Days Without Sun

Vanished

Akihiko was pacing the apartment. It had been just over twenty-four hours since Misaki had gone missing and the police had been no fucking help at all.

For the first time perhaps, Akihiko fully understood that despite his complicated family dynamics, he had been blessed with rare privilege too. It was terrible being in another country where the Usami name held no power. Here, he was just another rich, queer, tourist whose "boy toy" had probably hooked up with some other young guy to go party for a while.

At least this was certainly the impression he'd gotten from the authorities. Of course, it didn't help that he'd pissed them off by trying to bribe them for speedier by this, the police had coldly advised him to come back if Misaki didn't show up after forty-eight hours. Only then they would help him file a missing person's report.

Akihiko looked down contemplatively at the cigarette in his hand. The other one he ran through his thick silver hair. He had smoked so many fags since this morning he'd lost count. His body hummed with worry and nicotine.

In his mind Akihiko could hear his young lover reprimanding him for such excess.

How many times has Misaki begged me to stop smoking? He made a promise in that moment that if Misaki was returned to him that he would quit without hesitation.

Ah, Misaki... Where are you? For a man who never cried, Akihiko's eyes felt precariously wet.

Looking at his cell phone again, Akihiko told himself it was just to check the time, but to be honest, in the last twenty-four hours he'd developed a nervous tic, flipping his phone open every five minutes to make sure it was still functioning.

The private investigator the police had reluctantly recommended when he had become all but unmanageable should be arriving anytime now. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when a sudden knock at the door broke into his thoughts.

"It's about bloody god damn time," Akihiko muttered, realizing as he said this that the knock was actually ten minutes early.

He opened the door to find a handsome, caramel-skinned man in his mid-thirties, wearing crisp but casual attire standing in the hallway.

"Akihiko Usami?" The man's English was heavily accented but at least understandable.

Akihiko nodded.

"I am Augusto Santo Justino, Private Investigator."

Akihiko invited the P.I. in with a sweep of a broad hand.

"Quite a place," Augusto stepped into the entry. This was the length of his informal courtesy it seemed, since he got right down to business with his next words.

"So how long has your uh..."

"Partner."

Akihiko's eyes narrowed, challenging the detective. He had already spoken with Santo Justino on the phone once when he described his situation but here, in person, he felt better able to truly read the man.

"Is our sexuality going to be an issue for you?"

Santo Justino shook his head. "No, Sir. It's not."

"Good." Akihiko issued a soft sigh of relief seeing truth in the detective's eyes. He also liked the simplicity of the Santo Justino's speech, it spoke of efficiency.

"So how long has your partner..." Augusto flipped open a small notebook he'd pulled from his pocket and studied it. "Misaki Takahashi been missing?"

Akihiko motioned them over to the living room. He took a seat on the couch while Augusto perched himself in a nearby chair.

"I left him at the beach yesterday at about ten thirty to come back here. My laptop was on the desk and I needed to send some documents to my editor." Akihiko stubbed his cigarette into a full ashtray on one of the end tables and took a new one from the pack in his breast pocket.