Chapter Text
The University of Akatsuka was the most prestegious school in the country; many wealthy families enrolled their children there, if not for the education than for the reputation. If employers were to see you attended and graduated from the college, you have a 100% chance of being hired on the spot. It might sound over-the-top, but there's a reason Akatsuka grew so luxurious and powerful.
For years, it's ruled over other institutions with ease. Other schools, especially those nearby, lived off of their leftovers. All the kids who weren't smart or rich enough to attend Akatsuka fell into the hands of the sister universities. There was a natural balance to it all, decades worth of tradition taking place, from freshman orientation week to "leave your neighbor a surprise" day.
One tradition that has never been broken is that, in the University of Akatsuka, every student was a male. Another tradition was that no one who had parents that recieved a salary beneath a certain criteria was allowed in. The school officials, and even the senior students there, were strict and unforgiving when it came to these unspoken rules. They wanted to keep the good image of their institute, after all.
Today, you broke not one, but both of these traditions as you stepped through the boarding school's gates. You were offered a one-time deal scholarship, and it was either you took it or didn't. The college has never given out student financial aid in the past, and this year they were testing it out on one person outside of their normal audience, curious to see if they were missing out on any intellectuals who would possibly help raise the school's fame. Luckily, it was you who won the raffle, and though you weren't a male, you claimed to be one on your application. So far, you've made it past every security check here (there were three on the drive and two at the city entrance).
One thing you couldn't get over was the sheer wealth the university seemed to ooze by only glancing at it. It was located in a private sector on the countryside, quite a way's away from society, to "focus on a studious vibe." You definitely felt overwhelmed here; a single blade of emerald grass on their front lawn looked like it was worth more than anything you owned.
Unfortunately, you owned nothing at the moment anymore, because of the conditions you had to meet in order to accept the offer of a scholarship. They required compensation (the rich pricks) for being "generous" to the poor, which was really just anyone below a six digit income. Your parents debated with you whether it was really worth selling all your belongings, but you insisted that it was. This was, like they stated on the application, a once in a lifetime opportunity for someone like you. You couldn't turn it down, and you can't screw it up now.
That's what you hoped, but selling your things and getting the money in on time was a longer process than you anticipated, and you missed the entire freshman orientation week, arriving on the last day before classes started. Quite the first impression, you think to yourself disappointedly. Trying not to drag your feet behind you as you walked down the ellaborate sidewalks to where you deduced was the dorm buildings, you tried to look on the bright side. At least now, you'd maybe get a nice roommate who could help you with classwork and fitting in. Maybe you'd room with an older kid who knew their way around.
Hopes up, after asking a staff person where your wing was located and you were directed down a series of halls, you found yourself smiling. Things were working out for you. You'll be able to fool everyone into thinking you're a male, for four years until you leave with a degree, and live a good life so your parents can live comfortably under your services. You owed them that much after being such a spoiled brat when you were younger.
The first thing you noticed about your dorm door was that it was the only one not adorned with decorations. The others had a range of simple to intricate designs and club logos stamped on them, color coded for a reason you weren't sure of. Wondering if your roommate was even later than you, you unlock the door and step inside, immediately realizing your hypothesis was wrong.
"Ah, shit!" A man, presumably your roomie, fell off the couch at your entrance. "Fucking warn me next time you wanna walk in on me wanking," He growls, peeking over the side to glare at you.
"Oh... sorry, dude." You mutter, more flabbergasted than uncomfortable. You shut the door at his request, gandering at the area around you. It was... not impressive at all. Clothes were strewn everywhere on the ground and furniture, as if he were purposely trying to decorate the suite with it. Opens bags and snacks were littered sporadically in the kitchen and living room, and probably in the other rooms you've yet to explore. You look back at the guy in disbelief, who was still staring at you awkwardly.
"The room closest to the door is mine. You didn't come the first day so I thought I had the place to myself." He had the decency to sound guilty, but maybe it was because he was currently hiding his manhood from you. Or both.
"Cool," You mutter, but motion to the mess. "But you plan on cleaning this up, I hope?" You do not want a slob roommate. Weren't rich kids supposed to be proper and stuck-up?
