Escape artistry

21. Karma? (now)

"Izuna."

His voice was slurred, making him unable to pronounce the 'z' of my name correctly.

"Oh, Tobes, you just got out of hospital", I whispered and sat down opposite, resisting my urge to throw myself at him to hug him.

He had one empty whiskey glass and a half-drunk one in his hand. I was surprised at how light-weight he was, considering his size. Then, I thought that he had never had alcohol in his life before, and on top of that he was all muscle, no fat, so the alcohol must go straight up to his head. Also, this was Whiskey and not, like, cider.

"Do you know what I like about you, Izuna?" That pronunciation of my name again. It made my heart melt.

"Except for the fact that I'm all hot and gorgeous?" I smiled.

It wasn't the tear-drenched, hot reunion I had perhaps imagined for us, but I found I was quite enjoying myself. I kind of felt a little proud for him having gotten over his phobia of alcohol to such a degree he could ingest it himself. I carefully took the whiskey glass out of his grip; he had clearly had enough. I would let him talk himself tired, then I would get him home, put him to bed and prepare him for the first hangover of his life.

"Except for the fact that you're all hot and gorgeous", he said and I had to do my uttermost not to bust out laughing at the way he said 'except'. "It's that you find me here, drunken, and the first thing you ask is not what the hell I'm doing or what will people say. It's that you first and foremost think of my health."

His 'foremost' was more like 'foremosht'.

His hand started searching of the whiskey glass, and I pushed it further away from him on the table. He didn't even notice.

"And you would do the same for me."

I called a waiter and paid the bill. I knew Tobirama was really out for count then because his usual self would never, ever let me pay for anything.

"Do you know why I chose whish... whish... whishee?"

"Whiskey?" I asked.

"That's what I said, whishee. It's because that's what my father drank." I jerked. He looked up at me. For a moment, he seemed to become dead sober. His eyes cleared up, and he looked directly into my soul. "I don't want to perform anymore."

And he burst out crying.

And then, I stood up, walked around the table, trying to ignore the people staring at us, definitely having recognised us despise Tobirama's beanie, sat down in his lap and hugged him.

"Come, honey. Let's get you home."

Seeing the sun was still out, I thought we'd take a walk so Tobirama didn't have to endure the subway ride in his state. Not to even mention the pictures that would be taken of him by the public and sold to the magazines. So off we went, on foot.

I supported him as we walked, surprised at how New York was so buzzing that even someone as famed as him could melt into the rest of it. He leaned heavily on me, and I soon found I was sweating, but at the same time, I quite liked helping him,  wing his support. I chatted a bit about this and that, chastised him for drinking so closely after being let out of hospital, spoke to him about what I wanted him to do to me when he sobered up...

It happened on Time's Square, when we only had a few minutes left before we reached his home. I would first marvel at the choice of location, but maybe, it was the smartest move anyone could make; in a dark alley, there would be no people to hide among. But there, in the middle of one of the busiest places on the planet, I heard someone scream.

"You fucking faggot cunt!"

I didn't understand what was happening at first. I only felt something wet like a band over my eyes. I blinked, surprised. The world around me became fuzzy.

But something was wrong. When you got water in your eyes, a few blinks would make the world come at least somewhat into focus. But no matter how much I blinked, the world remained unclear.

My eyes felt ice cold and for one crazy moment, I thought someone had thrown slush in my face.

"Izuna?" Tobirama asked next to me, sounding very sober all of a sudden.

"Tobirama, it hurts", I said.

Then, I screamed. 

He screamed my name. I didn't know if I actually heard it or if I dreamed it. I would later learn the pain had caused something called a vagal reaction that made my blood pressure drop and then caused me to faint. The kind doctors would explain it was the same reactions that sometimes made people faint when they got a vaccine or saw blood.

They told me I was lucky that I fainted because then, I was spared the pain. But I still remembered fragments, either memories or dreams, of the time I was supposedly passed out. The sound of sirens. A man screaming at someone to please save my eyes. Things that hurt, but I couldn't discern where. Someone saying that it was his fault, that if he hadn't been drinking nobody would dare hurt me, and if they had he would have stopped them, that this was karma for him daring to behave like his father. The sensation of a cream being put over my eyes. Someone bandaging my eyes.

Then, someone saying they were sorry.