Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Madara goes to the shrine. The Uchiha clan shrine is new in terms of its physical trappings, but its contents are old, steeped in memory and tradition, and right now Madara needs the grounding of the familiar and the solid. He needs to be able to reconnect with something that he knows isn’t going to fall out from under his feet just like every other fucking thing just did.

Some part of his mind is screaming that he’s an idiot and absolutely should not have left Tobirama alone like that, should have clarified and cleared up the misunderstanding, and also probably confessed the realization he’d just had as soon as he had it. Unfortunately, he did not do that. He was never going to do that, because Madara needs to process .

So he goes to the shrine and kneels there for hours and hours, and when he finally manages to get his head something like together, he emerges to find that night is already falling. It’s definitely too late to go back to Tobirama’s house now; the Senju is sure to be asleep. However, he should probably go to the hospital and make sure that the idiot didn’t put himself under the knife like he was apparently expecting Madara to do, which, what the fuck —he hasn’t even really gotten that far in thinking through everything that happened today, he was too busy panicking about the other thing. 

The hospital is only a short run from the Uchiha district, at least, so Madara goes straight there and pesters a nurse until she can find him a med-nin in the surgical department, who is harried but willing to confirm that no, they haven’t seen Senju Tobirama today, why, is he sick?

“If he is,” she says, “you should really go speak to Nara Yukine. She’s Senju-san’s attending, when he makes it in to the hospital at all. She knows how to deal with him.”

“... Right. Well, he’s fine, so.” He’s definitely not fine, but Madara really doesn’t want to talk to a Nara right now, especially not a med-nin Nara, so he takes off instead. 

He heads back across the village, back home, and finds Izuna in the kitchen making omelettes for dinner, like the ridiculous egg fiend he is.

“What?” Izuna says, when Madara comes in and gives him a look. “I was craving eggs. Bite me, aniki.”

Well. Nothing for it. Madara strides across the room and briefly clamps his teeth down on Izuna’s arm, making him yelp and flail. Madara just laughs and goes to pour them glasses of water, then to take a seat at their table and leave Izuna to finish cooking.

“You suck,” Izuna mutters. “Where the hell were you, anyway?”

“Found Senju,” Madara grunts. “Then I went to meditate in the shrine.”

Izuna plates the food, then turns around to fix him with a narrow-eyed glare. “What did that bastard do now? You only go meditate in the shrine when you’re really fucked up about something.”

Madara sighs. Better make the most of it, he decides, and waits until Izuna’s taken a sip of water before he says, “He’s my soulmate.”

Watching Izuna spit water everywhere is amusing. Worth getting a few droplets on himself, even. “ What ?” Izuna yells. He throws his hands up in the air. “What the fuck!?”

“Yeah,” Madara says heavily. He shoves a bite of omelette in his mouth and chews until Izuna stops sputtering incoherently, swallows, and continues, “I mean, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but he mentioned very casually in conversation today that he’s a chakra sensor.”

“... There are lots of chakra sensors,” Izuna says.

“Yes, but he said of significant range , which is ultra-polite Senju-speak for fucking insane range , probably.” Madara shrugs. “I can feel the whole village at least, and pick up on the sparks in nearby animals, and all that’s without completing the bond and getting the full brunt of it. And you said his Sharingan came in at the third manifestation.”

“Which suggests his soulmate has the Mangekyo, if that’s a step down ,” Izuna sighs. “Yeah, alright.”

“So.” Madara makes a gesture with his fork and shoves food in his mouth so that he can stop talking about this . He hasn’t even told Izuna about the worse part yet, and isn’t sure he wants to, though if Tobirama is his soulmate and they have to work out something resembling a relationship, all that bullshit will be coming into this house eventually. 

They eat quietly for a while, Izuna obviously mulling over what he’s just been told. Then he says, “So you talked to him, then?”

“... Sort of, yes,” Madara says. “It didn’t go well.”

Izuna snorts. “That’s not a huge surprise, aniki.”

“He doesn’t think very well of our clan,” Madara says, with a twist to his mouth. Even just thinking back on it makes bitterness swell in him once more. Tobirama had been so confident that the Uchiha would mutilate him without blinking, that they’d mutilate the soulmate of one of their clansmen… he must think they’re monsters. No wonder he’s avoided them all so thoroughly.

Izuna tilts his head, his dark eyes gone narrow and considering. “I mean… I don’t exactly think you’re wrong, but I sort of got the feeling on our mission that maybe it wasn’t as bad as I always thought. Did something happen?”

“He thought we’d remove his eyes,” Madara says, as quickly and bluntly as he can, like pulling an arrow from a wound so that the bleeding can be stopped. “He thought that was the way we would deal with someone outside the clan having the Sharingan.”

“ What? But that would be barbaric!” Izuna cries. He gestures with his chopsticks, sending a shred of egg flying across the kitchen.

“I know,” Madara says. “And imagine how I felt, having heard him say that—that he was okay with it, even—after I figured out…”

“Fuck,” Izuna says. He looks back down into his dinner, and quiet falls again for a while. They eat, finish their meals, and it’s not until they’re standing side-by-side doing the dishes that Izuna continues. “But you corrected him, right?”

“... Not exactly,” Madara admits. “I mean, I tried.”

Izuna turns and looks him dead in the eye, then grabs his shoulders with his wet, soapy hands and says, “ What the fuck .”

“I tried!” Madara says, holding up his hands in defence. He did try, but with the realization that Tobirama was his damn soulmate … “What was I even supposed to say to that!”

“Literally anything,” Izuna says. “You just walked out, didn’t you.”

Madara scowls. “Maybe.”

“Ugh.” Still heedless of the soap suds, Izuna buries his face in his hands. “Aniki, you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Madara is the smart one, thank you very much, but he can admit that in this particular case he may have… made a tactical error or two. Going in angry when he knew that Tobirama was sick and injured and therefore certain to be on the defensive was probably the first one. It’s just… something about the man really pushes his damn buttons, and hell, that’s just a sign of the bond drawing them together, isn’t it? He can never quite seem to put Tobirama out of his mind, even when thinking about him is nothing but infuriating.

“Well, we can fix this,” Izuna says. “Tomorrow you’ll go see Hashirama and make him make Tobirama calm the hell down, since he’s probably the only one who can. Then you can go from there. For the record, I’m going to stay the hell out of this so that I don’t have to think about you and Senju Tobirama kissing or anything for as long as possible.”

“If it happens at all, it’ll be awhile,” Madara mutters, though now he’s thinking about kissing Tobirama, and it’s a very nice image. Tobirama is beautiful, and Madara can imagine how satisfying dragging him down into a bruising kiss, gripping that narrow waist, holding his thin wrists so that—okay, he needs to stop thinking about it, right now, thank you. “It’ll take some doing to get from him expecting me to maim him to him being willing to let me anywhere near him, even if we are soulmates.”

Izuna grunts and turns away, back to the dishes. “Sure, sure, I just don’t want to hear about it, thanks.”

“No problem,” Madara says with a roll of his eyes, and returns to drying and putting away their clean plates and the pan Izuna used. He maintains that he’s right, for all that Izuna doesn’t really seem to believe it—being soulmates is no real guarantee. If Tobirama really is biased so strongly against the Uchiha as to believe that they would blind their own soulmates, he can’t see it being easy to build a relationship. They have to start from somewhere, but right now it feels like they’re starting from less than scratch. 