"Hah, in your dreams." He cackles. Well, he got the stuck-up part down already. "Now if you don't mind, could you go to your room or leave while I finish myself off? I kind of have a boner right now and it's weird talking to you for this long." Did this guy have no shame whatsoever? You restrain yourself from gaping at him incredulously, instead asking another question.
"You'll clean that up, though, right?" He makes a face like he's considering it, and you have the urge to slap him. "My bad, I meant you will clean that up. I do not want our couch stained by something from your dick." You scoff, crossing your arms and waiting for him to consent. You weren't leaving until you had some form of confirmation to rid your fears.
"Too late for that!" He snickers, having the nerve to look proud of himself. What the actual fuck?
"You're disgusting, oh my gosh." You groan, running your fingers through your hair. At the movement, you're reminded that you cut it short, like a guy's, to avoid any movie incidents where the girl gets caught because her wig fell off. If you're going to go undercover, you have to go all the way. That also meant no make-up, but you didn't mind that part much. You were never so abundant with money that you had the luxury of experimenting with it anyway. You could do without.
He clears his throat, as if waiting for you to make a decision for him. What. A. Douche. "Look, I'm shooing you away for your own sake. Let me tell you now that I have five brothers and I'm used to being comfortable after being walked in on, so I can easily," You hear a few wet sounds and drop your jaw, mortified, "Finish without you as a distraction."
"Stop. Stop it, okay, I'm going!" Hands smacking over your ears, you start walking to your room, adding an annoyed "God!" for extra measure before slamming the door shut behind you. Okay, so your roommate is a filthy asshole slob with no tact or ability to blend in with social norms. Great. You're almost relieved you didn't come here the first day, because that meant spending more time in his presence.
You stay in your room for two hours, unpacking your clothes and hanging up your uniform, changing your bedsheets for something more personal, and setting up what few things you kept from your haul. Some family photos, a couple knick-knacks. Once you think it's safe to wander outside again, you find that your horrid excuse for a roomie had left. Taking the opportunity to clean up the suite, the first thing you do is check the couch.
He didn't actually stain it all, the liar. He probably only said it because he thought it was funny. So now he was a filthy asshole slob who lied and was sadistic. Even better. Not even a half hour later does he return, though, just as you finish tossing the last of his socks in his room.
"Whoa!" He exclaims, looking horrified. "It's so clean!"
"You say it like it's a bad thing." You roll your eyes.
"...did you touch my boxers?" He asks suddenly. Warily, you nod, then jab a finger in the direction of his room.
"I put all your clothes in there." A sick smirk pulls on his lips, and you supress the urge to wipe it off with a backslap.
"Heh heh, that's pretty daring, considering the fact that you walked in on me having fun." Then, "You know, I may not have stained the couch, but I do stain my briefs. You probably just touched my cum, so congratulations." Why was he smiling like that?
"God, you're so annoying!" Wait, did you say that out loud?
"I hear that a lot," He sneers, sticking out his tongue like a child. "Better wash your hands fast unless you want my DNA on you." He chortles, eyes crinkling at his own teasing. "Oh," He mutters, eyes widening with his grin. "Unless you want my DNA on you."
Okay, you were not letting anything else come out of that mouth.
"Whoa-ho!~" He dodges your swing with ease, side stepping you and laughing when you stumble forward. You've never thrown a punch at anyone in your life until now. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, knowing you probably looked like an idiot. "We've got a fighter!" He acknowledges. Without wasting time, you turn around and swing again, wanting to land at least one punch on him to shut him up. You weren't weak, not in the slightest, but you hoped you could pack a mean punch.
"Quit messing around," You snarl, sounding angrier than you were. You were more vexed than anything, especially since he kept dodging all your attacks. What is he, some kung fu master? How come he's so good at this?!
"Okay, you asked for it, though." He says, dropping his smile and throwing a punch. You twist to dodge it, but his fist connects with your cheek anyway, since he expected it. You crumple to the ground, clutching your face and biting your tongue. It hurts!! Alot!! "Get up, we're not done yet." He says, and now that you've been hit, you feel your anxiety spike at his words and instinctively kick your feet out to get him away, but to no avail. He grabs your collar, yanking you in an uncomfortable position and looking you in the eye.
