Hashirama's perspective:

I truly hadn't believed what I did would have any impact.

Turned out, the impact was massive.

Media went to Tobirama's case as if they were old friends who'd lost contact on accident many, many years ago and had now decided to meet back up, and it was as if no time had passed at all. They searched up the people who'd worked with him and interviewed them. They found Merlin's girlfriend of the time of his death and interviewed her. Merlin's parents were on the news.

And Tobirama was deemed to be innocent, and Merlin's reputation was destroyed.

I tried to feel any joy, but couldn't. Merlin had been dead for a long time. Tobirama had been dead for even longer. What made it all worth it was Sunna, however; now she could bear her father's name with pride.

I walked through the streets I hadn't walked in so long. I suddenly realised where my feet had taken me, and jerked in surprise as I saw what was before me.

"No way..."

It was the location of my old cafe. I'd only walked past it once since I quit, a year or so later, and seeing it had been turned into a clothes shop hurt so much, I didn't pass it again. But now, my feet had taken me there out of pure habit.

And it had been turned back into a cafe once more.

I entered, and there stood the previous owner, old and frail but with a spark in his eye still.

He looked up as I entered.

"We close in ten, son", he said.

"Won't you stay open past hours? For an old friend's sake?"

He squinted.

"Well, I'll be damned..."

His accent was as thick as last time I'd heard him speak.

We sat down for coffee and cake and talked for hours.

"What made you start back up?" I asked.

"I missed it", he said. "The clothes shop owners had to sell it for just a fraction of what they'd bought it for, which was a lot, so I figured I'd buy it back. I had still earned a fortune."

"No retirement?"

"Retirement next year", he said. "My son take over. Now, work."

I left the cafe with a lightness in my heart. 

The next stop, I knew, would be much more painful.

I walked and walked until I reached the beautiful cemetery. Its vastness scared me but still, it was beautiful, especially in the summer, the graves covered in flowers, the bushes in bloom, the trees so green it was as if my eyes were spilling over with colours.

I slowed down, wanting to elongate the moment. I hadn't been to France in eleven years. I hadn't visited him since the funeral, not even once. The gravel crunched pleasantly beneath my feet as I turned on the path that would lead me to his small, insignificant urn grave.

As I approached, I squinted my eyes. I took my glasses out of my pocket, put them on, pulled my hand through my short hair; it had taken me years to not be surprised when I pulled my finger through it, expecting a long curtain. With my glasses on, I saw Tobirama's grave was the most decorated one of all, bursting with colour, and I realised why; people had come to pay their respects, twelve years later, as an apology. They were paying homage to him now as they should have done when he died. As I drew closer I saw the flowers ranged from huge flowered trees to small pots of hydrangea to roses put directly on the ground.

But the most beautiful thing of all was the man tending to his grave.

The man sat on his knees, clad in black jeans and a white, oversized T-shirt, his long, black hair in a high ponytail, and with his black-rimmed glasses he looked very displaced at Tobirama's grave.

He was tending to the flowers, removing plants from their plastic pots and putting them together in bigger ceramic pots, arranging them beautifully before burying their roots in earth from an open plastic bag next to the grave, then watering them before taking a step back to inspect his work. Then he did that all over again. I had stopped a way away, watching the spectacle. It was like ASMR for the eyes, and my heart was suddenly filled with a deep, deep belonging.

I used to share everything with you.

Madara even planted two trees next to the grave. The last thing he did was collect the roses left on the ground, removing the tired ones, then arranging the rest in weatherproof vases after cutting their stalks diagonally. Once done, he'd created a beautiful forest of flowers and trees and love.

He stepped back.

He hadn't noticed me. I walked up carefully from behind until I stood right behind him. He still didn't notice.

"Hi", I said. He turned round, eyes wide in fear. "You haven't changed a day."

Tobirama's grave looked beautiful behind him.

Three years later.

"Don't look down!"

"But I want to."

"I said, don't look down!"

