Heaven wait (Hashirama x Madara)

4. Baileys haze (Madara)

At first, I had been ashamed of it, can you believe it?

Not of him, of course, but of trying something as pathetic as online dating.

It had been on a whim of cocaine, when even two lines didn't work to cure my despair. After four photo shoots that week on equal amounts of continents, I was not only physically exhausted, but mentally done with this life. In the dizzy rush, some Baileys with coffee being added to it, I had somehow managed to download a fucking dating app to get some male attention.

It had worked. Even if I only had a photo of my hands, people had written to me, begging to take care of me. When I woke up the next day, I couldn't understand why they had made such caretaking suggestions, but then I saw what I had written in my profile. I had basically asked for gentleness, which was a goldmine for daddy doms.

I had groaned. What the fuck had I been playing at? I panicked as I saw I had even answer most of those who had written to me, not wanting to upset anyone. Thank God I hadn't given anything away about myself.

As I did a line, I contemplated what the men had said or done if they knew I was Madara, the world-famous fashion model. They'd probably freak out. Or demand to meet me. Or offer me their hand-wrenched hearts on a plate.

One conversation had caught my eye, though. Even if it was the most anonymous profile, it was the most heart-felt conversation. The only one I felt I hadn't talked to only to be polite.

Oh, this man. H... Even in the Baileys haze, I remembered some glimmers of the conversation from the night before without reading it. Or, rather, I remembered the feeling it conjured in my heart. A feeling of safety. Of joy. Of happiness.

He had asked me how I was. I had confessed I was terrible. He had asked me why. I had refused to answer, but he hadn't been a dick about it, like the rest. Instead, he'd kept the conversation up softly. Not once had he asked me to meet up.

As I brushed my teeth that morning, no breakfast and only one line of cocaine in my system, I felt I wanted to write to him again.

That had been two months ago, and since then, we had written every day. Always anonymously. Never revealing anything major.

He had given my life meaning. He had given me a purpose. I just wasn't sure what that purpose was.

And now, I would see him. I would finally, finally see him.

It would change my life forever.

I stared at my phone screen.

Incoming call.

I pulled my fingers through my hair, even if I wasn't going to be on video. I leaned to the side and did a line for luck, chugged some of my rosé wine. I wasn't all that fond of wine, but this one cost thousands of dollars, and I felt like I needed to like it.

Then, I took a deep breath...

And I answered the call.

My half of the screen was black, as I only had audio. His, however, was not.

And there he was.

I hadn't worried that I would think he was unappealing to me. The thought hadn't even struck me that I would not like what I saw. This, however... This was something else.

His chest was smooth, completely free of hair. He had some visible muscle going on, and his skin tone was darker than mine, enhanced by his fair shirt. I could just see a pair of strong collarbones, but no chin. I could just see he had two tattoos; realistic lightning bolts climbing over his hip bones stretching towards his stomach. I could see just the hint of a bun in his neck, letting me know his hair was long.