N ot alone
When Tobirama opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is warmth. A blanket, rough but sufficient, is draped over him, its faint scent unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Beneath him, a makeshift bedroll offers just enough comfort to prevent the ground’s chill from seeping through. He blinks slowly, taking in the dim light of the camp. For a fleeting moment, he thinks he’s still dreaming.
It’s Izuna’s chakra that gives him pause—calm and content, radiating from just beside him. The sensation is strange, almost foreign. He has never known Izuna’s chakra to be anything other than sharp-edged and brimming with intensity. Now, it feels… steady. Safe, even.
Then, like a wave crashing over him, the memories return.
The fight. The clash of their blades. The heat of Izuna’s anger and the unrelenting force of his own will. The moment his body gave out. The shared dream that followed—Izuna discovering the truth of his identity, of their bond. And yet, impossibly, the Uchiha hadn’t rejected him. Izuna knows, and he still wants him.
Tobirama’s throat tightens, and his hands instinctively clutch the blanket.
He shifts slightly, and the motion must alert Izuna. The other man’s chakra flickers, brightening with awareness, and Tobirama hears the soft rustle of movement nearby. When he turns his head, Izuna is crouched next to him, holding out a canteen of water and a small parcel of dried food.
“You’re awake,” Izuna says, his voice quieter than Tobirama expects. There’s an odd softness to it, an undertone of something that almost feels like relief. “Here—drink. And eat, if you can. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got right now.”
Tobirama pushes himself up slowly, his muscles protesting the effort. He takes the canteen and food, his brows furrowing as he studies Izuna’s expression. There’s no hostility there—no mocking smirk, no biting sarcasm. Just a calm attentiveness that feels disarming.
“It’s fine,” Tobirama says finally, his voice a little hoarse. He accepts the offering and takes a careful sip of water, letting the cool liquid soothe his parched throat.
Izuna settles cross-legged beside him, watching him with an intensity that feels less like scrutiny and more like concern.
They eat in relative silence, the quiet broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional crackle of the small fire Izuna must have built earlier. Tobirama’s mind churns as he eats, replaying the events of the past day. He sneaks glances at Izuna, reading the steady rhythm of his chakra. It’s strange, how much it has changed. The usual storm of aggression and pride has smoothed into something warmer, something calmer.
When they finish, Izuna shifts, resting his elbows on his knees as he regards Tobirama. “How long can you stay?” he asks, his tone casual but his chakra betraying a faint ripple of disappointment.
Tobirama frowns slightly, his gaze dropping to the empty parcel in his hands. “I’m already late,” he admits. “I should leave after breakfast. If I delay much longer, someone will notice.”
Izuna’s chakra flares briefly—an unmistakable pulse of discontent. His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue.
Tobirama hesitates, then offers, “Three days from now. Noon. At the river where our brothers used to play as kids.”
Izuna blinks, his crimson eyes widening slightly before his chakra brightens with something that feels suspiciously like hope. “You’ll meet me there?”
Tobirama nods. “Bring a rough draft for the contract,” he says, his tone steady despite the rapid beat of his heart. “I’ll do the same.”
A rare, genuine smile curves Izuna’s lips. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. “I’ll be there,” he promises, the words carrying a quiet weight.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. Tobirama rises slowly, folding the blanket and setting it aside. As he prepares to leave, he feels Izuna’s gaze following him, steady and unwavering.
The warmth of Izuna’s chakra lingers as Tobirama walks away, his own emotions a tangled knot of apprehension and quiet anticipation. Three days. It feels both too short and far too long.
***
Tobirama pauses at the edge of Senju territory, his fingers moving deftly to reapply the scent-suppressing seals etched on his skin. The ink flares faintly as it activates.
When he steps onto the well-trodden paths of Senju grounds, the familiarity should be comforting, but it isn’t. The towering trees and sturdy buildings feel suffocating, like a cage he cannot escape. As he walks toward the main hall, he steels himself for the meeting with his brother.
Hashirama is already there, seated at his desk with his usual mix of composure and authority. His chakra is warm, expansive, and painfully heavy—like sunlight that burns instead of soothes. Tobirama reads the subtle undertones in it: the ever-present weight of expectation, tinged with mild impatience.
“I’m back,” Tobirama says, his tone neutral as he steps inside. He doesn’t bother sitting.
Hashirama looks up briefly, his dark eyes studying him. “Any trouble?”
Tobirama shakes his head. “I ran into the Uchiha at the capital.” He keeps his voice measured, carefully avoiding any sign of hesitation. “They know I was there. Izuna recognized me, but we didn’t fight. Didn’t even talk.”
For a moment, Hashirama’s chakra tightens, a flicker of unease buried beneath the calm exterior. Then he nods, his expression unreadable. “Good. It’s better that way.”
Tobirama waits, half-expecting a lecture about avoiding provocation or how every interaction with the Uchiha could escalate the war. But Hashirama says nothing more, returning his attention to the papers spread across his desk.
Dismissed without a word, Tobirama leaves the room. The quiet acceptance feels like an ache in his chest.
When Tobirama reaches his house, Haruto is already there, perched on the edge of the porch with his legs swinging impatiently. The boy’s chakra radiates excitement, buzzing like a flickering flame. The moment Haruto catches sight of him, his face lights up, and he scrambles to his feet.
“Tou-chan!” Haruto cries, his voice bright and piercing through the quiet evening.