Still, Madara has always harboured hope that he’d meet his soulmate some day. The gift had never faded, and that had been enough to foster that hope and feed it, and now he wants . If Tobirama is his soulmate—and every time he thinks it, it feels more right—then he wants him, or at least the chance to know him, the chance to build something that could last . Madara’s parents were soulmates, and while his okaa-san was still alive the love between her and his otou-san was deep and abiding. It’s not that Madara has never had a romantic relationship—he’s had a few affairs within the clan and had a brief fling with a civilian while on a long-term undercover mission once—but nothing that really stuck, nothing he thought could stick. His soulmate is meant to be different, and he wants that. He returns home every night to his brother, of course, to their shared home, but it’s not quite the same as having someone to come home to . That, a family of his own… Madara has dreamed of it. Building this village was half so that Madara could have it in safety, and this is his chance. 

And Tobirama’s, too. It’s not like Madara hasn’t noticed that the man leads an extremely solitary existence—hell, he has a damn cat and no one even knows about it. Some people prefer solitude, but every human needs some sort of connection. There’s no way the bastard isn’t lonely. Madara had never imagined himself to be the one to break that loneliness, but… if fate says it’s him, he’ll do it. 

Izuna’s right, though, that Madara will need to talk to Hashirama first. Tomorrow morning, first thing, and if he’s going to do this right he needs to be properly rested and calm. Once dinner cleanup is done, Madara kisses Izuna’s forehead and retires early, finishes a bit of paperwork for clan matters, and then makes it a very early night, knowing he’ll wake early too.

As expected, Madara wakes to faint pre-dawn light, and has plenty of time to meditate, shake off morning brain fog, and center himself before he has to speak to the Senju brothers. Nothing about the day is going to be easy, and he needs to be prepared. He spends an hour kneeling on his futon, breathing, then makes himself a fast breakfast, leaves rice in the warmer for Izuna, and heads out. By then, the morning has drawn on enough that Hashirama is sure to be in his office, horrible morning person that he is. He absorbs sunlight like a plant and tends to be out of his house at dawn to soak it in. Disgusting.

The Hokage tower is bustling when Madara arrives, so he heads straight to Hashirama’s office, sparing just a nod for the receptionist—and guard, not that anyone would assume as much about the mild-mannered Yamanaka woman working the post today—on the ground floor. Hashirama’s office door is, as always, closed, but Madara doesn’t wait to screw around with knocking and all, just pushes the door open. To his dismay, this means that he bursts right into the middle of what looks like a confrontation between Hashirama and his brother.

Tobirama is leaning over Hashirama’s desk, his hands pressed flat to its surface, and is in the middle of saying in a very pissy tone, “—to just wait around while you—”

When the door opens, he breaks off and whirls around to face Madara. When he sees him, his eyes go wide, and then his entire expression blanks. Madara sighs through his nose and says, “Lovely. Just who I was looking for.”

“Uchiha,” Tobirama says flatly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Madara says. “Senju. Tobirama. Uh. Hashirama, hello, have you been filled in on the mess we’re all neck-deep in?”

“Yes,” Hashirama says. His voice is serious, but when Madara leans to the side to peer around Tobirama, who makes a significantly better door than a window, there’s a smile lurking around the Hokage’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, Madara! Tobirama and I were just discussing you, in fact. Please, why don’t you both take a seat.”

He makes a handseal and three wooden chairs stacked against the wall grow little feet and skitter across the floor to rest in front of the desk in a rough triangle. Madara fucking hates it when he does that, but he takes a seat, and Hashirama rises and comes around the desk to sit as well. Tobirama hesitates for a moment, standing still and stiff behind the third chair, and then lets out a harsh breath and seats himself. Madara studies his face; Tobirama is avoiding his gaze, so this is a great opportunity. Tobirama looks exhausted still, paler than usual, but not quite as green under the pallor—he must have recovered some from the chakra exhaustion. Whether Hashirama did something to help him along or it’s just whatever it is about Tobirama that let him recover so quickly in the initial stages, it’s a bit of a relief to see him looking better. Yesterday, half the horror of the conversation—well, okay, maybe a quarter of the horror—had been Tobirama saying all that shit while also looking more than halfway dead. 

Hashirama clears his throat. Madara looks over to see him giving Madara a very amused look, and then he holds out his hand and there’s a brief flare of chakra, and then a flower—a perfectly round, many-petalled camellia blossom, delicate pink and very pretty—blooms in the centre of his hand. Hashirama cups it carefully.

Across from Madara, Tobirama abruptly buries his face in his hands like an embarrassed child, the gesture so unusually emotive that Madara does a double-take. “Anija,” Tobirama says, muffled, “ must we.”

“Yes,” Hashirama says. “Don’t worry, Tobirama, I’m going to let you talk first.” Then he turns to Madara and says, “Madara, you’ve never done this before, so I’ll explain how it works. This,” he holds up the flower, now cupped carefully in both of his hands, “is the talking flower. When I was a kid I called it the flower of love, but Tobirama thinks that’s stupid, and for the sake of the exercise I decided to have mercy. Anyway, what happens is, only the person who’s holding the flower gets to talk, and the other person just has to listen. I’ll enforce the rules, but please respect them without that, and both of you will get to say your piece and then we can maybe get somewhere, because I get the feeling that there’s been some miscommunication!”

Madara’s mouth drops open, and he stares for a minute, absolutely incredulous. “We’re not five ,” he says, when he recovers himself. “Can’t we just talk like adults? What the hell, Hashirama.”

“Apparently not!” Hashirama says cheerfully. “Since my brother is under the impression that you’re going to put his eyes out, and you showing your face to me suggests you’re not planning to do that, because you’d know better!”

About two days ago Madara stormed into this office to threaten to murder Hashirama over Tobirama’s eyes, and now he’s being threatened in return over the same. Well, turnabout is fair play, Madara supposes. He shrugs. “I still don’t see why—”

“Ah!” Hashirama holds up the flower. “I have the flower. I am now going to hand the flower to Tobirama. Tobirama, can you please start us off by explaining what exactly you expect the Uchiha to do about your Sharingan and why . Thank you.”

He starts to hand the flower over to then says, “Oh, wait. Also, if either of you crushes the flower or destroys it in any way, you have to take ten deep breaths and calm down while I grow a new one. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tobirama sighs, sounding deeply resigned. Madara just grunts in the affirmative, because apparently he’s not getting out of this juvenile bullshit in any way other than by seeing it through, which is typical of Hashirama’s shenanigans.

Hashirama nods once, looking quite pleased with them both—the schoolteacher analogies could be endless, but that casts Madara as the recalcitrant brat, and he’s just not going there—then passes the flower to Tobirama. 

Tobirama cups it carefully between his two hands, as Hashirama had, and takes a deep breath. Then he looks up and meets Madara’s eyes. “I acknowledge that I have been acting on the basis of an assumption,” he says. “However, I believed it to be based on logic. As a child, I was given the impression by my father that Uchiha clansmen made a habit of executing those born outside the clan with the Sharingan as their soulmate gift.”

Madara scowls at that, and opens his mouth, but a sharp look from Hashirama reminds him of the rules and he subsides. 

Tobirama nods toward his brother, appreciative, then continues, “Obviously I no longer believe that, and never truly did. It would be monstrous beyond measure, and although I cannot claim to understand the Uchiha well, I do not believe you are monsters. However, it was not unreasonable that you might make effort as a clan to exercise control over who had access to your bloodline. Other clans do so, usually by capturing and incorporating non-clan members born with those gifts.

“In the case of the Uchiha, I assume that in many cases, it would be the same. However, you must have means of dealing with those who would never submit to assimilation, and because your bloodline is tied to a single part of the body,” here Tobirama reaches up and touches his fingers lightly to his cheekbone, just below his right eye, “it would also be easy to simply… excise the problem from problem cases. Particularly when it comes to myself. Your clan dislikes me, I am a known researcher of chakra and techniques, and I am perceived as a threat despite the peace, so it would be logical to ensure that I no longer had access to the Sharingan, both to protect clan secrets and to reduce the risk that I might use your own gift against you. Thus, I assumed that you would have my eyes surgically removed, and you did not contradict that assertion.”

