Hello! Hope you're all very well - sorry for lack of updates, I'm on it!
In the mean time this is the most complete offering I have - please enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes...
Oh an FF is being a douche so I've uploaded chapter 1 in 2 parts (I hope it's all in the right order!)
Warnings: Swearing, Yaoi, Murder ^^'
- § -
Akihito turns the quality card over in his hands, examining it for any details that may give away the intended recipient, bearing in mind that it had arrived at his humble little apartment in Tokyo just this morning along with the usual - last notices for bills, junk mail. He has no idea what to do with it, whether to again, disregard it as he does all of the notices for the latest overdue bills - or to look into attending this fancy looking function just to get a free meal.
His instinct screams that it's some big scam or set up but, his very nature is to chase the story, the thrill and excitement of the unknown - and this is certainly as out of the blue as it gets. He doesn't think he's done anything to warrant this seemingly prestigious invite, the investigative photographer not having that many connections within the business or political elite in Tokyo - especially given the angle of most of his headline stories take as they tend to concentrate around trying to bring down those in power who are corrupt, who abuse the weak and the vulnerable - those who do unspeakable things and aren't afraid to tread all over the vulnerable and poor to get to the top.
Well, that's the dream anyway.
Akihito hasn't been too successful in that regard as of yet, apart from the weddings and community stories he covers, all of his 'major scoop' stories and photo's are always stopped just before they reach print, each time. His editor always having some reason or another why - that the culprit has turned up dead already so that it's in fact now old news, or that another, more important story has cropped up in the mean time so his had been bumped down in the billing until it became nothing.
Discarded on the printing room floor and his story is once again ousted from the paper altogether.
The weird thing is though, from all of this - is that he still gets paid every time, he still sells his photo's and articles without a problem (not that he does earn a huge deal from them) but not once has his editor been reluctant to take on the material, there are no questions asked and the man doesn't bat even one of his fat eyelids at however controversial, however dire the story may be - or how many people it may upset.
So here Akihito is this morning, about to leave for yet another stakeout - this time involving none other than a well known minister for the opposition, Kouyama - and his involvement with embezzling money and dealings in the sex trade. Someone he's been after for weeks.
Akihito can't stand this kind of duality of character, a poster boy for a political campaign by day, all shaking hands and posing with various babies - yet by night he's hanging out in the shady sex clubs, spending the money he's managed to steal from various charities and businesses - millions of yen on prostitutes and underhand deals with gangsters.
Not wasting anytime Akihito places the invite on the fridge, pinned under a garish magnet of one of his favourite Animé characters where it'll stay until he has the time to find out the fancy letters' intended recipient. For now though he swings by the bathroom to brush his teeth, wiping the excess toothpaste hastily from around his mouth on the way to shove a jacket on, pick up his camera bag and make his way out the door, ready for another adrenaline filled day of secret sleuthing.
- § -
"So…um….my story, got dumped? Again?"
Akihito stares deadpan at his editor, Shinotake. The man sat like a great bloated Toad behind the desk in his too cramped office at the papers' headquarters, smoking a Cuban cigar and somehow looking very relaxed for someone who has an increasingly distressed photographer not even a metre away, one holding several blunt objects in his possession - blunt objects that are perfect for bludgeoning a certain irritating, unapologetic editor to death, for example.
This story had been one of Akihito's finest, detailing the descent of the celebrated public figure - Kouyama, a 'happily married' family man - into a major criminal managing to launder millions from not only tax money but many charities as well and how he had used that money to invest in the triple whammy of sex, arms and drug markets! But no. The story had been dumped for an exposé on the Dog show industry instead - and it's uses of subpar dyes.
There is no reason for this blatant oversight, a huge mistake - a travesty as far as Akihito is concerned and one - he thinks - that is an insult to the very world of journalism. A real story that affects real lives, ousted by some bright pink poodles.
As Akihito death stares the moustached man and wonders how Shinotake can even afford Cuban cigars on his wage - the man finally gives him a contemplative, perhaps even a little patronising, glance. Eyes laughing at the boy's plight.
"Takaba, lad. You should realise how the world of news works. One minute the story you've scooped is relevant - the next minute, 'whoosh' - the guys involved have upped and vanished and we find something else to write about instead. Happens all the time, best not to question it and just move on. In this case, you can't prove anything - leaves us too open to trouble from lawyers, the cops."
