I had thought it would be a turning point for me.

My life had never been so full of love, of lust, of normality.

But it didn't. It didn't turn for me. In Sri Lanka, I fucked up everything. It started with my assistant phoned me and told me he quit, screaming at me that he'd never worked under such conditions as those I provided. Well, I didn't even know I had had an assistant, must have forgotten him in between the lines I did, so he must have been right. But he must have been splendid at his job because as soon as he quit, my life fell apart in a way that I didn't even know was possible.

All the phone calls were directed to me, and I said yes to basically everything, meaning the following weeks involved more air travel than I'd done in the entire past year. I had never before experienced not knowing which country I was in when I woke up. How I managed to book the correct flights and good hotel rooms for myself, I had no idea.

I tried to catch up with H whenever I could, but sometimes, I missed his calls, and then I got myself too drunk to remember to call back. I drenched my fright of losing him in cocaine, meaning I pushed myself further away from him as I didn't want him to see me in my increasingly deteriorating state. Not that he ever made me feel bad in any way. When I managed a video call, he was always kind, and always worried without ever being mean.

But I kept burning the candle at both ends. I did well at work, of course, but only because my lowest level was so high, because God know I was at my lowest level.

Heaven, wait. I can't keep up. Just stop the planet for a day or two so I can get some sleep.

Ever been so tired it felt as if though you were about to have a seizure?

Then one day, I woke up to the unmistakeable heat and atmosphere of a Southern European country. When I looked outside my window, I saw trees with beautiful light blue flowers. It was as if they were bluebell trees.

I walked around my suite; a good one, with marbles and golds and soft yellows. I did a line before I went to the gym where I ran for half an hour and lifted weights for one; I had a model's body to maintain no matter how fucked up my life was. I showered before I went down to breakfast, enjoying the sweet treats that were always on the morning menu in countries here. I knew I was in Spain, judging by the operative system my phone had connected itself to, but I didn't really know which city. Definitely not Barcelona or Madrid; I had been to both and would recognise them in a heartbeat. Despite, I would have been recognised long ago in those places. I didn't want to ask the staff either; it would sound ridiculous, a hotel guest asking which city they were in.

Well, according to my schedule, I had a photo shoot for Versace together with a modelling colleague, and a car would pick me up at lunch. When I went to get ready, I saw I had a message from H.

And it was the longest message he had ever written.

Secret online doctor lover: Hi, M. I just want to say that I am not upset with you for having lost touch. I have not given up on you, so you know. Unless you clearly ask me to stay out of your life, I will be here, and even then you can change your mind. If you are feeling unwell in any way, please know that I'm here for you, no matter if you want a distraction or solution, fluff or rough. I don't know where in the world you are right now, but I have something exciting to tell you! I'm abroad, and I'm about to try my hands at something that would make you VERY surprised, just saying ;) This was my attempt at lightening the mood, does it work? Good, pet. But I don't want to tell you what it is like this, over text. Not even on video. I want to see your face when I tell you. I want to show you the result. M, I am waiting for you, and know that you mean the world for me, not because of what you provide for me in the form of comfort, but because of who you are. You are worthy. Yours, ALWAYS. H, xx.

when I finished reading, tears were streaming down my face. I didn't do what I always did when my sensitive ass was crying and did a line. I wanted to feel this sadness. This was a sadness that demanded to be felt, a sadness that was given only to those who had gotten something they had never believed they were worthy of.

I didn't know what to say to him. There were no words that could encompass the enormity of what I was feeling in my heart by his kind message.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I took a picture.

A picture of my neck , showing off my collarbones, my chain necklace, the rounding of the black, chunky cardigan I was wearing, and the spider web tattoo that I had on my neck, right over my trachea.

I wrote two words beneath the picture.

Me: Thank you <3

Then, I put my phone away, believing I'd gotten enough love to manage a photo shoot.

I was in Sevilla, the tourist brochures in the lobby of the hotel the photo shoot team had booked for me informed me. 

I went to the location of the photo shoot, a beautiful pavilion in a green park that would create a great contrast to the luxurious garments. I was immediately taken to hair and makeup, and the photographer, Fabiano, an Italian man I had worked with many times, came to greet me.

"Madara! My favourite gay human!"

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not gay!"

"Ah, a man can dream, non?"

Non? Why did he speak with a French accent now? I sighed; I had never gotten a grip of the man. He probably had a new French boyfriend and had learned useful relationship words in his language such as no.

"Dreaming is free", I said. "For more, you need to pay."

"Ahh, this is why I like you, non?" What the actual fuck. "Because you are man who knows what he wants. Now, we have had to have a switch of partners, non?" I was getting a headache because of the non. "Your previous boy sick. He has found a stand-in. His name is Hash in Roma. He is late, non?"