Tobirama takes another breath, then passes the flower back to Hashirama. Hashirama says, sounding grim, “Alright. Thank you, Tobi. Now, I’m going to pass the flower to Madara in a moment to explain what his clan usually does in these cases, and what they intend to do about you. However, I want to make it clear,” and he turns to fix Madara with a stern look, as stout as an oak and twice as unbending, “that under no circumstances will my brother be blinded for the circumstances of fate.”

Fortunately, he immediately passes the flower, which means Madara actually does get to respond right away to just… all of that. “Okay, first of all, I fucked up yesterday,” he says, looking at Tobirama. “I should have been more clear: we’re not going to remove your eyes. We don’t do that.”

With that out of the way, Madara feels more able to take a deep breath and process what’s been said. It’s a lot . However, with the flower in his hands, the other two just have to wait and let him set his words behind his teeth before he opens his lips to let them fly, which is always a good idea for him, lest he say something stupid and impulsive. In a situation like this, ‘stupid and impulsive’ is about the last thing he wants to be.

A minute of attempting to marshall his thoughts, however, mostly just demonstrates to Madara that this is a situation where he’s going to need to work it out out loud. It happens sometimes, especially with particularly tangled issues; it’s why he’s glad he has Izuna, who’s a good listener and good at cutting through knots to the heart of things.

“Right,” Madara says. “So… excuse me if I’m thinking out loud here. It seems to me that the issue is in part that you think we hate you, Tobirama. I can’t say that there aren’t individuals within my clan who hold a grudge against you, but I can speak for myself and my brother at least in saying that while we acknowledge your strength and neither of us has, historically, gotten along with you all that well, we don’t think you’re an unsheathed blade just lying about waiting to be grabbed the wrong way. I don’t see you as a threat to myself or my clan.”

Madara quirks his mouth and glances over at Hashirama. “We’re at peace,” he says simply. “That means something to me. I don’t always like you, but I do trust you not to violate the agreements we all signed when we started building this village.”

Tobirama and Hashirama both nod at that, which is good. Madara takes another breath, meditation-slow, and adjusts his careful hold on the flower. “As for our clan customs, you’re right, we typically adopt. It’s been a long time since a shinobi with the Sharingan has been born in an opposing clan, but historically, we take those births as a sign that the time to make peace has come. Usually we arrange a marriage alliance. In your case, because this was… hidden for so long, and we made peace for unrelated reasons, yes, I assumed things would be different. Part of the reason I came to see you is because I wanted to know what you expected, whether you wanted to find your soulmate, and so on. And to tell you off for keeping this from us all for so long.”

At that, Hashirama makes a gimme motion for the flower, and since Madara has mostly said his piece, he hands it over. Hashirama clears his throat. “Tobirama and I have yet to have a serious discussion about the seal,” he says. “Not in detail, and not about any of the gross emotional stuff.” He gives his brother a fond look that very much implies that Hashirama doesn’t think it’s gross, but Tobirama being allergic to expressing himself is something that Madara would very much believe. “I’d prefer we not push too much on that before the two of us can talk about it, but it will be talked about, by all of us.”

Hashirama waits for them both to nod, Tobirama a bit reluctantly, then passes the flower to Tobirama. Tobirama says, “I admit I am relieved to hear that you do not… view me as a threat. On that account, I expected very little. I still expect very little. I have no intention of using the… my Sharingan very regularly, if at all. I have no training, and I believe it would unnerve people, especially your clansmen. The obvious assumption would be that I stole them.”

“The—” a sharp look from Hashirama cuts Madara off, but Tobirama hands the flower over readily, and Madara takes it as gently as he can. “The obvious assumption would be the truth. For one, it’s well-known within my clan that a transplanted Sharingan can’t be deactivated, so that wouldn’t last long as a rumour if it ever arose. And for two, once you found your soulmate,” Tobirama twitches and raises a hand, to ask for the flower back, but Madara plows onward, “they’d be sure to make it known what the situation really was.”

Hashirama also raises a hand for the flower, and Madara hands it to him, only a little bit out of spite. “Madara,” he says, “do you have any idea who Tobirama’s soulmate might be? You’re familiar with his abilities, I assume.”

Hashirama hands the flower back to Madara, ignoring Tobirama’s outstretched hand and look of growing frustration. “I don’t know for sure,” Madara says. “That said, I’m clan head, and it wouldn’t be hard to find out. I meant to check the clan register, but, ah, I forgot.” That’s the truth in part; the rest is that he just didn’t need to, and he’s not sure when and how to admit to that second complication.

Then he sighs and hands the flower across to Tobirama, who just glares for a moment before he says, “My soulmate’s identity is immaterial. As you said, there is little point now in arranging a marriage alliance, so the matter would be between me and them. I would prefer not to discuss it.”

Madara narrows his eyes. It almost sounds like Tobirama doesn’t want to find his soulmate, and as his soulmate, he can’t help but feel a bit stung by that, even though he’s fairly certain that Tobirama doesn’t know. 

Hashirama holds a hand out for the flower, and Tobirama passes it. “We don’t need to go into it, but I’m sure your soulmate would like to find you, so please at least let Madara look?” he says with an imploring look for his brother. Tobirama just looks away, and Hashirama sighs. “Tobirama, I’m going to pass you the flower, and I need you to tell me what’s going through your head right now.”

He has to actively press the flower into Tobirama’s hands to make him accept it that time. Tobirama seems to have accepted this particular instance of Hashirama’s usual childish insanity to such a degree that he feels obliged to actually respond honestly once the flower’s in his hands, which… Madara is mostly impressed that Hashirama’s managed to condition him into it. On the other hand, this whole thing does seem to be working, and it’s not like he’s not playing along too. Hashirama is the Hokage at least 60% because he’s impossible to say no to, which Madara remembers primarily in moments like this.

Finally though Tobirama does have the flower mostly in his hands, and Hashirama draws his own away so that Tobirama can either grip it or drop it, and he chooses the former. Gentle, of course, and he takes a moment to stroke the petals, clearly centring himself on the soft, smooth texture, drawing in the calm. Then, very quietly, he says, “I doubt my soulmate will find me appealing.”

Madara sucks in a hard breath, and hears Hashirama do the same. That’s… a strong statement, and suggests something to Madara about what Tobirama believes that frankly seems beyond what’s possible for someone so outwardly confident, and yet… 

At Hashirama’s gesture, Tobirama passes the flower back to him, and he says, “I don’t think that’s true.” His tone is very careful. “”I’m sure your soulmate is looking for you, and they’re your soulmate , Tobi. You’re meant to be together, and in meeting you’ll have given them a remarkable gift. Both your ability and just… you.”

Tobirama shakes his head and holds his hand out for the flower again. Madara feels a little bit like he’s watching a horrible training accident occur in slow motion. There’s nothing he can do to stop Hashirama from passing the flower, of course, and once it’s in Tobirama’s hands again he just has to sit there and listen.

“Logically,” Tobirama says, and damn if Madara isn’t coming to hate logic , especially in Tobirama’s mouth, “my soulmate will either have received my inherent skill with chakra control—a difficult gift to suss out and useless to both a ninja, who would train control anyway, and a civilian who would have no use for it—or they will have received my sensor abilities. The latter is more useful, I must admit, but it is also a significant sensory burden and if they received even half of my range they would have an awareness of at least the entire population of Konoha at all times. Such input can be very challenging to manage, even for me, and I have years of practice. It is useful , certainly, but I would never blame someone for considering such a soulmate ‘gift’ to be closer to a curse.”