The bloated mans hands flail around and Akihito wonders whether it's to act as some sort of metaphor for that statement or whether the man is actually getting as smoked out as Akihito is.
Since when has the guy worried about proof (of which by the way, there is fuck-tons of) or trouble from the law? A story is a story and the truth is the truth!
The young man rolls his eyes, sick of hearing that his stories aren't worth chasing, that this lead or that has gone missing, that he shouldn't bother to look into it - Akihito has done his research, all of the crooked politicians, public figures or criminals that have appeared in one of his articles over the past six months have turned up missing after he had written about them and taken their photo's before selling the story and he feels somehow responsible. That now history is repeating itself the same thing might happen to Kouyama.
This man certainly hasn't been helping that uneasy feeling with the elusive, odd explanations he's been feeding Akihito. How can, for example - a story about an illegal multi million yen Arms deal by a corrupt military official to a questionable foreign political group be lesser news to the latest report on the fashion trend of crotchless pants - 'Do's and don't's: Is it ever acceptable to wear them to social events? Find out here!'
Akihito is surprised that Shinotake bothers to tell him every time, like it's the first time this has happened and like he's actually sorry for it - while he sits behind his cluttered, piled up desk and smokes, drinking boozy coffee from his novelty mug and belching practically every other word. He's sick of it and he needs a break. He needs to find out what the hell is going on.
He leans forward slightly, hand slamming down on a stack of paperwork as he levels himself with his editor for a moment, sincere as he is set in his goal. He won't give up so easily.
"You know there's no way I can just ignore this-! I'm gonna get my scoop one way or another! I'm gonna get my photo's on that front page - where they belong!"
The man stops, surprised for a moment before he smiles, chuckling slightly at the convincing sincerity in Akihito's words, this kid always having a rather interesting, unique moral code and a work ethic that none at the the paper had really seen before he came along. He doesn't lie, doesn't stretch the truth for a story - to make it more scintillating for the readers. No. Shinotake can honestly say that this photographer, even whilst being so young - is already made of more metal than any man at 'Daily News' - maybe more than any man in this damn industry. He thoughtfully tokes on his stumpy Cigar a few times, contemplating.
This could certainly make things interesting.
"Have it your way then kid, do what you like - If you come back to me with a fully compiled report by end of business Monday I'll consider it again. But don't come crying to me if you fall on down a rabbit hole and you can't drag yourself back out again."
He takes one last drag, puffing circles of acrid grey smoke above him.
Akihito is only stunned for a second at the granted permission, the last thing he would have ever expect - but he recovers quickly and announces that he'll be taking a few days off to investigate, knowing that he'll have to jump right on in at the deep end to get to the bottom of this mystery. Why is this happening? Why him? Why his stories?
He leaves the office and collects his bag - knowing already his next port of call. He'll tail Kouyama, get this damn scoop or die trying. That's if the old geezer hasn't gone missing - just like the others.
The photographer arrives an hour later outside of the mans bustling city office, knowing that if he's anywhere the man will be here until he starts his nightly routine of visiting the club, Dracaena in the Azabu district of Tokyo where his favourite hostesses work.
Akihito doesn't go in there anymore - he had tried that a few times and the last time when he had actually succeeded - he shudders, the last time had gone very, very badly and he had been caught by the manager whilst casing out the joint with his this day he doesn't know how he had gotten out of it alive.
All he knew afterward was that he had woken up banged up, bandaged but cleaned up in his own bed at home. The only clue left with him the faint smell of spice, sandalwood and cigarette smoke lingering in his apartment.
That had been his very first story fresh out of University several months ago where he had studied Photography, the boy already having connections with some of the more colourful characters in the police force. A detective Yamazaki.
He had received a tipoff about human trafficking taking place right out of a prestigious club right here in Tokyo - somehow many female customers, all ranging between a certain age and with a certain look had been just vanishing from the club each night for many months - leaving their friends and family confused and scared, not being able to reach them on their cell phones either. The only real explanation at the time for the friends and family in a safe country like Japan was that the person must have had something come up or changed their mind and gone home without notifying their friends or colleagues - but that theory had been shot out of the water when even after the next day and that day after that - there was nothing.
They never heard from that person again.
