He was looking at me with intent.

It was still the three of us, together in his vast bed, and I was stroking Hashirama's hair non-stop as he was sleeping, planting a kiss on the top of his head from time to time.

But Tobirama was staring at me, his eyes so icy I couldn't look, but couldn't look away, either.

"Maddie", he murmured so as not to wake Hashirama up. Hashirama seemed to be a person who just decided to go to sleep and immediately succeeded, and slept until he decided to wake up; nothing seemed to be able to stir him unless he thought it worthwhile. He had thought me to be worthwhile when I woke him up after clubbing...

"Mmm", I said, looking at the white-haired, naked man while scratching Hashirama's neck the way Tobirama had done with me; it had been painfully pleasant.

He took my hand then, placed his lips on it.

"You're different", he said.

Suddenly, a fright grabbed at my heart.

"Tobirama", I said, looking away. "Please don't put any pressure on me. I am the way I am. I wish for you to love me that way."

Tobirama looked hurt. "I didn't mean I don't like you the way you are. I have always liked you, for as long as I've known you." He squeezed my hand, an enhancement of his words, anchoring them within me. "But isn't it so that this is also the man you are? Just because you're different doesn't mean you're someone else." He looked down on Hashirama then. "But..." He swallowed, and I could see the words that came next pained him. "I won't be good for you, Maddie. Not like he will."

I looked down on Hashirama as well, lifted a strand of his hair with my free hand that Tobirama wasn't placing infinite kisses on top of.

"It is what it is", I said simply.

Tobirama kept looking at Hashirama, face still pained, wishing he was something else that he could never be.

Just like I wished I was.

Something definitely changed with the atmosphere at work after that.

We were all happier, more at ease. I also noticed that I had calmed down. Seemed like fucking and being fucked by Hashirama and Tobirama had done me a ton of good. I had not become a nice guy, by any means; I still kept mostly to myself, rarely looking up (although now the main reason was that I would find Tobirama stare at me, arms crossed, biting his lip as if he was thinking about what he wanted to do to me, and I would blush so much I just found it easier not to look to begin with). But I didn't mind interacting with others as much as I used to. Once or twice, I even did so on my own accord. When our junior chef was chopping onions, I stood behind her, one hand on hers on the knife, showing her how to chop properly. She was trembling the whole time and I indulged; I didn't like women that way but it was nice to feel desired.

Speaking of desired...

If the tension between me and T was silent and thick like the edge of a thunderstorm, the one between me and Hashirama was more free, more relaxed. He would walk past me cooking and steal a piece of food. I would walk past him doing the dishes and scratch his neck. With Tobirama, I felt a nervousness and I couldn't help but feel that the nervousness was not a positive one, but caused me a lot of anxiety. With Hashirama, however...

But the overall tension in the kitchen decreased, and I realised how much of that tension had been caused by me. I had always known it, somehow, but truly seeing how a change in my mood changed the mood in the kitchen did something to me.

Hashirama came and put his arms around me.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes", I answered.

With him, I felt as though it could be. It could be okay. 

There was something about happiness.

Happiness was something that was meant for Other People. Not for you.

I wasn't surprised at all that my one week of happiness after our threesome was interrupted.

Although I wished the cause had been different than what it was.

I was in my apartment, watching a documentary upside-down by laying down on my couch and hanging my head over the edge, my legs up over the wall, when my phone rang.

"Gosh, I'm so popular", I whispered to myself and pressed the answer button. "Hi, mum", I said.

"Madara."

I immediately sat up; she was crying. She never cried. Or, at least not in front of me.

"Mum", I said, my voice quivering with worry.

"He's been released", she said. "Your father. He's been released from prison."

And all colour was drained from the world once more.

I was a ghost.

The streets of Paris succumbed over me, drowned me, covering me in a heavy mist that forced itself into my lungs; it was as if I was breathing water.

I couldn't function. We spoke English in the kitchen as Tobirama was British, but at that point, while I was walking around the streets, I had forgotten the language and I could only think in my mother tongue, which was French. Only think, though. I doubted I could speak at all.

I was suddenly desperate to phone Tobirama. I somehow managed to pick my phone up from my coat pocket with a hand that felt like lead. I unlocked it using face recognition, surprised it worked as I didn't feel like myself but as a stranger but there it was, my familiar lock screen that was only water droplets, unchanged since I bought my phone. I opened my contacts, scrolled through them.

I dialled a number.

It called.

It called so many times it would soon go to voicemail but I wouldn't be able to bear it, oh I knew I wouldn't be able to bear it. I was just about to hang up before that foreboding pre-recorded voice told me that the number I was trying to call was unavailable right now, when...

"Hello?"

I fell down to my knees.

"Hashirama", I croaked.

Something within me had made me call him instead.

And I broke down crying. 

I had expected his voice to be drenched in worry, as a fruit dipped in melted sugar dyed red, soaked in what looked like candle wax once it was pulled up but then stiffened as the worry was exchanged for pure fright. "What's wrong?!" I excepted him to shout in panic.

He didn't.

"Are you in danger?" he asked softly.

I tried to collect myself.

"No", I said, my voice wobbly.

"Then come to me."

He gave me his address. I couldn't comprehend it but had to get an Uber.

And that's when I realised why I had automatically called Hashirama instead of T. Tobirama would've immediately have demanded me to tell him my location and then driven to pick me up. Hashirama hadn't. And it was, in fact, exactly what I needed. Tobirama took care of me when I needed him. Hashirama would, too. He would drop anything he had at hand just like T would. But Hashirama also required me to take care of myself.

Maybe, I thought, I made myself so angry to make Tobirama stay. Because he would never leave me as long as he knew I needed him. Hashirama, on the other hand... He put a lot of trust in me, and I knew that if I made myself ill to make him take care of me, he would call my bullshit. Tobirama was too soft at heart, even if on the surface, Hashirama seemed the softer one.

As I got off the Uber, I had enough sense to call the intercom. I walked up the stairs and knocked on the most beautiful, light blue door I had ever seen. I believed I would've thought it was the most beautiful door I had ever seen even if it was wooden, chipped, dirty because behind it was exactly what I needed in that moment.

Hashirama opened the door, his hair in an artful, soft bun held together by a chopstick, black jeans and a loose, light blue jeans shirt. As soon as he opened, he opened his arms.

And I stepped right into them.

And whereas a hug from Tobirama lit a fire within me, a hug from the man in front of me stripped the charcoals of their fire leaving them hot, glowing and providing a safety that a fire never could.

He placed me on his tiny couch and shoved a ginormous mug of tea into my face. He took his own one, sat next to me, tucked his feet in. I put my arm around him, turned my head, kissed the top of it. We sat there for a while, just enjoying each other.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked politely.

"Yes", I said.

I told him everything.

How I'd realised I was gay and gained endless support from my mother and brother.

What if found out about our father.

How Izuna came out as trans.

How I told her about our father.

How she'd tried to keep it a secret.

And finally, how our father had found that letter and just taken a knife and killed my little sister.

I was just about to tell Hashirama it was, in fact, me who had killed Izuna, but I broke down. I cried and cried, and Hashirama moved so he was holding me instead.

And I clung to his shirt and let me be held while somewhere, the man who had murdered the person I loved most went free, a ticking bomb just waiting to happen.