Tobirama pauses then in the storm of justifications for why his soulmate must, what, resent him? Feel burdened by him, without even knowing who he is? And Madara takes a deep breath too, trying to reconcile all of that together. For one, his initial suspicion was correct: Tobirama’s previous casual reference to his sensor range was an understatement, and moreover his estimation of his soulmate’s range more or less matches what Madara has. His estimation of the difficulties is also true: Madara still struggles sometimes to tune out the input, especially when he’s tired, and he had absolutely brutal headaches during the adjustment period after the gift manifested. Which… now that Madara thinks about it, Hashirama knows. Madara had told him about it, once upon a time, about his gift and the side-effects it carried.

A second suspicion blooming to match the first, Madara shoots Hashirama a surreptitious look, and finds Hashirama looking back. Tobirama is distracted, fixated on stroking the petals of the flower again, and it gives the two of them a moment to lock eyes and for Madara to take in the inscrutable look on his friend’s face. He knows , Madara realizes, or at least strongly suspects the same as Madara does. There are still no guarantees, but Hashirama’s intuition in matters like these is not to be underestimated.

Before Madara can cut in to ask for the flower back, however, Tobirama continues abruptly. “And,” he says, “to your second point, aside from my abilities I could hardly be called a ‘remarkable gift’. Even before I was damaged by the seal, my skills outside of combat were limited, and my personality has often been deemed repellent. The Uchiha in particular dislike me, and this mission with Izuna aside, I have never managed anything better than strained professionalism with Uchiha colleagues. Attempting more would likely be fraught at best. I am aware that this is as much the fault of my personal flaws as it is a faultless mismatch of natures. For these reasons, anija, I would remind you that a soulmate bond is no guarantee of anything. It may not be worth the effort to resolve the inevitable complications.”

Madara bites his tongue against shouting I’m your soulmate, asshole, and it’s you saying shit like this that makes me not want to like you very much! Instead, he thrusts out a hand for the flower. Tobirama surrenders it with some reluctance, probably in response to the look on Madara’s face. As soon as Madara has it, he snaps, “So, what, you propose to deprive one of my kin”—or me —”of their fated partner because of your insecurities ? And here I was just beginning to think that you might actually have a heart in your chest, instead of a chunk of cracked ice.”

Tobirama flinches. Madara feels bad about it as soon as he’s said it, almost before , but that doesn’t help, and neither does the sharp look that Hashirama levels on him. When Hashirama silently demands the flower, Madara surrenders it guilty, and takes the glare and Hashirama’s disappointed and aggrieved sigh without complaint.

“The point of this exercise is not for you to abuse one another while the other can’t respond in his own defence,” Hashirama says. Then, very pointedly, he passes the flower back to Madara without explicitly telling him to apologize.

Madara was going to anyway, damn it, he gets that that was out of line. Once he has the right to speak firmly back in his hands, he says, “Tobirama.” There’s a pause, and then Tobirama looks up, his red eyes guarded. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I just… look, I don’t know who my soulmate is,” (closer to a lie than the truth now, but Tobirama doesn’t need to know that just yet) “and the idea of making someone wait, maybe for the rest of their life, it bothers me. If you have a problem with having an Uchiha for a soulmate, I won’t say okay , because it’s not. But it’s a separate problem. You shouldn’t choose for someone.”

Tobirama nods at that, seeming like he understands, so Madara continues, “If you do have a problem with bonding with a member of my clan, just say so.”

When Madara offers the flower, Tobirama takes it and swiftly says, “I have no problem with my soulmate being an Uchiha.” Then he pauses, and, more slowly, more quietly, says, “Beyond what I mentioned already, in any case: your clan dislikes me. You know that as well as I—you admitted to disliking me yourself—and so I could equally accuse you of cruelty for expecting me to endure a soulmate’s rejection solely for their gratification in knowing for sure. I will endure a great deal for the sake of this peace, Uchiha-san, but that, I believe, would be a bridge too far.”

Madara swallows. The kind of rejection Tobirama is referring to, pre-bond, cannot leave the kind of soul-deep wound that a rejection after bonding inevitably inflicts, but it’s still incredibly painful. Those rejected out of hand by their soulmates are condemned to loneliness, not only for the loss of their partner—people’s soulmates die sometimes, after all—but for the stigma. To be turned out into the cold by the person who fate meant for you is to be deeply wrong in a way that often precludes being part of society, and rumours about that sort of thing always get out. Doing that to someone is very cruel, Tobirama is right. Madara wouldn’t do it to him, not out of hand like he seems to fear, but Tobirama doesn’t know that.

Tobirama passes the flower to Hashirama, and Madara just continues to keep his damn mouth shut. By now he’s sure that he could be open about what he believes to be true about his and Tobirama’s connection, but past idiocy has taught him that it’s not possible to unsay something. So for now, he just listens, and tries to settle on his approach.

“Can I ask,” Hashirama says, still in that careful voice, gauging Tobirama’s boundaries, the walls he’s thrown up. “Tobirama, what did you intend to do if this all had never been discovered? If I hadn’t learned about the seal, and it hadn’t broken?”

Tobirama accepts the flower, reluctant again, and says bluntly, “I would eventually have died. Within seven or eight years the seal’s symptoms would have escalated to terminal brain damage. For several reasons, all of which I would prefer to discuss in private or not at all, I chose to say nothing. With that situation as it stood, I felt that even if my soulmate did not reject me, it would be better to spare them having to watch me die.”

Madara closes his eyes. He would never… well, maybe he would eventually have known, on the day that Tobirama’s time ran out and Madara’s chakra sense faded away for good. He’d like to think that he’d have enough pieces by then to put it together, and even just the idea of it is agonizing. Tobirama is many things, and one of them is an asshole, and another one is Madara’s fucking soulmate , gods damn it.

“However,” Tobirama says again , “I was at peace with such an outcome. I realize it was selfish, but it was also… easier.”

Still with his eyes closed, heart hurting and so fucking frustrated, Madara thrusts out a hand for the flower. Its cool, slightly weight is pressed into his palm, and he tries not to clutch at it too hard. He considers for a second just holding onto it forever, stopping Tobirama from speaking and releasing himself from having to decide, but that, too, would be selfish.

“I’m your soulmate,” he says, and opens his eyes. Just in time: he sees the moment that the words register, that Tobirama’s own eyes go wide, his shoulders flinch back, and then tension floods his frame and he goes very still and very blank. “Don’t die yet, asshole. We clearly have some shit to talk about.”

Beside him, Hashirama snorts and leans over to take the flower without asking. “I think my work here is done,” he says, and he sounds weirdly smug, the jerk. “I’m going to leave you two to talk a bit more. I’ll be with my wife if anyone needs me.”

Then he just gets up and walks out , closing the door of the office again behind himself. Madara manfully does not slap a hand over his face.

Tobirama, however, barely seems to have noticed his brother’s departure. He’s still watching Madara with wide red eyes, bright against his pale skin, and he looks… so damn stunned. 

Madara sighs. “There’s no way you had no inkling,” he says. “Come on, Tobirama.”

Another beat of silence, and then Tobirama shakes his head. “I… anija mentioned once that you had some ability as a sensor. I put it out of my mind.”

“Why? You must have suspected,” Madara says. Though, maybe… fuck, maybe Tobirama had suspected and just never said anything because he didn’t find Madara appealing. “... Listen, if you’re not interested in me, we don’t have to—”

“It’s not that,” Tobirama interrupts. Then he looks down at his hands. “I apologize. If this all has taught me anything, it’s that I should let you speak.”

“Gods, don’t start deferring to me now,” Madara laughs. “I’ll think the world is ending. Seriously—it’s only that, well, I don’t want you to feel obliged. If you suspected all this time, knew your soulmate was an Uchiha, and just never said anything? It’s been almost a year since we started building the village, months longer since the peace. Why the hell would you keep quiet, not even to do any looking yourself?”