The police had been to the club many times to try and get to the bottom of the matter, the disappearances far too fishy and far too many for them to be a mere coincidence. This is the last place all of the missing people have in common. They had tried raids, undercover agents - but they had come up empty each time. What they needed was someone completely unconnected to them - a fresh face on the scene. So it had been a god-send then when Takaba Akihito had shown up, looking for a lead from Detective Yamazaki.
It hadn't been hard from there to get the kid a member's card for the club, money talks in that respect when the original owner had just agreed to only report it stolen the next day - Akihito waited in line, jittery from excitement and from the fresh scent of his very first story - that by all accounts should be huge and could help a lot of people.
He was let in the club with easily after flashing his card and he started by heading to the bar for a drink, best to blend in with his surroundings. He kept the camera in his shirt sleeve poised and ready, never knowing when a scoop could turn up right in-front of him as he asked for the cheapest beer on offer, turning back to the dance floor and recalling the brief he had been given and what kind of young women he should be keeping an eye on.
It's wasn't long before a perfect target had made herself known, a girl that didn't look a day over twenty, beautiful. Drunk. Stumbling across the floor towards the back of the club towards the toilets where the corridors split off into many the different routes throughout the Back of house. Akihito finished up his drink casually, slipping away from the bar to follow her as another man did the same - a blonde, attractive guy about five years older than he if he were to guess. Akihito kept his wits about him as he approached the back of house - seeking to blend in and stumble around if drunk which seemed to work, a little too well - for the blonde man had turned his attention on Akihito instead.
The next thing he knew he had woken up, sore, bruised and battered in a strangely bare room, almost like a basement or service area deep within the bowls of the club. He had clearly been searched - his jacket and pants lying to the side of the room and his trusty mini camera in pieces. He started to panic only to find his limbs tied, the blonde man laughing at his struggle.
"Shh, no point struggling. Trust me. Just keep quiet and I'll make this as painless as possible for you."
But Akihito had struggled and choked, fining it hard to talk with the gag in his mouth until he managed to wrestle it out with his tongue. Shouting abuse at the asshole who had cornered him outside of that security office.
"S-screw you! Whad'you want from me-!"
A swift kick to the face silenced the boy once more, Sudoh giving the order for his men to do what they like to the kid before he's shipped off with the other girl from tonight. To his buyer in Europe.
The men rounded on Akihito's prone, half naked body, the four of them eyeing his supple thighs, biteable lips and they all hustled for the first touch, taste of the fine young body before them. They pulled his legs apart after discarding his underwear completely and the first guy unzipped and lined up, getting ready to ram into the delicious, tight looking virgin hole, the perfectly round ass even as the door burst open revealing a terrifying silhouette, a tableau frightening enough to freeze all in the room into place - an image of angry golden eyes and black, cold steel.
He shudders at the memory of that night, can't keep track of how much time he has spent after just wondering what must have happened and how he had been rescued. He had rushed into the police station as soon as he was able - Yama-san and the rest of his contacts though totally ignorant and oddly silent on the matter. Like everyone else had been. Like that whole case had never happened.
In time, he just stopped asking.
So now Akihito just settles for waiting outside the club, loitering across the street sat on the stone steps of a closed business while he awaits his target - the photographer catching a glimpse every now and again of what must be the new Dracaena manager appearing and bowing, elegantly greeting important guests while he ponders on what ever happened to that other one, the blonde guy from that night.
While he stares into space, frowning, he almost misses his target appearing, Kouyama making it out of the club rather more cheerful, rosey cheeked and less steady than he went in - more thousands of Yen in taxpayers money down the drain in girls company and grossly overpriced booze no doubt.
Akihito crosses the street to tail the politician and his few guards as they walk the few metres away from the club to the limo parked in a dark area of the quiet road, most likely in a small attempt at playing incognito lest any reporters be hanging about. The one photographer on their tail sticks to the shadows though, the man hiccupping and regaling his men with the latest tales from this evening, the tone lighthearted as he fills them in on last minute changes to his weekend schedule.
"…And then after my three O'clock it'll just be a case of getting to this blasted get-together of Asami's he's holding at Sion - he's insisting I come for some reason though it's damned inconvenient for me-!"
And with that they reach the car, his guards exchanging one last exasperated glance as their employer slides in and the engine roars to life. The car and it's occupants speed off and leave Akihito's mind reeling - Kouyama mentioned the retreat, he's invited - and Akihito has an invitation too! This could be a second chance at getting dirt on this rotten politician!
