, his fingers curling in on themselves. "Whatever. You are absolutely no fun at all."
"And you're an asshole!"
That cheeky smirk of his falters and falls flat. “And you’re a high horse riding, stick-up-your-ass, bitchy little shit.”
“Will you two knock it off already?!” Miki shouts, and the two of you fall into obedient, almost shame-faced silence at having upset her. The combination of both your hard heads and spiteful tempers is a volatile one, and difficult for either of you to have any sort of control over.
Akira stifles something suspiciously similar to a scoff, giving you one last quick look before turning his gaze on Miki. “Just keep it down, will you? I have homework to do and I can’t concentrate with the two of you screeching.”
“I thought homework and homework-related projects weren’t important enough for his majesty?” you drawl bitterly.
He glares at you before taking a step back and slamming the door shut without another word.
You and Miki stare after his retreating, stomping footfalls, each one rumbling the walls as if the man were a rampaging dragon, as you mutter, “Jeez, what’s his problem?”
“Seriously?” Miki asks, eyes incredulously wide. “You! You’re his problem!”
Your gaze whips over to her - you can barely believe what you’re hearing. “How is this my fault?! He started it, and you know exactly how!”
Miki blows out an exasperated breath, massaging her temples with a thumb and forefinger. “You two are ridiculous. And you're both idiots.”
Your eyes narrow at her, and your lips pucker into a pout. “He’s the idiot. And c’mon, you can’t deny he’s been a total asshole lately. Ever since he got...” - absurdly and oh-so-distractingly attractive - “...taller.”
Miki sighs again, and her expression softens into something verging on concerned. “Maybe asshole isn’t exactly the word I’d use, but he’s definitely been exceptionally moody all week. It’s driving me completely crazy to be honest.”
“I’m surprised you’re not already crazy, living with a jerk like him.”
“Well he wasn’t like this until his run-in with you! You guys just rub each other the wrong way!”
“Ugh – please don’t refer to me rubbing him in any way.”
“That’s not what I – God, you guys are both perverts!”
You return your rankled attention to the movie still prattling on in the background whilst biting back some kind of catty retort to that, and eventually your aggravation slips off your shoulders. You and Miki fall into a debate about how the two of you would perform far better in a zombie apocalypse than the smooth-brained protagonist currently wavering around on screen, and you both cry out in over-indulgent horror when red-head dude gets torn to shreds by a horde of the undead. Blonde guy is then announced the official winner in the who-has-better-cheekbones competition by default.
You’re once again blissfully unaware of Akira Fudo’s existence, and all is right in the world. That is, at least, until you and Miki are called down for dinner, at which point you’re basically forced into staring directly at the guy, seeing as how the two of you somehow end up sitting directly across from one another.
Ignoring him becomes your prime objective, though at one point you catch him sullenly eying you, and you actually choke on a noodle that decided in that moment to try and kill you. His curling smirk suggests he finds that funny, and you nearly throw your entire bowl of ramen across the dinner table at his head.
“How’s school going, you three?” Mr. Makimura asks conversationally.
Akira and yourself become suddenly very interested in stirring your food around, leaving Miki as official spokesperson, glancing between the both of you before offering up a little, “It’s alright,” from her slightly gritted, lying teeth.
“And how’s track?” Miki’s dad probes. He glances at Akira. “You break any more records this week?”
“Maybe a few,” Akira puts forth casually, not looking up from his bowl of brothy noodles, like he doesn’t even care that - as of this week, and this week alone - he’s now the fastest person on the team by far. Maybe even the fastest person to grace the team ever .
Too bad he’s probably going to be expelled or something for barely showing up.
Not that you care.
Because you don’t.
It just seems like a pity, is all - like a waste of perfectly good talent.
But, again - you don’t care.
A trickle of cranberry juice runs down your lower lip while you’re distracted by this thought, and you put your glass down to quickly wipe it away with the back of one hand, only to see Akira watching you. You glare at him, of course, but he doesn’t glare back right away, nor does he avert his gaze. In fact, he seems quite fascinated; like wiping your mouth clean is the most engrossing thing in the entire world.
Freak.