Before Tobirama can even step onto the porch, the boy launches himself forward, throwing his small arms around Tobirama’s waist. The impact is forceful enough to make Tobirama shift his footing, but he lets out a faint breath of amusement, resting one hand on Haruto’s back and the other on his head.
Haruto’s chakra feels warm and unguarded, brushing against Tobirama’s own like sunlight through leaves. The boy's boundless energy and trust ease the tension coiled tight in Tobirama’s chest, unraveling some of the day’s strain.
“Have you been good while I was away?” Tobirama asks, his voice low but warm.
Haruto pulls back just enough to beam up at him, his grin wide and unabashed. “I practiced throwing kunai every day! I got better!”
Tobirama’s lips twitch into a faint smile, the rare expression softening his usually stoic features. “Oh? Show me.”
Haruto’s eyes light up, and he grabs Tobirama’s hand, tugging him toward the training yard. Tobirama allows himself to be led, his pace unhurried as he watches the boy practically bounce with excitement.
The training yard is small but well-kept, a space Tobirama had set aside specifically for moments like this. Haruto scurries over to the pile of practice kunai and selects a handful with great deliberation, as if weighing their worth. His tiny hands struggle to hold all of them at once, and Tobirama steps forward silently, taking the extras and handing them back one by one.
“Don’t overfill your hands,” Tobirama says, his tone gentle but firm. “Focus on control, not speed.”
Haruto nods seriously, his brows furrowed in determination. He takes his position, mimicking the stance Tobirama had drilled into him weeks ago. For a moment, the boy hesitates, adjusting his grip and glancing back at Tobirama.
“You’ve got this,” Tobirama says, crossing his arms and nodding in approval.
The first kunai flies from Haruto’s hand and embeds itself in the outer ring of the target. It’s a decent throw, but not what the boy was aiming for.
“I missed the middle!” Haruto groans, his chakra flaring with frustration.
“Look again,” Tobirama says calmly, stepping closer to stand behind him. He crouches slightly, placing his hands lightly on Haruto’s shoulders. “You hit the target, which means your aim is improving. Now, focus on where you want it to land. Don’t let your frustration guide you.”
Haruto takes a deep breath, the boy’s small chakra signature settling into something calmer. He throws again and this time lands just shy of the bullseye. His face lights up with triumph.
“See?” Tobirama says, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “You’re improving.”
Haruto grins up at him before quickly retrieving more kunai to try again. They continue like this for hours, Haruto’s chakra glowing brighter with each successful throw. Tobirama adjusts his stance when necessary, gently correcting his angle or grip. The boy takes each correction with unrelenting determination, his focus unwavering.
By the time the sun dips below the horizon, painting the yard in hues of orange and purple, Haruto’s throws have become more consistent. He lands three in a row near the center of the target, turning to Tobirama with wide, triumphant eyes.
“I did it!” he exclaims, his voice ringing with delight.
Tobirama nods, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Well done.”
***
Dinner is simple—a meal Tobirama prepares quickly while Haruto chatters about his day, recounting each practice throw as if it were a grand achievement. Tobirama listens quietly, occasionally nodding or offering a soft word of encouragement.
By the time Haruto finishes his food, his energy has waned, his movements sluggish with exhaustion. Tobirama carries him to bed, the boy’s arms draping limply around his neck. As he lays Haruto down and tucks the blanket around him, the boy mumbles sleepily, “Tou-chan, will you train with me again tomorrow?”
Tobirama brushes a strand of hair from Haruto’s face, his expression softening. “We’ll see,” he murmurs. “Now sleep.”
Haruto hums in acknowledgment, his breathing evening out within moments. Tobirama watches him for a while, his heart heavy with a mix of affection and guilt. The boy’s trust in him is absolute, something he doesn’t take lightly.
“Sleep well,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. He lingers a moment longer, then turns and slips out of the room, his mind already turning toward the tasks awaiting him.
The walk to Hashirama’s office feels heavier than it should. Tobirama doesn’t announce his presence when he enters, simply stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind him.
Hashirama glances up, his chakra flickering with surprise before settling into its usual warmth. “You’re still awake?”
“I thought I’d help with the paperwork,” Tobirama says evenly, gesturing toward the cluttered desk.
Hashirama’s surprise shifts into gratitude, his chakra brightening slightly. “You don’t have to, but… thank you. There’s plenty to do.”
Tobirama takes a seat, sorting through the piles with practiced efficiency. He organizes trade agreements, drafts a treaty with the Hatake, and scans the documents for anything relevant to his own goals.
Among the archived papers, he finds a few marriage contracts—omegas from the Senju marrying into other clans. The dowries are detailed, along with clauses for political alliances. He copies the most recent ones, his hands steady even as his heart pounds faintly against his ribs.
Further down, he spots the patrol plans tucked between treaties. His stomach tightens. Hashirama must have misplaced them, unaware of the potential danger in such carelessness. Tobirama quickly copies them, then retrieves the original and holds it up.
“You misplaced this,” he says, his tone carefully neutral.
Hashirama exhales in relief, his chakra rippling with gratitude. “Thank you. I thought I’d lost it and would have to rewrite everything.”
Tobirama doesn’t reply, simply nodding as he returns the sheet to the pile. The rest of the evening passes in relative quiet, the weight of their unspoken tensions lingering in the air.
When they finally retire for the night, Hashirama’s desk is less cluttered, but Tobirama knows the work is far from finished.