With that Akihito rushes back to his hiding place near the club and scoops up his belongings - heading home and hoping it's not too late to RSVP.
As soon as he gets in the door and sheds his work gear, he plucks out his phone and Akihito's unexpectedly shaky fingers dial the RSVP number as he reads it from where he had stuck it on the fridge. waiting with bated breath as the line rings on the other end, finally getting picked up by a stern voice after several rings.
"Hai."
"H-uh, Hi. I'm calling ab-"
"About the weekend retreat, yes - to RSVP."
"Y-yeah….U-I'm Takab-"
"Takaba Akihito, I know. Is that all?"
"Eh?-Uh, y-yeah…I, guess?"
"Fine, we shall expect you at seven pm sharp, there are directions listed on the back of the invite card and any dietary requirements have been taken into consideration. You are to pack for a full two night, two day stay and as listed on the invite card, there are to be no electronic devices or photographic equipment allowed on the premises. You will be searched upon arrival."
There's a small pause as the bored sounding man takes a breath, and Akihito can only blink in bewilderment at the change in tone - the voice taking on a somewhat cheerful, hospitable edge.
"Thank you. We at the Grand Sion Hotel look forward to welcoming you, we hope you enjoy your stay —"
And with that the line goes dead, the person clearly disconnecting the call as soon as any professional obligations were met leaving Akihito to stare at his cell, silent and confused as he tries to digest everything from the last few minutes. So the invite hadn't been some kind of fluke, it had been for him - the man on the phone had known him, his name. Had known he was calling to RSVP. That he would RSVP.
Creepy. Creepy, but kinda cool!
Despite himself Akihito grins, his adrenaline junky soul practically whooping at this lucky turn of events, this guy, this Asami Ryuichi - intriguing him already with this air of mystery. Some rich old guy that seems to be inviting random people to some stodgy old hotel for the weekend for some party. Weird. Akihito knows this is probably bad news, and that this is his last chance to wash his hands of the whole thing. But this thrill, this rush that he's feeling now - he lives for it. What if by cancelling he was to miss out on the big scoop he's been chasing for months? What if he never does solve the mystery surrounding his cases and the disappearing scumbags? So, he chooses to pack for the get away tomorrow instead, of course packing all of the photographic equipment he thinks he can get away with - taking into account that he's going to probably be frisked on the way in.
He carefully slices the inner lining of his duffel bag and slips in his small, covert camera, an extra cable for the remote shutter control and a couple of extra micro SD cards before carefully sticking it back together discreetly with some tape. From there he shoves in a couple of shirts, jeans and pairs of boxers, heading to the bathroom afterward to grab his wash bag, reminding himself that actually - a fancy hotel will probably have all of the toiletries he'll need. Yeah, screw it.
Packing pretty much done with packing he showers and hits the sack, looking forward to his brand new adventure tomorrow.
- § -
Finally, the train announcement sounds out in Japanese (and odd sounding English) that Akihito has arrived literally, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. He wishes now that he had put more thought into this, for starters that he should have at least glanced over the directions before this morning - before finding out that he had just two hours to make a three hour at least journey to this godforsaken part of the country.
As the invitation had stated - It is technically just outside of Tokyo, not in one of those backward, run down towns only visited by those hopelessly lost or crazy or anything as the hotel in question is located in one of the most exclusive Onsen towns in the whole of Japan - it's just that the place, Sion, is only accessible by one of those painfully slow local trains - the ones that stop at every single tiny one-platformed train station. And from there it's still a ways to go, a slow cable car ride to the lengthy drive leading finally to the hotel that sits on a mountain over-looking what seems, like the entire prefecture.
Wow.
When Akihito's cable car finally approaches and the large manor hotel creeps into view his jaw drops in awe, the building is immense - beautiful with it's European red brick and mahogany, it's golden 'Sion' sign and the sparkling chandeliers visible through the well-lit windows and the whole place is so secluded, surrounded by acres upon acres of undisturbed wooded land.