"Just once more, I'll just... OH MY GOD!!"

I laughed heartily.

"I told you not to look", I said.

I looked back at him lovingly. He was hiding his face in his hands, his long ponytail flung over one shoulder, made high up on his head to spare his neck from as much sweat as possible. He looked fantastic in baggy, silky black training trousers from Gymshark and a grey T-shirt that clung to him underneath an open shirt, his sunglasses up on his head in the South American heat. I went to him, put an arm around him, kissed the side of his head.

The landscape surrounding our hiking trail was fantastic, all reddish brown sand and stones and plants that could stand drought. We were climbing up a mountain, and currently that entailed us walking over a slim strand of pathway with a steep tumbling down far, far below. And turned out, Madara was afraid of heights.

He put his arms around my waist, leaned against my shoulder.

"How did you manage the Eiffel Tower?" I asked.

"That was ages ago!" he exclaimed. "Besides, it's surrounded by a fence."

He had a point. The little path in the Argentinian wilderness was most certainly not surrounded by fence.

I took his hand, and walked in front of and slightly to the right of him to protect him from the steep that was to our right. I felt him playing nervously with the wedding band of my left hand and I couldn't help but smile; it still felt so new.

"Hashirama", Madara said behind me as we kept walking.

"Mmm?"

"Did you ever... When we were apart, did you ever hope..."

I immediately knew what he meant. We were like that, both of us; knowing what the other thought.

"Honestly, no", I said. "Not because I didn't want to. But because I never thought it would happen, so I didn't want to think about it." I turned around a little. "How about you?"

I could hear the smile in his voice.

"I never stopped hoping."

I squeezed his hand.

The view at the top was splendid, so exotic compared to Paris, all matte greens and stony browns. Argentina had been a great choice for a honeymoon.

Madara came and stood next to me, and I leaned on his shoulder. He put an arm around me, and took out his phone with his other hand. He held it in front of us so we could read the text message we'd gotten together.

Fake-daughter: PB in deadlift!!! Enjoy Argentina suckers. And take care of dad.

There was a photo attached of Sunna in the gym. She looked beautiful as ever. We had sort of semi-adopted her into our lives, inviting her for breakfast every Sunday. Her mother didn't know, but Sunna had decided it was better that way.

"PB?" Hashirama asked. "Like, peanut butter?"

I smacked him softly and playfully on top of his head. He hadn't changed one bit when it came to his reluctancy to exercise and thus was very unfamiliar with gym terms. 

"No, you idiot! Personal best."

We sent a selfie of us at the top of the mountain together, congratulated her on her personal best. Then, we stood still once more, enjoying the view that was so full of dreams and fantasies, it made my heart burst.

Tell him,  I thought. It's time.

"Madara." He turned to me. "I need tell you something." I immediately felt the change in energy from him; he was worried. I didn't blame him. This man had lost so much in his life. So much. Yet he fought on, day after day, not only staying alive but living his life to the best of his capacity. I was so proud of him.

"What?" he asked. 

"Don't worry", I said. "It's nothing bad." I took out my backpack, rustled in it. "Three years ago, Sunna contacted me. She told me she had come to you with the letter from Tobirama, but you had declined it." Madara waited for me to continue. "I, however, did not."

Madara's eyes widened as he saw the letter, his lips parting slightly.

"Oh, my God..."

"You have another chance. Do you want to read it?"

He stared at it, this piece of our former lover right in front of us. With trembling hands, he took the letter from my hands, caressed the line he'd written.

"To be opened on your 18th birthday, my love."

"Is... Is Sunna okay with this?"

Hashirama nodded.

"I spoke to her at our wedding. Told her what I wanted to do. She asked me to destroy it after you've read it, or decided not to. But she was fine with it."

Madara looked up at me.

"Have you read it?"

I shook my head.

"I told myself I'd only read it with you."

He looked down on the envelope as if he had burns on his hands and the envelope was the most soothing balm.