“I… it’s as I said,” Tobirama says. “I never imagined my soulmate might,” he waves a hand vaguely, “want me. Especially with my gift sealed, all those complications, it was simply easier to say nothing.”

“Well, I do want you,” Madara says as definitively as he can. He’s not actually sure he does , because he doesn’t know Tobirama yet, but… they’re soulmates. It’s got to be worth trying.

Tobirama swallows. “I see.”

The way he says it makes Madara think he doesn’t , actually, but they can cross that particular bridge at some future point. Right now, Madara needs to establish two things very clearly. “Look,” he says. “Here’s what I see as most important right now. First of all, I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates, though we won’t know for sure unless we decide to confirm the bond, and that’s something we can do later. I don’t mind waiting until you feel more… okay with it. The Mangekyo Sharingan is a burden. And that’s the second thing—in the mean time, adoption into the clan notwithstanding, you’re going to need at least some training so that you can activate and deactivate your eyes at will.”

“If you are willing to provide such to me,” Tobirama says quietly, “I will of course accept.”

“We’re willing,” Madara says. He’s deciding unilaterally, but the elders can suck it, to put it in Izuna’s preferred parlance. “We can arrange some sessions.”

“Thank you, Uchiha-san.”

“Madara.” Madara tilts his head, a little wry, at the nonplussed look on Tobirama’s face. “If we’re doing this, you need to call me Madara. Even if it turns out I’m wrong about the bond.”

“As you wish, Madara-san.” Tobirama takes a slow, steadying breath. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

Madara raises an eyebrow. “You can’t give me a bullshit cat excuse now that I know the cat is real.”

“No, I…” Tobirama hesitates, then seems to firm his resolve. “I am still on the edge of chakra exhaustion, and being up this early in the day, combined with the stress… I am seeing migraine auras. I have work to do, but would prefer to be somewhere dark to accomplish it.”

Madara stares, speechless. Work to do , what? Is he insane ? Actually, yes, what is Madara even thinking, after the last few days he can say with absolute confidence that Senju Tobirama’s primary characteristic is insane and he barely knows the man. “If you’ve got a migraine, you shouldn’t be working . Go home and rest , what the hell. Come on, I’ll escort you, you can close your eyes while we walk.” 

Madara does indeed insist on escorting Tobirama all the way home. He is fine, of course; he could navigate the village blind and deaf, and a migraine has certainly never stopped him from functioning before. However, the… revelations of the day have been many and very unexpected, and Tobirama finds himself more willing than usual to tolerate the company, even in his condition. He feels somewhat less tolerant of the strange looks the two of them receive as they make their way through the village, but those he should have expected. After all, his enmity with the Uchiha is well known, and yet Madara is visibly fussing over him.

Fortunately, Tobirama’s home is close and quiet and once the shutters are drawn it will be dark, and he can shut out everyone else and simply concentrate on whatever work he has available. He’d planned to simply push through in his office—he has blackout curtains there too, for just these occasions—but he does have some work at home. Nor can he entirely deny some amount of gratitude for being given the excuse to slack off somewhat. Just because he can do it does not make it pleasant.

By the time they reach Tobirama’s home, the auras have progressed into a stabbing pain behind his eyes, and Tobirama gives up and closes them altogether. Madara steps closer to help him compensate, and while Tobirama doesn’t need it, he does allow it. Their arms brush slightly as they approach the door, and Tobirama does not pull away. Instead, he pauses in the doorway and turns to his companion. “Thank you for accompanying me,” he says, opening his eyes. The light is bright, and intensifies the pain; he’s sure his expression pinches, and in turn Madara’s look shifts toward concern.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tobirama says. “This is not unusual for me.”

Madara frowns. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Leave me alone,” Tobirama says, then ducks his head when he sees the flash of irritation that passes over Madara’s face. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Yeah, it was,” the Uchiha says shortly. “You don’t need to snap at me, you can just ask.”

“I didn’t… yes, Uchiha—ah, Madara-san.”

There’s a pause, and then Madara says, “You weren’t trying to snap, were you?”

“... No.”

“Right. I forget that you’re naturally abrupt sometimes. Look, just go lay down or something, drink some water, I don’t know.” Madara hesitates, then adds, “I’ll come check on you later, if that’s okay. Maybe you could come to my house for dinner.”

“Maybe.” That sounds like a recipe for disaster more than for any sort of meal, in Tobirama’s opinion, but Madara is trying and he must too. “You’re welcome to come by.” He’s not going to say any time .

“Sure, sure.” Madara waves, then steps back. “Later.” And in a flash of movement, he’s gone, darting up and over the rooftops toward the Uchiha district.

Tobirama closes his eyes again and turns to disarm his wards, easily done even blind. Mochi meows at him as soon as he’s in the door, and once it’s closed behind him he stoops to stroke her before divesting himself of his sandals and heading for his small home office. He can meditate for a while first to get through the worst of the migraine, and so long as he doesn’t become nauseous he’ll then be able to work.

Fortunately, Tobirama has managed to catch the migraine fairly early, and though he has no intention of admitting as such to Madara, going home rather than working in the Tower has made a difference. He can tell, when he emerges from his meditation, that although the pain is still significant, the darkness and quiet and relative distance from a concentration of chakra signatures has prevented vomiting, dizziness, or concentration issues. Tobirama rarely gets off so lightly, and it is with a faint smile even with the pain that he applies himself to reading over a set of infrastructure reports from the amenities department. 

Four hours later, Tobirama’s headache has receded significantly, enough that he doesn’t immediately consider murder when someone knocks on his door. He focuses his chakra sense and finds that it’s Hashirama standing there, rather than Madara; he probably should have suspected as much. He sighs, and then rises and executes the small jutsu he’s developed to rid himself of cat hair. Then, in anticipation of being summarily dragged back to the Senju main house for a conversation, he writes a quick note to Madara letting him know where he’s gone and that he’ll have to miss dinner, and scrawls a seal to stick it to the door on the back.

With the note in hand, he goes to the front door and opens it to greet his brother.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama says. He’s smiling, but there are still grave lines around his eyes, serious and somber; Tobirama sighs again. 

“Good afternoon, anija,” he says. He holds up the note. “I will put this up, then we can go.”

Hashirama’s smile widens and softens into something more genuine. “Thank you, otouto.”

Tobirama ducks his head. Hashirama rarely addresses him that way—he usually just uses his name or a nickname, except for when he’s feeling especially soft and affectionate. Today’s conversation and all the events leading up to it must have affected him deeply. He turns away and affixes the note with a little application of chakra to activate the seal—it will hold the chakra there the same way a shinobi uses chakra to hold themself to a tree; one of Mito’s inventions and very clever in Tobirama’s opinion—and then turns back to say, “Alright.”

Hashirama gestures for him to lead the way, so Tobirama does, taking to the roofs rather than making yet another highly-public walk through the village while being escorted by someone who is visibly hovering. If Tobirama is not careful, people will begin to assume he’s dying, and he no longer is.

Tobirama’s home is well across the village from the Senju district, which he had done by design; one day he might need to move back, in the event of his brother’s death, to take up the mantle of clan head, but until he does so he feels little guilt about his decision to get well away from the clan elders. He gets along well enough with most of the members of the clan, though many are wary of him, but the elders have never made any effort to hide their disdain for the strange, misfit secondary heir. Particularly Yoshiaki-ojiisama, who has always known the secret that Butsuma had sealed away, Tobirama’s deepest-buried deviance. Less disdain on his part, perhaps… but fear, yes. And others responded to that when Tobirama was growing up, because what beside some deep-seated flaw could make an old man fear a child who had, on the surface, done nothing wrong?

