Yearning for your love

When Tobirama reaches the river, the air carries the gentle sound of rushing water and the soft rustle of leaves. The scene is tranquil, yet his senses are drawn to the vibrant flare of chakra waiting for him. Izuna is already there, leaning back against a tree with a stack of papers spread out beside him. His chakra radiates a distinct blend of calm and anticipation, like a simmering flame waiting to flare.

The moment Izuna sees him, his chakra brightens, and he stands with an ease that Tobirama almost envies. “Tobirama,” Izuna greets with an almost teasing warmth before closing the distance between them.

Before Tobirama can say a word, Izuna pulls him into a firm hug. The gesture catches him off guard, and he stiffens, unsure how to react. Izuna’s presence is solid, his chakra curling around Tobirama’s like a protective warmth. Slowly, awkwardly, Tobirama raises a hand to return the hug, patting Izuna’s back once before the other man pulls away.

“Come on,” Izuna says, grinning as he tugs Tobirama down to sit beside him. He positions Tobirama so close that their shoulders and legs touch, the casual intimacy of it leaving Tobirama momentarily at a loss.

Izuna plops back onto the grass, his energy relaxed but focused as he gestures to the papers. “I’ve got a rough outline here. Let’s see what you brought.”

Tobirama takes a breath to steady himself before pulling out his own notes. “I reviewed the contracts we’ve used in similar situations,” he says, laying the neatly folded papers on the ground. “There are precedents for clan treaties tied to marriages, though some of the terms may not apply here.”

The two of them dive into the work. Tobirama appreciates the silence that falls over them, punctuated only by the rustling of paper and the occasional comment from Izuna. They compare clauses, discussing dowries, mutual responsibilities, and conflict resolution processes.

Izuna’s insights are surprisingly sharp, his practical suggestions helping refine some of the more rigid clauses Tobirama initially proposed.

“This part about shared territory management,” Izuna says, tapping the page. “It’s good in theory, but it’s going to cause problems. Neither clan will want the other monitoring their lands. Let’s rephrase it to focus on non-interference instead.”

Tobirama nods, making a note. “That’s reasonable.”

Each time they agree on a clause, Izuna writes it down on a fresh sheet of paper. His handwriting is neat, but Tobirama quickly notices that Izuna’s focus drifts to the margins of the paper.

At first, it’s harmless—little swirls and abstract shapes. Then Tobirama catches a glimpse of what looks like a stick figure dangling from a cliff labeled Hashirama.

He sighs. “Is that really necessary?”

“Absolutely,” Izuna replies without missing a beat, adding an exaggerated sun overhead. “It’s called motivation.”

Tobirama pointedly ignores the increasingly absurd doodles. By the time they finish, the margins of their draft are filled with depictions of Hashirama meeting various embarrassing or painful ends.

“Alright,” Tobirama says, sitting back as the final clause is written. “That’s everything.”

Izuna leans back on his hands, a satisfied smile on his face. His chakra radiates a rare mix of pride and contentment, and Tobirama finds himself momentarily caught in the warmth of it.

“This turned out better than I expected,” Izuna admits. “Your attention to detail is annoyingly helpful.”

Tobirama gives him a dry look. “Annoyingly?”

“Absolutely. But it’s also why you’re writing the final version.”

Tobirama raises a brow. “Delegating already?”

Izuna grins. “You’re just better at it. My genius lies elsewhere.”

Rolling his eyes, Tobirama takes the draft and tucks it into his pouch. “Fine. I’ll write it up properly. Now, there’s something else I brought for you to look at.”

He pulls out another folded paper and hands it to Izuna. It’s the current patrol schedule for the Senju.

Izuna raises an eyebrow as he unfolds it, scanning the contents. “What’s this?”

“The patrol schedule for my clan,” Tobirama explains. “If we’re serious about de-escalating this war, our patrols shouldn’t be running into each other.”

Izuna studies the schedule for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then he smirks. “Good thing I’m in charge of the Uchiha’s patrol schedule.”

Tobirama watches as Izuna pulls out a blank sheet of paper and starts to write the Uchiha’s schedules. His chakra hums with focus and just a hint of satisfaction, and Tobirama can’t help but feel the smallest flicker of hope.

They work together, adjusting timings to ensure the patrols avoid each other. The task is intricate, requiring precise calculations and trust.

By the time they’re done, the sun has shifted in the sky, casting golden light across the river. Izuna sets the finished schedule aside and leans back with a satisfied sigh.

“This might actually work,” he says, glancing at Tobirama. “If your brother doesn’t screw it up.”

Tobirama exhales through his nose, refusing to comment. His brother’s unpredictability is a problem for another day.

For now, though, the plan is in place, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Tobirama feels like they’ve taken a step—however small—toward peace.

***

When Tobirama returns to the Senju compound, the familiar energy of home greets him before the sight does. The sounds of wooden practice swords clashing and the steady cadence of deliberate footfalls echo through the air. As he steps closer, his sharp senses pick up on the distinct blend of chakras nearby—Touka’s fiery and resolute, Haruto’s bright and eager, and Mito’s calm and steady like the flow of a deep river.

In the training yard, Touka guides Haruto through a series of basic katas. Her voice is firm but encouraging as she corrects his stances and movements, her intense focus tinged with the faint warmth of familial pride. Haruto’s chakra pulses with concentration, his small face scrunched in effort as he mimics her movements. Nearby, Mito observes with serene patience, her elegant posture contrasting with the lively scene before her.

The moment Haruto spots Tobirama approaching, his chakra flares with unrestrained joy. “Tou-chan!” he calls out, abandoning his kata mid-motion. Without a second thought, he dashes across the yard, throwing himself into Tobirama’s arms.