And slowly, very slowly, he opened it.

We read it together.

"Sunna,

I am sorry I left you so young. I would've been forty-seven now, a scary thought. Somehow, I feel relief for not having to deal with paper skin, with joint pain, with physical deterioration. But I would've gone through all of that just to see you grow up into the amazing woman I can already see you'll become, had the circumstances been different.

I feel such guilt for all the accusations I'm sure you've heard of. The worst part is, I cannot prove they never happened, and I'm too Goddamn proud to beg people to believe me. But not when it comes to you. With you, my daughter, I feel safe to beg. 

Please, believe me when I say the accusations were wrong. If they weren't, I would've been able to deal with them. But now I can't. I won't be able to move freely anymore, I won't be able to make friends, I won't be able to manage my restaurant. But worst of all, I won't be able to be with you. I won't be able to be with the men I love. I know they believe me and that they would sacrifice their reputation in favour of being seen with me as they are good people, but I cannot do that to them. Or to you.

I hope you'll meet them one day. Madara, hot-headed motherfucker, is truly a softie beneath all of that black tar covering him. He showed me I was worthy of love in a way I'd never experienced. I never told him, but he kept me alive for so many years. As soon as I met him, the suicidal thoughts that constantly pestered me went away, and I didn't even notice. I wished so that I'd opened up my heart to him sooner. He lives in that beautiful old house in the sixth Arrondissement. At least, twelve years ago he did, and he hats change so I would bet my life (pun intended) that he's still there (although don't tell him I said he doesn't like change because he likes to pretend that's not the case).

And Hashirama... God, he's the kindest, most sensitive man on the planet. I have never met anyone even remotely similar to him. He's a person I would trust to become best friends with the person I love the most, which is you. And he's crazy talented, cooks like a God. When he's in the kitchen, he changes from the timid man he usually is to a forcefully competent machine. I love seeing the light in his eyes as he does what he loves.

May God protect them both. I pray that my soul will move on to some place where I can keep watching them, that there's an afterlife from which I can see their love story bloom because it's the most beautiful love story of all. We all had one dream in Paris, and it was each other. But I couldn't help fulfil it. Not for any of us.

I'm sorry to leave you. I hope you're cooking food for yourself. That you're looking to break free, to move, maybe travel. I left the restaurant to my partners, but I'll leave all my meagre belongings to you, in the hope that you'll see the world, or settle down, or something in between, whatever that may be. I will always support your decisions, as long as you're a good person, and I'm so, so proud of you.

Love, your father

Xxx

PS if you ever show this to M and H: I love you both. I will never stop loving you both. Please, move on, but never forget me, as my soul will never forget you. If my soul is set free, I'll find a way to split in two so I can nest in both of your hearts. Please, keep the door open. Live well.

Madara's perspective:

I had forgotten about the world. I had forgotten about the world where we lived because I had been taken back fifteen years where one of the two loves of my life had sat down at his desk, writing the words before me with his bare hands.

His handwriting was so surprising to me. It was big, sprawling, a little like a child's as opposed to Hashirama who wrote like a God and me who wrote so rarely I had no idea what my handwriting even looked like. It was so intimate seeing his handwriting, somehow, like seeing him not only naked but also stripped of his skin. A drop landed on the paper, then another; it came from my eyes. The tears created a film over my cornea that worked as a lens to the real world, to the now where I was standing with my husband on top of a mountain in Argentina.

I felt a couple of strong arms around my waist.

"I'm so happy we did that", he said, his voice surprisingly dark and steady.

"Me too", I whispered.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I nodded.

Of course, I would never be ready, but I knew it had to be done. I gave the letter back to Hashirama to hold while I put my backpack down. From it, I retrieved the little plastic bag containing the small amount of Tobirama's ashes I had collected from his urn so long ago. I held it to my heart, closed my eyes, sighed, still bent over my backpack.

And then, something fell out of my shirt pocket. I jerked by the sound of it landing on the mountain.