No, Tobirama did not regret moving away from his clan. He loves them, would kill or die for them to this day, but he is happy to get away. Having space from his brother’s more clingy tendencies is only a secondary benefit.

At least Hashirama is not clinging today. Probably it is out of some misplaced sense of Tobirama’s fragility, but for the time being at least he’ll accept it. He imagines he’ll get another half-hour, perhaps, and then it will be a return to being cried on.

Tobirama loves his brother, but he does not love being cried on. 

At the involuntary shake of his head he gives at the thought, Hashirama makes an inquisitive noise, drawing up beside him as they pass over another roof and into the general area of the Senju district; the main house is just ahead.

“Only thinking,” Tobirama says quietly. “Is Mito home?”

“She is, yes,” Hashirama replies. “Making some supper, I believe.”

“Will she want to look at the seal?” It’s mostly gone now, Tobirama believes, but there are likely to be remnants.

“She took a brief look while you were sleeping last night,” Hashirama admits. “You were pretty much out, and she thought you wouldn’t want to be prodded while you were awake.”

“... That is true,” Tobirama says, though he’s not particularly pleased to learn that Hashirama and Mito used Tobirama’s having passed out in Hashirama’s office and later brought to their home to sleep off the remainder of his chakra exhaustion as an opportunity to pry. Still, it’s the kind of invasion that Hashirama is entitled to, as his older brother, his clan head, and his Hokage, and by extension Mito is entitled to the same. Tobirama’s feelings are, in this instance, irrelevant. 

Hashirama makes another small noise, but they arrive at the house just then, and he’s prevented from saying anything further by Tobirama leaping down to the door and sliding it open briskly. 

“Hashirama? Tobirama?” calls Mito from the kitchen.

“I’m home!” Hashirama calls back from behind Tobirama, ushering him inside and closing the door behind them. “Tobirama’s here.” More quietly, he adds, “Go on in, Tobi.”

“Mm.” Tobirama slips out of his sandals and heads for the kitchen, where Mito seems to be grilling fish, from the smell. When he pokes his head in, he finds that that is indeed when she’s doing, though she turns away briefly to come to him and give him a warm hug, only a quick one in deference to his boundaries, and to offer him a smile.

“You look much less like you have one foot in the grave,” she says. “How do you feel, otouto?”

Tobirama offers her a small smile in return. “Well,” he says, which is more or less the truth. His head still hurts somewhat, but not nearly as much as it had. “And you, oneesan?”

“Well,” she says. “Go sit down with my husband. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Tobirama bows his head and then goes to join Hashirama in the sitting room—he’s at the kotatsu, which isn’t strictly necessary with the warm weather, but Tobirama understands the urge toward comfort for this conversation. “Anija,” he says, settling down on his knees. He arranges the edge of the blanket carefully across them, knowing he’s fidgeting too much as he strokes the soft fabric, but not able to stop himself.

“Otouto,” Hashirama says, and reaches across the table to touch his arm very briefly before drawing back. “Thank you for coming.”

“You came to my home to fetch me,” Tobirama points out. 

“... Right.” Hashirama runs a hand over his face. “I mean, I know. I just… you didn’t have to come, I hope you know.”

“We need to have this conversation eventually,” Tobirama says. “I am aware that you are unlikely to let sleeping—or dead, in this case—dogs lie.”

Hashirama’s mouth twists. “It’s not exactly dead if you’re going to be living with the consequences forever, Tobirama.”

“But I will be living with them forever . ” Nothing about this situation is going to change, no matter how much talking they do—does Hashirama not understand that?

“And so I want to know how to help you,” Hashirama says. “Can you tell me more? You said yesterday, memory issues and headaches.”

“Migraines, yes. I had one today,” Tobirama admits, because if he doesn’t Hashirama is likely to ferret it out somehow and be all the more displeased that Tobirama hid it. He does understand that much; it’s one of the reasons he had hoped that none of this ever came to light. Or at least not until after his death. “I have managed my symptoms just fine without outside intervention for all these years, anija. I do not need help now.”

“Need, no,” Hashirama says. He sounds sad. “You’ve always been very independent. But you know I’m here if you want , right?”

“I do.” Tobirama has always known that. It has never been a lack of understanding of his brother’s care for him that has prevented him from leaning on him; the opposite, in fact. Tobirama looks over and meets Hashirama’s eyes, warm and brown, for a short moment, then has to look away again. He takes in the smooth grain of the tabletop—new as of the building of the village, this table, and therefore new again for Tobirama every time he sees it. It’s very even; some of his brother’s better work. “I have always known that telling you the whole truth would hurt you.”

“I can take it.”

“That you can does not mean you should ,” Tobirama says. The idea of his brother hurt claws at him, even just emotional hurt. “I never want to do you harm. I would prevent you from suffering for my whole life, if I could. So, this… it harmed no one but myself to keep it a secret while I was still alive.”

“And when it killed you?” Hashirama asks, sharp. Tobirama looks up again. “When it took you from me, was that not going to cause harm? Not just to me , Tobirama, but to Touka, and Mito, and everyone. This whole village.”

“It would have been worse to discover that my death was inevitable,” Tobirama says. “Maybe there would have been a way to break the seal before its natural time, or maybe we would have learned that it would break eventually, but what if that had not been the case? That is what my own research suggested. Would it not have hurt you more to know years in advance that I would die, no matter what?”

“ No ,” Hashirama says, and he places his hands flat on the table. A familiar gesture; he’d learned young that to slam his fists down when frustrated would earn a slap from their father. “No, Tobirama, that would not have hurt me more. Not more than finding you dead.”

“... Only possibly dead,” Tobirama feels compelled to point out. “For the sake of clarity, I would likely have fallen into a coma first.”

“And if not ,” Hashirama demands. “What was the other possibility, Tobirama, since it seems you had this all planned out?”

Tobirama swallows. Hashirama is going to hate this, he knows, but his brother also deserves honesty. “Sudden death was a possibility, though a slim one. More likely were seizures,” he says. “In the latter case, I would have hidden it for as long as possible, then… I had plans to take my own life, rather than force you to watch my condition fail.”

Hashirama makes a choked sound, then closes his eyes and looks away. “Tobirama. Please, please : if you’re ever hurt so badly, you need to promise me that you will come to me rather than just giving up like that. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Anija…”

“ Promise me .”

“I promise.” The words are involuntary, an instant and necessary response to the desperate command in his brother’s voice. “I swear.”

“Thank you.” Hashirama lets out a sigh and looks back; there are tears in his eyes, on his cheeks. Tobirama feels his mouth go tight and firms his expression, not wanting Hashirama to know the guilt he feels for causing such pain. This is exactly what he had hoped to avoid. “Tobirama, as best as you can, I need you to tell me why you kept this from me. Beyond just sparing me pain… there must have been a time before you thought you were going to die. There must have been, also, a reason you thought you couldn’t or shouldn’t share any of it. You surely could have said at least that your soulmate gift was sealed, without revealing the damage.”

Tobirama tilts his head. That much is true, and years ago he had considered it. Hashirama’s medical gifts and Mito’s knowledge of sealing would have made it very difficult, but if Tobirama had insisted they not examine him, they would have acquiesced. There’s a reason they chose to examine him while he was unconscious this past night, after all; neither of them is willing to completely override his will, for all that they take certain liberties. “It didn’t seem worth it,” he says, after a moment of consideration. “Even if the seal could be broken, I knew what was behind it. Until only a few months ago, I would have been just as doomed to meet my soulmate in combat; we were at war.”

“We could have leveraged your gift for peace,” Hashirama says. “The Uchiha clearly value their soulmates.”

