One dream in Paris

15. Torn (Madara)

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out Hashirama and Merlin had a history.

I had never seen Hashirama so stiff, so nervous. I had honestly never really seen Hashirama stiff and nervous at all, but this was really something else, and would have been for anyone. Whenever Merlin came into his close proximity, Hashirama would look down, chopping vegetables like mad, hiding behind a few strands of his beautiful hair that fell from his bun. Whenever Merlin came to work, Hashirama went from soft and chatty to a closed shell, hiding that beautiful pearl that was his soul within himself. Hashirama even stopped cooking with me after work, coming up with excuses which hurt me deeply. I believed he didn't understand it hurt me. I had that about me, I thought. People thought I was unhurtable.

But Merlin the sous chef was nothing but polite and respectful towards Hashirama. He was handsome, I thought; tall and slim with tousled blonde hair that had strands of grey in it, a stubble that was darker blonde and not quite long enough to count as a beard, and wrinkles around his eyes as if he'd smiled a lot throughout his life. I couldn't imagine what had ever happened between them that made Hashirama shun him so much. But Merlin avoided Hashirama as well, probably feeling the tension from him, and didn't ask him to chop or prep anything, doing it himself to spare Hashirama from talking to him. I wondered if Merlin knew what a chef Hashirama truly was. Maybe, Merlin knew the role of junior was beneath Hashirama and thus didn't want to use him as such. 

I interacted a bit with the blonde surfer sous chef myself from time to time. I had to, seeing I was now head chef and had to give orders. And he was endlessly pleasant.

"Merlin. Plate, please!"

"Yes, chef!" he said happily and then kept whistling while plating up something perfect. Maybe, he had changed from the man he was when he and Hashirama had last met.

Whenever I said his name, however, I could see Hashirama's shoulders tense up. I couldn't help but see the humour in that; for every time I said Merlin's name, his shoulders would go up little by little until, at the end of the day, they were basically in the ceiling.

"Relax", I would tell him, walking up behind him and massaging them back down to Earth. "You're safe", I would murmur much more hotly into his ear. "I'm here."

He would turn then, put his arms on my shoulders as I had my hands on his waist, and we would kiss shortly.

That was something new for me as well. T and I were desperate to fuck each other, as if we had limited time together and needed to hurry, but with Hashirama, it felt different. It was... Important. No rush. Nothing to worry about and no reason to hurry as I trusted him enough to believe he would stay with me. With Tobirama, there was none of that safety and I couldn't help but think about what he'd said, that he thought Hashirama would be better for me than he ever would.

I was torn. I was torn between the two men in a way I didn't want to be. I tried to convince myself that the situation was not about me choosing which one was best, but I couldn't help but notice that that was exactly the situation I was putting myself in. I loathed myself for it.

I sat down in my window, looking out over my beloved Paris, on the Eiffel Tower. I desperately wanted to take Hashirama there on a date, I thought. I'd never wanted to take Tobirama on a date. I breathed in the smoke from my cigarette.

I smiled a little.

Because all in all, I was happy. 

Hashirama changed.