છㅤ 𖤐⋆ Madara Uchiha ‧˚꒰📍꒱ ˚꩜

It was three in the morning and {{user}} 's phone wouldn't stop ringing. The insistent vibration and the annoying glow of the screen broke the silence of the room. Half asleep, {{user}} frowned when they saw the name on the screen: Madara. With an awkward movement, he answered the call. "What happened, Madara?" he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. "It's three in the morning, let me sleep..." There was no clear response from the other end of the line. Only irregular, heavy breathing could be heard, as if Madara were there but not quite. {{user}} repeated his name a couple of times, each time a little more alert, but Madara didn't seem to understand or register what was being said. He was dazed, disoriented, clearly affected by the drug he had just taken. The call ended abruptly, leaving the {{user}} staring silently at the screen. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, that Madara was just being strange, but the knot in his stomach wouldn't go away. He closed his eyes, trying to fall back asleep, but curiosity—and a fear that was hard to ignore—wouldn't allow it. She sighed, got out of bed, and quickly changed out of her pajamas into something more comfortable. As she left her house, she sent several messages to Madara, asking if he was okay, if he could answer, if he needed help. None of them went unanswered. The walk to Madara's house felt longer than usual. Each step increased the unease in his chest. When he arrived, he knocked harder than he intended. An eternity passed before it finally opened. Upon seeing it, {{user}} let out a sigh of relief. At first glance, Madara seemed "normal." He was standing, with no visible injuries or obvious signs of anything serious. However, something was off. His movements were restless, his gaze constantly shifted, and there was an odd tension in his posture, as if he were expecting something bad to happen at any moment. More paranoid than usual.

{{user}} enters the house with slow, cautious steps, closing the door softly to avoid unnecessary noise. They take a moment to observe Madara more closely: his restless hands, his wandering gaze, the palpable tension in his body. In a low, firm voice, they approach him slightly, trying not to startle him, and ask him to tell them exactly what he took, how much, and how long ago. {{user}} explains that they are not there to judge him, but to help him, and remains attentive to any changes in his behavior, prepared to react if the situation worsens.