I was always sullen for a week or so after having visited her grave, which was why I did it so rarely.

This time, however, my mellow mood was interrupted on the Wednesday before I was going to leave.

"Madara." I didn't look up. He didn't care. He never did. "I need to talk to you. Come with me to my office."

"Why?" I asked, kept packing some leftover foods for the homeless shelter. "There's nobody here."

"My office. Now."

I looked up at Tobirama angrily.

"Why? So you can sit at your chair like a motherfucking and fatherfucking mafia boss, stroking your cat, look down on me from below, execute your power over me?!" To my great surprise, Tobirama didn't look irritated. He looked... Hurt. "I visited her grave on Sunday", I said which I knew was manipulative. Tobirama was the only one in the kitchen who knew about my little sister's death, although he didn't know the reason behind it. He had forced me to explain first time I came to work sullen. He had apologised for prying, said that as a private person he wouldn't nag, but as my boss he had to know. I had accepted that. It was awful of me to use it against him now. "I'm not in the mood."

I was completely prepared for him to say it didn't matter that I wasn't in the mood, that it was the last time he would ask me and then just turn and leave for his office, knowing I would follow, but he didn't.

Instead, he sighed and looked down, jumped up on the counter of the station opposite mine, his back slouching in a way I'd never seen it do, clasping his hands together. Immediately, I felt my entire body relax to his defeated demeanour.

"I really don't want to lose him."

I frowned. "Sorry?"

"You're terrible to him", he said, and I realised he was talking about Hashirama. A flicker of anger flashed within me; I was sure one could see it in my eyes. "I don't want him to quit. I want him to stay here. With us."

"There are tons of kitchen boys out there", I said.

Tobirama looked up at me. He looked dangerous. 

"He's important."

A sudden flash of jealousy roared within me, caused my blood to start boiling. The flash passed quickly. The boiling, however, did not; I was furious. How many years had I done everything, absolutely everything for this man and then this boy came around and won him over in a couple of weeks?

"You fucked him already, didn't you?" I whispered venomously and I knew I was unfair. I knew Tobirama wasn't like that. It was more likely he'd taken Hashirama under his wing. Maybe, he knew something about Hashirama that I didn't. But I wanted Tobirama to take me under his wing. To know things about me that was a secret to everybody else. "You fucked him and now you feel guilty so you need to keep him to be able promote him."

And that was when it happened.

That was when that first time happened.

I had always appreciated how Tobirama could be stern with me while still remaining calm. I had never, ever gotten the impression that he was angry with me. Irritated, yes. Tired, absolutely. But never angry.

This time, however.

He slammed his hands on the counter he was sitting on so harshly, I backed away, absolutely terrified for my life.

"How dare you?!" he screamed. I could do nothing but stare. "That man is everything you're not! Everything! We've never had a porter of his calibre! Just because you want to fuck me doesn't mean you may treat me, and my juniors, any way you want!" He had jumped off the counter and, being one of the few humans who was taller than me, he towered over me as I had backed up into a wall. There was something about people who always remained calm; they were terrifying when they finally became angry. "Get the fuck out of here and go fuck yourself! I have a restaurant to maintain!"

"Money-hungry whore!!" I screamed at him, still scared but unable to contain myself. Tears were streaming down my face.

"I live on nothing, Madara!" he roared back. "I donate everything and I have ten orphanages and two hospitals running in the country depending on my money! On my work! On my ability to maintain my staff!!" I did not know that and I suddenly felt awful. I used my money to pay for my enormous apartment. "Get out!"

I walked away.

I took my coat and left, letting the door shut behind me, leaving the man that meant so much to me standing, alone. It was raining, but I was too restless to take the bus. I did not have an umbrella, so I was soaking wet when I came home. I didn't even take my shoes or coat off but just went to my bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped in. I curled up into a ball on the floor, letting the hot water soak me. Lying down always made the water feel much colder than it was, which was why I upped the temperature so much I knew it would burn me if I stood up. Not that I had any plan on standing up.

Not for a long time.

After what felt like hours, I stared peeling my clothes off. My shoes. My coat. My socks and shirt. On and on. They were sticky like black tar on my body, sticky like Tobirama's harsh words on my soul, like Tobirama's soul on my heart, so it took time but finally, I succeeded. I turned the shower off, took my towel, dried myself. The towel around my hips, not protecting me from the cold and loneliness, I went to my window, sat down on the marble sill. I took a cigarette, lit a match, lit the tobacco. I took a deep breath with the white paper between my lips, so deep the smoke got out to every nerve ending in my body, down to my fingertips, all the way down to my toes.

I breathed the cigarette up so fast, it was done within the minute. I lit another one. One minute. Another one. In the end, I had to run to the bathroom and vomit due to nicotine poisoning.

I knew why I did it.

I knew it was because I knew Tobirama hated the fact that I smoked, even if he smoked himself. That was how much he loved me, I had tried to tell myself several times.

I went back to the windowsill, clambered up. I looked out at the Eiffel Tower, beautifully lit against the black velvet sky.