It was humiliating, especially since you knew you were crying. Who wouldn't after getting socked for the first time? In the face? "Don't touch me," You release your cheek gingerly, then dig your fingers into his wrists in an attempt to make him let go. He simply looks at you, bored. You were obviously no match for him. He pulls you closer, almost uncomfortably so, before he mumbles something that makes your blood boil.
"This turns you on, too, doesn't it?" He whispers. "That's pretty sick."
You grab his hair, pulling him down and flipping your position. He cries out, not expecting your retaliation, but instantly recovers and grabs your shoulders, pushing his weight on you until you were on your back. One of his hands were balled in your shirt, the other revolving back to swing. You hold your breath, flinching to cover your face in fear, but the punch never comes. You peek at him through your arms, only to see him staring at you tight-lipped.
Or, more specifically, staring at your chest.
"Y-You.. you're.." He stammers, eyes widening even more. You glance downwards, only to see that your button up had lost its buttons during the scuffle, probably when he started manhandling your top. The blood rushes from your face and you feel sick. You could care less that this sleeze ball is ogling at your breasts; if he tattled, then you'd go to jail! You're lying about your identity and essentially tresspassing on private grounds, and with a rich board, you'd never make a shorter sentence than a decade.
"Please, don't tell anyone." You whisper quietly, hand gripping his forearm in case he tried to run. He continues staring at your boobs until you speak louder. "Please." You beg, the tears spilling over your cheeks again.
His eyes pan up to your face, a red tint coloring his cheeks. Slowly, he releases you, speechless as you quickly hold your shirt together. "You're a girl." He states the obvious.
"No dip, Sherlock." You say, wiping your face.
"You saw me jerking off." He says.
"Yeah." You reply, gazing at his unreadable expression. After a moment, he continues.
"Was it hot?"
"What the fuck!" Seriously, what is wrong with him?! "Why would ask me that!? I don't even know you!" You stand up to back away, but he takes a step closer for every one you move away.
"Answer me," He insists, cornering you against the wall. "I want to hear from a girl's perspective!" You slap your hands over his mouth, pupils fearful.
"Quiet!" You whisper, gaze darting to the door. "What if someone hears you?!" He gently grabs your wrist, much different than how he was treating you before, and pulls it away so he can speak.
"I won't tell," He says.
"You won't?" You ask, almost smiling, before remembering this guy's personality. Instead, you knit your brows and frown. "Why not?"
"I want to make a deal!" He tells you blatantly, his mischevious grin returning. "Your secret can't get exposed, and neither can mine!" You blink at him in confusion, until he ellaborates. "My parents and friends think I'm so smart, but up until now, I've had my brothers do all the work for me." He explains. Gosh, this guy grew UP this way. You feel sympathy for his family. "Thing is, they opted out because they want to move on from me, so now I have no one to help me out!"
You're already catching on. "And you want me to help you... cheat?"
"Right!"
"No!" You push him away, standing akimbo as he pouts. "That's bad for-- for you and me. I won't help you cheat through college. We both can get explusion for that." You huff stubbornly. You will not succumb to anything that low.
"But I'll tell on you if you don't!" He says, not a lick of guilt coming from him for being so selfish.
"How about I help teach you. Then you can learn to do things on your own and not have to rely on other people." You suggest.
"You'd do that?!" He asks, seeming satsifed. "Great! It's a deal! I won't tell a soul that you're a girl--"
"Why don't you start keeping your promise by not mentioning it, yeah?" You grumble in vexation. He mumbles an apology, and you think to yourself about how your secret was exposed your very first day here, not even a day later. As you watch your roommate, who's name you've yet to learn, smile at you coyly, you wonder if keeping your secret will be as easy as you thought it'd be.
"You still haven't told me whether seeing me jack my hammer was hot or not." He reminds you, much to your displeasure.
"It was like," You begin, and he lights up with hope. "Touching gum underneath a desk." You finish.
"But that's nasty," He rationalizes.
"I know."
He doesn't look happy.