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Summary
Frank froze, standing by the chair. His eyes followed the man's smooth movements. Mr. Way’s precise uniform sat at his waist, the gray wool contrasting with the lad's poor apron and worn shirt. There was an infinite gulf between them, one that had been there since birth and that nothing could fill. The difference was instantly apparent. As soon as the warlord was within inches of him, his breath tickled Frank's swarthy skin.
Dictator Gerard AU