I had turned off my brain by now, and didn't register the strangeness of the name. At this point, I just went along with it. Although I was feeling slightly better jet lag wise; I had apparently hopped about so much, I was now back to somewhere that matched my internal clock.

They dressed me in baggy, ripped jeans and a black blazer and nothing else, my short, black hair slicked back out of my eyes to show off a smoky, black eye-makeup. I went to the beautiful setting where Fabiano took some solo photos of me in wait of Harsher Drama or whatever his name was. Finally, the assistant came and said Cash for Llama was in makeup and would be out in ten.

"There he is!" Fabiano said and turned round. "Our star! Handsome Karma!"

"It's Hashirama", a kind voice said.

I hadn't even bothered to turn at his arrival, knowing I was probably far more experienced and desirable than him. But at his voice, I turned round, eyebrows furrowed.

It was a mild voice, very light. Yet, underneath it was something... familiar. It was as if this was a fake voice trying to hide something.

And when I saw the man coming towards me, my breath caught in my throat.

I know I had thought I was far more experienced and desirable than him, but the man walking towards me was lightyears, lightyears more beautiful than I was.

He was taller than me, and leaner, and he was, to my surprise, dressed in a beautiful and authentic kimono, wine red with a pink cherry blossom pattern with a jade kimono underneath matching the soft tulle belt going around the man's waist. The kimono covered both his arms and neck, elongating his body. He was wearing white powder on his face and a lipstick that made him look as if he had eaten vanilla ice cream with cherry sauce.

He looked incredibly feminine, and in bearing that up so well, he oozed masculinity.

He looked at me through long eyelashes as dark as his hair, that was tied on top of his head with a chopstick.

"Versace wants to incorporate all genders into ad campaigns this year!" Fabiano said as if paid by Versace to make a live commercial. "Everyone can wear their clothes! He! She! They! Is! Are!" I just managed to stop myself from saying actually, 'is' and 'are' aren't pronouns." "Even Scottish people!"

Scottish people?

I was only listening to Fabiano with half an ear, because something was happening in front of me. With the man. With me. With both of us. With the air between us.

The man-dressed-as-woman was staring at me, but not in an open-mouthed, star-struck kind of way that I was used to, but rather a curious, contemplating way. I usually became incredibly irritated when colleagues looked at me for too long, blaming them for not being able to act professional. But for some reason, this man didn't elicit the same reaction from me. This man... did something to me. Maybe, it was the fact that he was dressed as a girl. Maybe, it was because he was looking at me as if performing an x-ray.

Or maybe, it was because it was the first time I saw a man that was more beautiful than I was.

"Umm... Hi?" I said as if it was a question, feeling incredibly aware of myself in my powerful outfit next to this kimono-clad man. "Crash Obama?"

"It's Hashirama", he said, not unkindly, but he was still unsmiling, x-raying me.

It was our Italian photographer that forced us to snap out of it, whatever the fuck it was.

"Now, Madara, Flashy Ramen! I want you to go to the pavilion, non? Hold on to one another as if gay lovers, non?"

To my great shame, I blushed, and there was nothing in the world I can do to stop it. So I cast my head down and walked to the pavilion, leaving Hashirama behind.

Hashirama did, however, despite his feminine appearance, seem much more comfortable in this situation than I was. He walked to the pavilion behind me with confidence, and his eyes burned my neck.

"So, it's Madara, is it?"

I turned to him, and saw he was smiling a little, pulling the corners of his mouth upwards just a small bit as if ensuring me he was ready to pull them down again if I showed any sign of not appreciating him smiling at me.

I did appreciate him smiling at me.

"Yes", I said, feeling like an idiot.

"Please, Madara, be kind to me", he said, daring to show some teeth. "This is my first time modelling."

I gaped. He seemed so at ease on this set. How could this be his first time?

"You're joking?"

"No", he said.

"Than what are you?

Hashirama looked to the side and frowned, as if I had posed him a question that was very, very difficult to answer.

"I'd... I'd rather tell you some other time. I'm sorry."

My heart lurched. This meant he either didn't want to tell me because he expected us to never meet again after this, or it meant he wanted to meet me again just to tell me. The prospect of both scenarios scared me.

"Now, ladies!" Fabiano screamed. "Less flirting, more pronoun-less Versace photoshoot, non?"

I sighed, making a mental note to ask him who the French man that had made him speak like this was later on, also making a mental note not to remind him nobody was pronoun-less.

Suddenly, a pair of arms caught me from behind. I felt a soft chin relax on my shoulder, a pair pf vanilla ice cream cherry lips dangerously close to my ear.

"Let's pretend we're Scottish", Hashirama purred in my ear, and it took me some time before I realised he was referring back to what Fabiano had said minutes ago; I could hear the smile in Hashirama's voice.

"O-okay", I said with a trembling voice, trying to set the mood for being the dominant man this photoshoot demanded me to be.

Then, Fabiano's camera went off, and we started.