Then, I cried.

My tears were filled with nicotine and an incredible longing for Izuna.

I never thought I'd go to work in the morning, but I did. I was so anxious that I accidentally got up one hour earlier, and didn't notice until I was at work and nobody was there yet. I put my robe on and started prepping anyway, suddenly agonisingly nervous because of the fact that I would meet Tobirama again after yesterday. I kept checking the watch, even my phone which was stupid because we never called or texted, and I kept looking at the door.

Then, I heard the door open, and he came in.

I braced myself.

But he ignored me.

He just ignored me and went to his office. It hurt so much I felt like vomiting again.

I would have believed I would be milder to Hashirama after mine and Tobirama's fight, but I wasn't. I was even more awful to him. Tobirama noticed and I was scared he would demand to take me aside again. But I was even more scared when he didn't. Perhaps, I thought in a moment of desperation, he knew I needed time and loved me enough to give me what I needed. But I knew I'd hurt him, and I'd hurt him badly.

After the day ended, I was exhausted from all the anger. I needed a break from the gym. I needed time for myself.

I needed time to cook.

I stole some ingredients from the kitchen (I knew Tobirama wouldn't mind), made Izuna's favourite dish and threw it on the wall (I knew Tobirama would mind very much). Friday was equally exhausting. I considered skipping the gym that day as well, but decided against it. Instead, I thought I'd actually do some soothing cardio. Eighty minutes long-slow on the treadmill. The thought made me want to die. I braced myself by going to Tobirama's office when I was the only one left in the restaurant, trying to gather some strength by touching the cherry woods, the brown leathers. I sat down at his desk, opened a book placed on it where his bookmark marked where his hands had last roamed the pages. I touched those pages, smelled then, hoping they would smell of him but they didn't. In all honesty, I didn't know what he smelled like up close and I was suddenly desperate to have that piece of information stored in my memories; it pained me that it wasn't.

I sighed and got up go through the kitchen to get changed.

But in the door, I stopped dead.

Someone was cooking.

Someone was there, cooking. 

I stood there, not at all hidden, but the person cooking was so focussed on what they were doing that did not notice me at all.

And that person was Hashirama.

I just gaped as he tossed and fried, sliced and chopped, plated and styled.

Hashirama wasn't good.

Hashirama was excellent.

And when he was finished, he took his plate and turned to the door out to the restaurant.

Which was exactly where I stood.

I had read many books in my life. A remarkable proportion of them described how the colour drained from the face of the characters. I had never been able to build a picture in my head of that.

That is, until I saw Hashirama's reaction of seeing me seeing him cook.

Because the colour drained from his face.

It just dropped off. It was as if his face was a bucket and someone accidentally knocked it over, causing it to spill all over the kitchen floor.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, his voice not even a whisper but a wheeze.

I suddenly became very aware of how terrible I had been to him lately. Or ever since I met him, to be honest. 

"Since you caramelised the carrot", I said casually.

It had been insane. I had never seen anyone caramelise carrot that way. My fingers were itching to try it, but I doubted I could; it looked like something that would require practice.

A lot of practice.

Hashirama couldn't say anything. He just stood there, holding his plate so hard his fingers turned as white as his face. It was a miracle he hasn't dropped the plate.

"So..." I said, crossing my arms. "You have some extra. Are you going to dish up a plate for me or not?"

It was amazing.

It was absolutely and utterly marvellous.

I ate slowly, tasting every bit of food of the plate on its own, then paired everything, then ate everything together.

However I combined the foods Hashirama had made, it was delicious.

He'd made a cream cheese and green herb blend, fried vegan ham, caramelised pickled carrots and the creamiest mashed potato I'd ever had. It was decorated with sugared cranberries and mature persimmon. It was a true no-bullshit dish; all just things you wanted to eat.

And I ate.

So did Hashirama, but whereas my meal was lined with pleasure and utter harmony, his was spiced with nerves.

The man sitting opposite me, still in his chef's robe, his shiny hair falling out of the low, messy bun, so tall, so strong, usually so confident, didn't dare to look at me. Why on Earth are you hiding a talent like this? I genuinely did not understand.

And then I noticed.

His chef's robe. He's wearing...

We did not talk during the meal. Once I was finished, I waited for him to finish up, too. Then, I stood up to leave. Hashirama remained seated.

"Thank you for dinner", I said.

"You're welcome", Hashirama said and I noticed he didn't ask me whether it had been good or not; he knew it was.

But I didn't step towards the door that lead back into the kitchen. Instead, I stepped behind him and put my chin on his shoulder.

Man didn't even flinch.

"Come to the restaurant tomorrow at four am."

Still didn't flinch. But I did feel him stiffen up. I suddenly had an urge to put my hands on his shoulders, massage them, soothe all of the knots of nervousness away.

I turned to leave for the gym, energised for cardio.

"Oh, and by the way." I turned round, and he looked up at me. He looked at me dead-pan for the first time since dinnertime started. "I see you're wearing my chef's robe."

He turned his face away, but it wasn't in shame.

Hashirama was smirking.