“I knew nothing of that,” Tobirama says. He makes a sweeping gesture with one hand, then tucks it back into his lap. “All this that we’ve learned in these past few days, I knew none of it. For all I knew, they would have taken it as a severe insult to see their eyes in this most hated face, and all hope of peace would have been destroyed.”

Hashirama makes a small noise of protest at most hated , but says nothing in argument—there is nothing for him to say. Whatever Madara says, Tobirama is certainly one of the Uchiha clan’s most reviled enemies, or was before the peace, and he has always been well aware of his possible reception. That Madara has seemed willing to explore their connection—no, that’s a consideration for later. Tobirama still has no idea what to do with it, and in any case it is not what he and Hashirama are discussing now. 

“Fine,” Hashirama says. “Maybe so. But you could have told me, even if the seal remained in place.”

“Why?” Tobirama asks, honestly. “What would have been the point? I had no intention of seeking my soulmate. I was managing the symptoms of the seal, and as far as I knew breaking it could have been disastrous if it were even possible. There was nothing you could do to change either of those things, and knowing that I was… struggling, I suppose, would therefore have done nothing but cause you mental anguish.”

Hashirama scowls. “Because I’m your brother and I love you , Tobirama, and I want to know about it when you’re suffering, even if there isn’t anything I can do. Yes, you’re right, it would have hurt me, but it’s not your job to protect me at the cost of yourself!”

“Yes, it is,” Tobirama says. Hashirama rocks back, surprised, and Tobirama shrugs. “Such has always been my role, anija. If I can protect you, your life and your happiness and your dream, I will. No matter the cost to me—even if the cost is my life. Nothing you say will change my mind on that score.”

Hashirama just looks at him for a minute, and Tobirama looks back. He hopes that for once his face is conveying his emotion: that of complete confidence in what he’s said. If his whole life comes to nothing but a moment of sacrifice that preserves his brother’s happiness for even another month, or day, or minute, then it will have been worth it. He is nothing if he is not of use to those he loves, and though he knows that Hashirama would prefer to have Tobirama by his side, Tobirama is more realistic than that.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama says, finally. “My happiness is nothing without you. My happiness is you. And while I will find a way to go on if you were to die in battle or on a mission, I would never have a full heart again. Just like a part of my heart went into the ground with Itama and Kawarama and kaa-san, a part of it would go with you. Please don’t sacrifice yourself for me.”

“I can’t promise that,” Tobirama says apologetically. “But I will do my best.”

Hashirama takes a deep, slow breath. “That’s all I ask,” he says finally. “And, please: going forward, if you’re hurt, tell me. Even if there’s probably nothing I can do, I would rather know and be able to stand by your side in times of trouble. Alright?”

There are a thousand hypotheticals that Tobirama wants to pose right now. What if things don’t work out between himself and Madara, and coming to Hashirama would mean asking him to choose sides between his brother and his best friend? What if Tobirama made a poor judgement call on a mission and coming to Hashirama would mean choosing between Tobirama and the village’s welfare? What if the situation is one that Tobirama can manage by himself, and asking for help would be childish and pointless? But he knows Hashirama doesn’t want to hear it right now, and so he just nods.

Hashirama looks at him for another moment, and Tobirama gets the sense that he knows that Tobirama hasn’t entirely acquiesced, but then he nods back. “Dinner should be ready now,” he says. “Come on. You need to eat, you’re still recovering.”

“Ah… yes, anija,” Tobirama says, startled at the sudden change of subject. He rises when Hashirama does, letting the fabric edge of the kotatsu blanket fall from his fingers, and follows him into the dining where Mito is indeed laying out the dishes. Hashirama steps over and takes the cutlery from her; Tobirama stands to the side, out of the way, while they do their customary dance around each other. They’re very in sync, have been since their meeting and mutual acceptance of the soulmate bond. Tobirama has always been somewhat envious, in truth; even now, knowing his soulmate, he’s not sure he’ll ever have this same ease with another person. He’s not sure that one such as himself is capable of it.

“Sit down,” Mito says, once the table is set. “So, how are you really feeling, Tobirama? You look pale.”

“I had a migraine earlier,” he admits to her as well, taking a seat at the table. “No worse than is normal for me, however.”

Hashirama comes in with a plate of fish and a large bowl of steamed vegetables and sets it down, then very casually asks, “Oh, did Madara walk you home to rest then?”

Tobirama narrows his eyes. Someone must have reported to him. “Yes,” he says.

“That’s nice.” Hashirama is nearly vibrating as he seats himself.

Tobirama lets out a sigh through his nose. “Mito, Madara believes that the two of us to be soulmates.”

She smiles. “That’s nice, Tobirama. Do you intend to confirm the bond?” She begins dishing herself up some food; Tobirama is deeply grateful for her characteristic unflappability.

“We haven’t discussed it in any detail.” Tobirama takes the vegetables when she passes him them and serves himself a small portion. “And yes, Hashirama, we do intend to do so soon.” At least he assumes that was Madara’s intent in inviting him for dinner.

“That’s wonderful!” Hashirama exclaims, and then shoves a bite of food in his mouth very clearly to prevent himself from saying anything more.

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Please calm down, anija.”

“That’s unlikely,” Hashirama says through his mouthful, swallows at Mito’s chiding look, and adds, “I’m very happy for both of you, you know. I know Madara has been looking for his soulmate for ages! And I think you two will be good together.”

“We will see,” Tobirama says, in as forbidding a tone as he can muster. Hashirama’s optimism about this—as about all things—will only make it harder to let him down if it doesn’t work out in the end. 

They eat their simple dinner quickly, and afterward Mito kisses Hashirama’s cheek and sends him off into the kitchen to do dishes, then fixes Tobirama with a look before he can excuse himself from the table and return to his own home.

“... Did you need something, oneesan,” he says.

“Yes. I need you to do all you can to make this work for your sake,” she says. She reaches across the table and clasps Tobirama’s hands where they’re laced together neatly on the tabletop. “I was eavesdropping on your conversation with Hashirama—do not give me that look—and I know that for Hashirama’s sake, for the sake of his happiness and his dream, as you put it, you would not sabotage your relationship with Madara. However, I want you to try your best to also pursue your happiness.”

Tobirama bows his head slightly toward her. “As you wish.”

“No, not as I wish.” She sighs, frustrated. “I know this is difficult to explain and to understand. It was the same for me. You know, it was my father who had this conversation with me, before I left Uzushio and came to marry Hashirama.”

Tobirama blinks at her, and she smiles. “We knew we were soulmates already, of course,” she says. “Our marriage, politically-motivated as it was, only happened in the first place because of that. Still, I struggled to… remember it, I suppose, in the time leading up to the wedding. We had never met, and I had heard some scary things about him and his clan. It was easier just to think about the advantages for my family and my clan, and not worry too much about what it would mean to be happy here.”

“... It is not being happy that I am concerned about,” Tobirama says. 

“I know,” she says. “It never is—you give very much of yourself to others, Tobirama-kun. But your soulmate is just for you.”

His soulmate is the head of his clan and the right hand of the Hokage, so he is not in fact just for Tobirama, but he realizes that Mito will scold him for being pedantic if he says as much. “Such selfishness does not come easily to me,” he says instead.

“It’s not selfishness,” she says. Her eyes are very soft, and Tobirama can’t meet them any longer, his shoulders gone tense. “I thought the same. You must remember, though, that you are as much for him as he is for you. Love is not selfish, especially not the love that soulmates share, and I hope you will allow yourself to learn that and to enjoy it.”

Love, in Tobirama’s experience, is always selfish, but he’s not going to say that to Mito, either. Perhaps it is only that the love he has known has nothing to do with the sort of love that other people experience. Tobirama might just be, in this as in many things to do with other people, different. He has no words to put to that worry, though, so he merely nods and accepts Mito’s concerned look and then says, “May I be excused?”

