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The river looks just like it used to, a gentle rushing of water, clear enough that Butsuma can see the rocks of the bottom. The banks are a different story of course, crowded with houses and the occasional shop, but that's just how things work in today's world isn't it?
The curve of this river, once the marker of a border whose crossing meant death, is now penned and tamed by life.
A little boy runs along the sidewalk that borders the water, metal railings keeping him from harm as he chases the paper boat he dropped into the water, but he giggles with glee when his father scoops him up with a tickle, the origami creation forgotten as it sails away downstream. Brown hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, and a truly unfortunate haircut... that could almost be Hashirama, and Butsuma watches silently as the child is borne away in strong arms.
May that boy have a happier life than his own son did.
"He will." Tajima follows his thoughts without difficulty, a consequence of spending most of a lifetime at war with each other, and then another together in a way which they'd never have believed possible in the past. "It won't be hard."
Yes, in a world like this, where the clans live at peace with one another and a bridge has been built over the Nakano, a child's happiness is no longer a sacrifice grimly made for survival but a thing to be taken for granted.
"Here." Tajima holds out his hand, and Butsuma stares at the lock which so innocently rests on his palm. It's not a gilded and gaudy thing, not an ornate and grotesque object, but is instead a perfectly plain and serviceable padlock, the kind one might use for bicycles.
That's how Tajima has always been though.
Practical.
Butsuma picks it up, turning it over in his fingers and feeling the brushed metal, warm from the skin of his lover. Hooking it onto the bridge's rail is simplicity itself, and the soft click as it locks into place sounds louder than it really is.
He raises an eyebrow and Tajima smirks as he plucks the key out of the lock, drawing his arm back and hurling the key into the air. It's a familiar gesture, exactly how he used to throw shuriken, and they both watch as the metal catches the light of the afternoon sun, glinting before it falls into the cool depths of the water.
It twitches, caught by the river's flow, and the current carries it swiftly away, to where only the gods know.
He reaches out, tangling his fingers with Tajima's as it disappears out of sight, and tugs gently. "Let's cross." The sky is blue above their heads, the weather warm, and they have places to be. "The priest will be waiting."
"Yes," Tajima's smile is small but warm, filled with the affection of two lives. "Let's go and get married."