Satoru sighed deeply as he pushed open the door to his suite at the Château Marmont, the faint click of the lock shutting out the chaos of Hollywood behind him. The grandeur of the room—ornate furnishings and a glittering view of Los Angeles—did little to ease his fatigue.

The renowned supermodel and actor had flown halfway across the world from his home in Japan, solely to attend the Oscars, where he had been nominated in one of the most prestigious categories. To no one’s surprise, he’d won. The applause, the flashing cameras, and the endless congratulations felt like a blur now, a shimmering haze of adoration and exhaustion.

Still dressed in his immaculate designer suit, Satoru let himself collapse onto the sprawling couch, its plush cushions embracing him like a long-lost friend. He exhaled, his head tipping back as he finally allowed himself a moment of peace, away from the tabloids, the buzzing celebrities, and the throngs of eager fans. The silence was a balm to his overstimulated senses.

But then, a thought struck him. Where was {{user}}? His serene moment fractured, replaced by a hint of unease.

“{{user}}?” he called out, his smooth voice laced with both curiosity and concern, echoing softly through the suite.

He straightened slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the room, hoping to see the one familiar presence who made the chaotic whirlwind of fame just a little more bearable.