He glances as his watch when he steps out of the car, bag in hand and winces - seeing that it's already seven forty. Damn. He walks the long way up the impressive drive, firelight guiding his way from the perhaps thousands of small torches lined up along it. Clearly no expense spared. He starts to feel a little underdressed and more than just a little foolish at coming here at all, what the hell was he thinking?! But not being one to back down he just gulps and keeps walking, approaching the ominously large doors with every step forward and finally reaching out a trembling hand to knock the wrought iron snarling Panther door knocker, he shivers - wondering if the change in altitude is to blame for the sudden prickling feeling that's creeping up his spine, that's making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
In his nervous musing, he misses completely the burning golden eyes watching him intently from the window at the very top of the manor, hot breaths puffing onto the hand crafted glass window pane as eager finger tips streak through the steam, keeping Akihito in perfect view.
The door opens on Akihito's second tap of the door knocker making him stand to attention, the face that greets him not looking too amused as the man pushes his clear rimmed glasses up his nose impatiently.
"You're late."
"U-yeah, sorry 'bout that I-um….uh…"
He trails off, not sure whether it's even worth making up an excuse judging by the look he's being given, laughing nervously instead and hand flying to the back of his neck in embarrassment and to calm the goosebumps. Kirishima, the head butler for this weekend but really a man of many roles - motions the boy in whilst holding back any scorching comments on his tardiness, or state of dress as he's a guest after all. Instead he claps twice, waiting staff seemingly coming out of the woodwork to collect Akihito's single duffle bag and jacket to whisk them away to his room while Kirishima gives him the grand tour of the building. The parts where guests are allowed to go.
"….The other guests are currently enjoying canapés and Champagne in the drawing room, we have pushed back dinner to accommodate your uh, absence. When you arrive at your quarters, please dress for dinner and someone will escort you to the drawing room and from there, the great dining hall. Please don't take all night."
The man casually opens some doors and waves the contents of the rooms noncommittally to Akihito, who is starting to feel the weight of his appalling wardrobe choices for the weekend - he gulps again as Kirishima shuts the door on another room and he coughs nervously as he trots behind the man, speaking a little more timidly than he would like.
"Uh…" He says, insisting to himself that he is not blushing. "I um, about that dinner…I didn't…didn't really bring anything to we-"
He starts but is cut of again as Kirishima turns to him abruptly on their way up the main staircase, the man pushing up his glasses again which Akihito really wishes he would stop doing. The man quirks a lip and nods slightly.
"Yes, suitable clothes for the banquet have been laid out in your room. Please wear them."
With another minuscule nod he starts to make his way back up the stairs, leaving a gobsmacked Akihito behind - what the hell, A hotel that provides fancy clothes for it's guests? And oh, how did they even know his measurements?!
The undercover photographer follows on thoughtfully until they reach his room and he's left in peace after one last warning not to take too long. He sighs and already looks forward to getting home on Sunday evening, thinking that this might be the longest two nights of his life.
He checks his duffel bag next, checking that his camera lay still intact and undiscovered within the confines of the lining fabric. It's still there and that's a weight off, knowing he hasn't been rumbled yet and actually, it might work in his favour to have them provide a suit to wear - it'll be easier to hide the lens in the sleeve as opposed to in the buttons of his own crumpled shirt like he had planned.
He casts his eyes around at that and lo and behold - there's a fancy looking suit bag hanging on the outside of his carved oak wardrobe door.
He makes his way over to it from the the lavish, well embellished four poster bed and plucks the bag down to inspect the suit, unzipping it once it is too rested on the bed and gasping upon setting his eyes on the tag nestled amongst the collar - Armani. It's not the label as such that impresses or awes him, Akihito never actually been one for these designer fashions and preferring his vintage jeans over a starchy suit any day, but it's the thought - that fact that this stupidly expensive suit was brought for him, that it's just plopped in his room like this, for him to wear - like it's the norm!
As it is it's a beautiful suit, Akihito thinks - a deep red, classic slim fit Tux with a thin black tie - it's like the person who picked it knows what suits him, his own somewhat unconventional style.
But either way, he supposes it fits with the interior at least.
He wastes no time in stripping off and donning the suit, a little embarrassed at how he's smiling like a loser at his reflection - or at how messy his hair still is but at least he's dressed and he remembers glasses guy's warning not to take a long time so he heads for the door, exclaiming in alarm though upon coming face to uh - back, with some sort of giant.
"Ow, man!" He whines, rubbing his nose and glaring up at the vast suit-clad expanse of back as the man/mountain slowly turns to face the red faced (and suited) guest.
