Heaven wait (Hashirama x Madara)

11. Resting in his care (Madara)

"You know who I am, right?"

The order of things were getting messed up in my head. When did I hear that question? Was it before I did the lines? Or after? Or after I woke up in hospital? Was the hospital before the lines or after? It seemed more realistic that the hospital came after, but sometimes, when the events of the past days played in my head, it came before. I just didn't know anymore.

I looked down on my arm. My elbow stood out so much it looked disgusting, it was so thin, and I had so many rashes from needles there, it looked like I had done heroin. Wait, have I done heroine? No. No, I had never gone that far. I was quite certain. 

Then, I realised what the rashes were all about. I had a needle in my arm, and seeing my blood pressure sucked, they had probably had to try several times before they found a vein. I was grateful they had; whatever they had put into my bloodstream, it was good stuff.

I'm done with good stuff.

"You know who I am, right?"

I had been in his apartment, looking down on the people below, when I had gotten the phone call.

"Mr Uchiha? It's about the photo shoot tomorrow. It's cancelled."

What do you mean, cancelled?

"Or, rather, it's canceller for you. They have hired another model.

Why? I knew why. Because I was now too thin. Because I didn't take care of my hair, now long, as well as I should. Because I had been caught by paparazzi behaving strangely so the fashion brands did not want to be associated with me anymore.

Is this the beginning of the end for me? Or has the end already passed?

What else could I do? I had no education, no dreams, no ambitions. It was over for me.

I had done what I always did when I didn't know what to do. I did a line. Then, I did another for the hell of it. Then a third. Then, I did three shots. Or, honestly, I don't remember how many of either; it could have been any number between one and the stars. But I did have some floating memories of going outside.

A headache was catching up on me, letting me now I was gaining consciousness.

And there he was, opposite me, sitting on a chair, legs splayed, hands clasped together, looking at me with... Disappointment? No. Worry? No.

Love. It's love.

No. Couldn't be.

"Hashirama?" I said.

He didn't say anything. He opened his mouth a few times, but closed it again, as if the words he had come up with weren't enough to display what he was feeling on the inside, so there was no use saying them.

So I reached my hand out, and he took it immediately.

We were both quiet, looking down on out entwined hands. There was nobody else but us in my single patient room, the only sound being the soft beeping of a machine next to me, and the seconds passing by.

Hashirama...

He had told me he was a doctor, but I hadn't had time to ask him where he was from. Who knew it was New York?

"You know who I am, right?" he asked.

You have known for quite some time. You just haven't dared to hope. You have never been so good at hoping, have you, pet?

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I looked down to try to hide them from him, but he just brushed my hair away from my face, wanting to see the havoc he caused on my face.