"I'll be damned..." I murmured.

It was a one euro coin. How had that gotten in there? Then, I remembered. It was the coin I'd found on the ground on top of the Eiffel Tower the one and only time I had climbed it, with Hashi. I had worn this shirt then.

"What's that?" Hashirama asked as I stood up, sneaking his arms around my waist from behind again, putting his chin on my shoulder.

"The coin I found on top for the Eiffel Tower. You remember?"

Hashirama shook his head.

"No", he said softly. "Shall we?"

His ability to move on let me know how insignificant it truly was, finding a coin and keeping it. So why would he remember? And why did it bother me so much that he didn't? I decided to drop it. I took a deep breath, and put the coin back into my shirt pocket. Then, I opened the little plastic bag containing Tobirama's ashes, such an insignificant container for something that contained all of my heart, all of both of our hearts.

"How-" My voice cracked. Soldier on. You must soldier on. "How do you think we will feel? Afterwards?"

Hashirama thought for a while, snuggling his face closer to mine, absorbing my sadness through his skin.

"Relief", he said simply. "Of course it won't mean we will forget him. But we have to let him go, Madara." I started crying again. "It's not good for us. This is not good for us."

"I know", I said. "I know."

I emptied the sand in my palm, held on to it, protecting if from the wind. Hashirama put his hand on the back of mine so that we were holding it together, my hand in his palm, Tobirama's ashes in mine, clenched. Hashirama helped me raise my hand.

And slowly, very slowly, I opened my fingers, let the ashes brush my fingers in the wind, traveling by it to be spread out in the beautiful landscape where me and my husband had gone on our honeymoon.

"Happy fiftieth birthday, my love", I whispered to the wind, praying it would carry my words to his soul.

I had expected to feel a lightness after, but I didn't.

"Madara..."

"It doesn't help!" I wailed. "It still hurts!"

Suddenly, a gush of wind blew up. I wasn't prepared. The letter, still in my left hand, was torn out of my grip and blew up towards the sky.

"NO!!" I screamed, reaching towards it.

"Leave it!" Hashirama said sternly.

I watched, heartbroken, as the letter was carried up at first, but then sidled down the mountainside, further and further away until we couldn't see it anymore.

"Hashi..." I croaked.

Still nothing.

Then, something cause us both to jerk.

"What was that?" I asked.

Hashirama looked at me, lips slightly parted. We both had felt exactly the same thing, but nothing, nothing at all had happened.

And for the first time, for the first time ever, I believed Tobirama's soul was with us. His presence had struck me like a brick wall in the face, and was so powerful I gasped.

And I knew exactly what I had to do. 

I took the coin back out of my shirt pocket, lifted my hand, and tossed it far, far away from the top of the mountain. Both of us jerked as we felt the presence tug, desperate to go after the coin I had thrown.

It's okay, I thought. It's okay. You may leave now. We will be okay. We will be okay together. We'll see you later. Our souls will look for yours once they leave this world.

The presence lingered for a while, but it now felt different, as if it had walked to a door but was standing there, turning around to see if we were still fine.

Go... GO!!

And it was gone.

It was just gone.

"He left", Hashirama whispered.

And suddenly, I felt that relief, that lightness that I thought we would feel when we let his ashes go, when the wind took the letter. I knew that Hashirama could feel it, too.

I took my husband's hand, braided our fingers, grateful for what we had. It wasn't a given, that we would have found our way back to each other, but I believed the reason we had was that we hadn't searched for what we had lost; both of us were starving for something new, something fresh to help us move forwards and onwards in life.

And we had found that within the other, after all of those years.

"I love you", I said.

He hugged me then, buried his face in my hair, his short hair tickling my nose. I closed my eyes, breathed in the familiar smell of him.

"I love you, too", he said.

We kept hiking, hand in hand, my husband and I, the weight of Tobirama lifted from our shoulders.

And we ploughed through the rest of our lives, however long they may have been.

End