Akihito eventually calms enough to lower his hand, shifting nervously from foot to foot after some moments of silence when it becomes quite apparent that this huge guy isn't going to do anything but stand there and blink at him.
"Oh I'm uh, ready when you are by the way, big guy…."
He shoots his cheekiest grin at the blond behemoth staring down at him but it finally seems to spur him into action and he nods once, grunting his understanding as he leads Akihito on down the hall to the grand staircase and further into the heart of the mansion - to the bustling drawing room.
The photographer pauses outside the door and does his last mental checks on his hidden equipment, the camera in his sleeve to the shutter control button in his pocket. He reckons that as it's a fancy party he's sure to have a drink in hand, at a perfect level to take discreet photo's with the most natural of poses - for who is going to suspect a young man who is simply holding his drink and resting his hand in his pocket as he moves around the room?
Oh yes. This weekend he's determined to get dirt on Kouyama and with any luck, will find out what's going on with all the subjects of his scoops.
Before he knows it he is ushered forward through the huge doors that swallow him in, only to spit him right back out again into a room of such opulent elegance, such class that he can only gape like a fish out of water - thanking God that the host had been kind enough to provide him with a suit fitting the occasion after all, goodness knows what looks everyone would be giving him right now if he had been dressed as he had liked - in his beloved Levis and faded Tee.
As it is, the looks these people are giving him as he makes his way slowly into the room are already pretty strange, so strange that he wonders if they do suspect him of having a camera on him after all. They all seem to be staring.
A slight cough drawers his attention and he starts, noticing the people trying to get into the room behind him. He had somehow still been blocking the doorway in his stupor.
Akihito tries to (albeit nervously) laugh of the peculiar looks being levelled at him with a smile, nodding to the many men and women in the room, many that he indeed recognises from Television, film and of course - the tabloids. (Many of them actually being on his scoop 'hit-list.') He makes his way to the bar and shifts in his expensive suit uneasily, not liking particularly how the older mens and women's eyes would rake over him, lingering on him for too long before finally moving on.
The undercover photographer retrieves a champagne from the barman and gulps it down for courage, soon after though lowering his glass as planned to scope out the room for any of the much needed money shots of misbehaving politicians or evidence as to just who is making his targets disappear. The young man ponders on the host, having looked up his name and asked around at the Police station where he frequents for scoops - both had been a relative bust.
Both, both the vast internet and those well-seasoned cops were only able to provide Akihito with only basic information on this Asami, they had only been able to tell him that he's thirty five years old - that he's an entrepreneur, supporter of many initiatives and charities, advisor to the rich and powerful, but himself richer than perhaps even the Prime minister, the royal family and all of Japan's other business moguls all-together and above all - that he's an extremely modest, private person.
And Akihito thinks that sounds either extremely boring. Or way too fucking fishy to be real, or legal.
Thinking on the possibility of being on the verge of making a major scoop he casts his eyes around for the man in question, though having to keep ducking them away when he meets a too intrigued pair of eyes here and there that's focusing right back on him, which he finds, is happening with alarming regularity and he even begins to wonder whether he has something on his face - or in his teeth? Or worse, in his nose?! Now wouldn't that just be bloody typical.
Just as he turns to the bar and lunges for one of the nearby champagne buckets to use as a makeshift mirror, there's a sudden hush in the room cast by the opening of those grand double doors again, the blonde guard from before on one side and the other guy he recognises from earlier, the one with glasses and a dash of grey at the temples on the other.
The glasses guy clears is throat slightly into the deathly silence of the grand hall and announces, finally, the arrival of their host.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you this evening; our host - Asami Ryuichi-sama-"
Erupting all at once, there are collective gasps, cries of delight and applause from the eager audience as the much anticipated man of the hour enters the room, at least that's what Akihito supposes what's happening - if only he could see past this huge, hairy gorilla like guy with the fat head and garish suit that's decided to barge in front of him!
He huffs, puts a curse on the huge-headed man and stands on his tippy toes, shuffling here and there trying to see past these asshats standing right in front of him and blocking his view to the middle of the doorway, whooping to himself after a long while when finally, he peeks past them all to see - The most striking, most terrifyingly handsome man, well - person, he's ever seen in his life.
W-whoa….
TBC