“Of course, otouto,” she says. She rises from the table as well and comes around to clasp his hands once more and use them to pull him down so that she can kiss his cheek. “You’re very strong. It will be alright.”

Tobirama knows he’s strong; it is not strength that he fears will fail him now and in the days to come. Nor courage, even. 

“Good night, Hashirama!” he calls, when Mito releases him.

There’s a squawk and the sound of sloshing water from the kitchen, then Hashirama appears, still hastily wiping his went hands on his shirt. “Tobirama!” he says. “Good night.”

Tobirama submits to the inevitable hug, then extracts himself from his brother’s octopus-like grasp and says, “I will let you know if the situation changes.” He doesn’t want Hashirama in his business, but he and Madara gossip like old women anyway, so Tobirama might as well keep him up to date, preferably in as little detail as possible.

“Thank you!” Hashirama says, manages to snag Tobirama for one more short hug, and then lets him go. Mercifully.

Tobirama steps outside the door and then uses the Hiraishin to take himself home. He has absolutely no desire to run across the village again today, and would very much like to retire with a cup of tea, a scroll, and his cat as soon as physically possible. He’s unlikely to sleep—his still-lingering headache is enough that he knows he’s very possibly going to have to fight through a fit of insomnia if he wants any rest tonight—but he can at least lay down and think of nothing but seal matrices for a while.

Unfortunately, he appears in his living room and senses immediately that Uchiha Madara is once again sitting on his roof.

“Of course,” Tobirama mutters, and goes to open his door. Madara has clearly sensed him in return, and is there waiting when he does, a serious look on his face.

“Come in,” Tobirama says, gesturing, and steps back from the door. “No point in your garnering all the attention of my neighbours.”

“It’s not like no one’s going to see us together,” Madara says mildly, but he does at least come in and close the door, then take off his sandals. “Though that’s more or less what I came to talk about. You skipped out on dinner.”

“Did you see my note?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I’m not mad, I know what Hashirama is like.”

Tobirama leads the way into his small living room instead of to the dining room like last time and seats himself on his couch. Madara sits down at the opposite end and turns his body to face Tobirama’s, hitching one foot up onto the cushions and letting his legs sprawl lazily open. Tobirama is sitting rigidly, but can’t help it; this is the third difficult conversation of the day, and it’s getting late.

“What did you want to discuss?” Tobirama asks, even though he knows the answer.

“We’re soulmates,” Madara says. Tobirama can feel the man’s gaze on the side of his head, but he doesn’t look over. Instead he studies the landscape painting he has hanging on the far wall of his living room. It’s of the coast; Mito gave it to him. It’s very calming.

“Yes,” Tobirama says.

“Just yes ?” Madara snaps, and shifts so suddenly that Tobirama flinches; Madara’s hand, reaching for his arm, pauses partway there. “... Are you afraid of me, Tobirama?”

“No,” Tobirama says. That’s true, and he needs to prove it. He turns to look, to meet Madara’s eyes. Eye contact is important in these situations, for all Tobirama often dislikes it. “I apologize. It has been a long day, and these conversations are not easy. Forgive me if I’m on-edge.”

“It’s fine,” Madara says gruffly, and sits back, settling into a position where he wouldn’t be able to touch without giving Tobirama more than enough time to get away. Tobirama sees a concession to his eccentricities when he sees one, and gives a tiny nod in gratitude.

“We are very likely soulmates,” Tobirama says, after a moment. “Should I assume, then, that this means you wish to complete the bond?”

“Maybe,” Madara says. “I mean, yes, I do—but only if you do too.”

The honest answer to that is that Tobirama is certainly willing . He respects Madara, even likes him when he’s not being insulting, and sees much in him that is admirable. He is handsome, too, and the benefit of his prosopagnosia is that he gets to enjoy those looks anew every time, without the taint of remembering that same face across the battlefield from him. He suspects, however, that willingness is not what Madara wants; and yet honesty is what he deserves, as Hashirama had deserved it earlier. “I am currently willing to do so,” Tobirama says, “though I would prefer not to achieve the necessary intimacy via sex. That said, if you were willing in turn to give me some time, I am sure I could develop more than simple respect for you.”

Madara’s mouth twists. “That’s fair, I suppose—truthfully, I think I’d prefer to get to know you a bit better first as well. Soulmate or no.”

Tobirama nods. “You mentioned training with the Sharingan.”

“That would be a good opportunity, yes,” Madara says. Then he huffs and, carefully telegraphing his movements, leans forward again. He lays a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder and pushes gently until Tobirama is facing him somewhat, and looking into his eyes, says, “For the record, I do find you beautiful.”

Tobirama swallows. “I… thank you. I—yes. You’re good looking as well, Madara-san.”

“Hard to believe it when you’re still calling me san , but I’ll take it.” Madara squeezes his shoulder, then runs his hand down Tobirama’s arm to grab his hand and squeezes there, too. “Also, just so you know, I don’t expect perfection. I don’t really expect anything, except a chance to prove that we can do this. I’ve wanted my soulmate my whole life, you know.”

Tobirama swallows again, then nods. “I understand.”

“Do you? I think you’re so used to feeling nothing that you don’t understand at all.” Madara shakes his head when Tobirama looks away, shifts closer, and uses his other hand to guide Tobirama’s face back. “Look at me.”

“Stop.” Tobirama’s voice comes out surprisingly harsh, and to his credit, Madara does back away immediately, releasing Tobirama’s hand and his face. “I… I apologize.”

“Don’t.” Madara retreats a little further, shaking his head. “I’m sorry too, for not giving you your space. You just asked for it, after all.”

“I’m simply unused to such touch,” Tobirama says quietly. “My brother…”

“Yeah, and no one else, I bet,” Madara snorts. “Because you’re standoffish as hell, even compared to most of your stiff-necked clan. Well, it’s okay. I’ll just need to remember that you being weird and stiff isn’t the same as it would be with one of my own clansmen.”

He doesn’t clarify that statement, unfortunately, so Tobirama just has to work with what he has. After a moment’s pause, Tobirama says, “As you say.”

“Tobirama.” Madara’s tone is different, stranger, softer; Tobirama looks up at him again and he has a similarly strange look on his face. Complicated. “It’s okay. You have your boundaries. I’ll get better.”

“If touch is something you need from me as your,” Tobirama makes a vague gesture, “soulmate, I can work on becoming comfortable.”

“In time, yes,” Madara says, “but not right now. We’ll get there together, I think.”

“Together.” It’s a comforting concept, in some ways. Tobirama has had many allies in his life, but very few partners of any sort. Still, he understands cooperation and mutual growth, and he can work on becoming what Madara needs. Perhaps, along the way, he’ll even discover what Mito meant about allowing this to be a thing just for him. She wouldn’t have said such things without reason, and Madara seems… open to experimentation. With that in mind, Tobirama takes a calming breath, and then reaches out himself for the first time. He lays his fingers gently on the back of Madara’s hand where it’s come to rest on his upraised knee, and Madara blinks at him.

Then Madara tilts his hand up beneath Tobirama’s, and their fingers slot together, so easily that it’s as if they were, indeed, made for one another. No lightning strike falls from the sky; no warmth warms Tobirama’s heart or his gut as he’s heard others describe. This is no confirmation of the bond, no perfect moment of harmony between two spirits, but it does feel indescribably right.

“Thank you,” Madara says, that steady black gaze holding Tobirama captive now, a light there that had been absent before. “All I ask is that we try.”

Tobirama quirks a small smile. “I succeed at most things I try, Madara.”

“Same here.” Madara grins, quicksilver-smooth and bright. “Guess we’re set.”

Perhaps they are, indeed.