You go on ignoring him until a slippery, wayward noodle dangles down your chin after shoving in a particularly overlarge mouthful of ramen, and you have to slurp it back up. That’s when you hear him suck in a sharp breath, and your eyes catch on his. He’s watching you again, and he looks… hungry. Like he wants to eat the food right out of your mouth or something. And it should be weird - it is fucking weird - but it’s also inexplicably turning you on, that look he’s giving you. It’s depraved; a look you shouldn’t be giving someone with others present. Like he wants to throw you into the table, tear your clothes off, and devour you for dinner.
You’re completely lost in that look. Like he’s some mythical creature that’s slowly turning you to stone with just that look alone.
“_____?” Mrs. Makimura’s hazy voice sounds like an echo, murky and from somewhere far away, barely heard in the distance. “_____? What did you think of Miki’s latest photoshoot?”
"Huh?' you ask, ripping your gaze away from Akira’s while blinking rapidly, cheeks a bit flush.
Miki’s mom repeats herself, and you automatically mumble something about Miki’s modeling being fantastic - as always - while nearly stuffing your face into your bowl of noodles in order to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks from the jerk sitting across from you.
You finish the rest of your food in a hurry, shoveling it all into your mouth like a woman starved, earning a few raised brows from Miki’s parents as you do.
“Wow, _____,” Mrs. Makimura muses with a small, uncertain smile. “Are you sure you don’t want seconds? You’re almost as bad as Akira.” She giggles. “Just what are they doing to you kids at that school of yours to make you all so hungry?”
When Miki finally and mercifully finishes her own dinner, you practically drag her back to her bedroom in an attempt to get as far away from whatever silent weirdness is developing between you and Akira as you possibly can.
But it isn’t long after holding up in what should have been a safe space away from that raven-haired bastard, that the raven-haired bastard raps a few times on the door before opening it up without waiting for a response.
He stands there, blatantly ignoring you, and you’re not entirely certain why that actually kind of bothers you. “Miki, can I borrow you for a second?”
Your friend tosses him a questioning look from where she’s situated on the bed, feet waving back and forth as she lays on her stomach and flips through a magazine. “Why? What’s up?”
He looks like he doesn’t want to elaborate in your presence, but finally he caves with a muttered, “I was just wondering if you’d help with this molecular bond nonsense my chemistry teacher threw at me last minute.”
“It was only last minute because you weren’t there when it was originally assigned,” Miki points out, and Akira lours at her.
“Will you help me or not?”
“I’m no good with that kind of stuff,” Miki shrugs, and then an idea seems to dawn on her. A truly diabolical one, from the looks of it, seeing as how she’s suddenly grinning ear to ear like a mischievous imp.
She slips off the bed, pulls you up from your mess of pillows on the floor by the tv, and pushes you a stumbling step toward Akira standing in the doorway. “_____ is really good at chemistry, she’ll help you! Right, _____?”
“Wh-what?” you choke out. “I will?”
You meet Akira’s gaze, and he blinks at you a few times, his eyes going wide for some reason, and he takes a step back. “Nevermind - I got it.”
“You really aren’t in a position to fail assignments right now, Akira,” Miki underlines, pushing you forward as your steps stubbornly resist her advances. But soon she’s shoved you completely out of her bedroom, Akira sidestepping you lest Miki barrel you right into him. You barely catch yourself from falling face-first in the hallway before twisting around to glower at her, and she just smiles at the pair of you showering daggers at her.
“Don’t have too much fun!” she grins before slamming the door in both your faces.
Your first thought is to simply slip out into the night in opposition to helping Akira with anything, other than with a one way trip to the ER anyway, but eventually you let out an aggravated breath and barely succeed in forcing yourself to look over at him. “Let’s just get this over with then, shall we?”
He looks slightly panicked, which catches you completely off guard, because this is normally where he’d be throwing you an overconfident, uncaring shrug or something. But he doesn’t. He avoids even looking at you, rubbing the back of his neck while nibbling at the plush of his lower lip like he's going to bite it right off his face.
Suddenly he pivots away from you, like he can’t stand even the possibility of catching sight of you - and then he’s lumbering off down the hall.
“Fine,” he grumbles, surrendering while already heading up the stairs to his bedroom, taking them two at a time without effort. “Just explain this nonsense and get back to your slumber party. And don’t touch anything.”
You roll your eyes as he's lost from view, before wandering slowly after him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