Tobirama crouches slightly to catch the boy, his hands settling on Haruto’s small shoulders as the child buries his face against him. The warmth of Haruto’s embrace seeps into the cold edges of Tobirama’s soul, a quiet balm to the weight he carries.

“You’re back!” Haruto exclaims, his voice muffled but brimming with excitement.

“I am,” Tobirama replies, his voice softer than usual. He places a hand on Haruto’s head, fingers threading briefly through the boy’s hair. “Have you been practicing?”

Haruto pulls back, nodding vigorously. “Touka-ba says I’m doing really well!”

“Then show her how disciplined you can be,” Tobirama says, standing and gently nudging Haruto back toward the training area. “Finish your lesson first. We’ll talk after.”

Haruto hesitates for a moment, but at Tobirama’s firm look, he nods and runs back to Touka, who waits with a raised brow and a slight smirk. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, don’t you?” she calls out, teasing.

Tobirama doesn’t answer, but the faintest twitch of his lips betrays his amusement as he walks over to where Mito sits on a low stone bench.

She looks up at him with a slight smile, her chakra calm and unwavering. “Welcome back, Tobirama,” she says smoothly, her keen eyes flicking over him briefly as though assessing him for injuries.

“Mito,” he acknowledges with a nod, lowering his voice. “Did you examine the seal?”

“I did,” she replies, holding up a small scroll. “I’ve studied it carefully, and I can’t find any flaws or potential dangers. If you’re confident in your calculations, it’s ready for testing.”

Tobirama takes the scroll from her, his expression unreadable, though his chakra betrays a flicker of relief. “Good,” he says.

Touka, having clearly overheard, steps closer with an inquisitive glint in her eye. “What seal?” she asks, her curiosity sharp and unabashed.

“It’s a space-time formula I’ve been developing,” Tobirama says carefully, knowing full well Touka won’t stop there.

She crosses her arms, her fiery chakra sparking with interest. “Space-time? What does it do?”

“In theory,” Tobirama begins, “it allows instantaneous travel between two marked points. But it-”

“That sounds like teleportation to me,” Touka interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. Just show us!”

Tobirama frowns slightly, his chakra shifting with hesitation. “It’s not something to use lightly. The mechanics are complex, and the risks—”

“I don’t care about your complicated mechanics,” Touka cuts him off, her tone half-teasing, half-commanding. “Show me.”

From the training area, Haruto’s voice pipes up, full of eager excitement. “Tou-chan, I want to see too!”

Tobirama sighs, glancing between the two of them. Touka’s expectant smirk and Haruto’s wide-eyed anticipation make it clear he won’t escape this easily. Relenting, he retrieves a marked kunai from his pouch and steps into the center of the yard.

“Stand back,” he warns, his voice firm.

The yard falls silent as they retreat to a safe distance, and Tobirama channels his chakra into the formula etched on the kunai. The seal responds immediately, glowing faintly. He throws it to the other side of the yard and focuses on the marker.

Then, in an instant, he’s gone.

Haruto gasps audibly as Tobirama reappears on the far side of the yard, standing as if he had been there all along.

“That—” Touka starts, blinking. “That was incredible!”

Haruto claps his hands in delight, his chakra flaring with awe. “You disappeared, Tou-chan! And then you were just there!”

Tobirama walks back to them, his expression calm but his chakra tinged with a quiet pride. “It’s called Hiraishin. The Flying Thunder God Technique. It’s not teleportation,” he adds pointedly, looking at Touka. “It’s an application of space-time manipulation using pre-set markers.”

Touka waves her hand dismissively again, though there’s clear admiration in her chakra. “Whatever you call it, that’s amazing. You could use that to—”

“Only in very controlled circumstances,” Tobirama cuts in, his tone firm. “It’s not a technique for reckless use.”

Haruto tugs at his sleeve, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “Can you teach me one day?”

Tobirama’s expression softens fractionally. “Perhaps,” he says, resting a hand on Haruto’s head. “When you’re older.”

Haruto beams, and even Touka looks genuinely impressed.

Mito watches from her bench, a faint smile on her lips. “You’ve certainly outdone yourself this time,” she says, her voice light but sincere.

Tobirama merely nods, his mind already turning to the many ways the Hiraishin might be used—not just in battle, but perhaps, one day, for something greater. For now, though, the wonder in Haruto’s eyes is enough.

***

A couple of days later, Tobirama sits in Hashirama’s office, the stacks of paperwork in front of him neatly arranged. His brother is bent over his desk, his broad shoulders hunched as he scribbles a signature onto another document, his chakra radiating a mix of weariness and irritation. The scent of ink and parchment fills the room, along with the faint, woody undertone of Hashirama’s chakra—calm on the surface, but rippling with suppressed frustration beneath.

Tobirama has already slipped the three copies of the finished marriage contract between an innocuous trading treaty with the Hatake and an important letter to the Daimyo. He watches with sharp eyes as Hashirama reaches for the next document, not bothering to scan its contents before signing his name with a flourish and adding his chakra for authenticity.

The pen scratches across the parchment, sealing his implicit agreement. Tobirama’s chest tightens, a swirl of conflicting emotions rising within him. There is no satisfaction in this victory, no triumph in manipulating his brother’s trust. If anything, the ease with which he deceives Hashirama feels like a hollow echo of the camaraderie they once shared.

When Hashirama hands him the stack of signed documents, he barely spares Tobirama a glance. “Take these to the couriers,” he says, his tone brusque. “Make sure they go to the right recipients.”

Tobirama nods, his expression carefully neutral. He hides the flare of disappointment that flickers through him—disappointment at his brother’s inattention, at the growing chasm between them.

Under normal circumstances, Tobirama would point out the recklessness of signing papers without reading them. It is a habit he has chastised Hashirama for countless times before, a point of friction that often led to heated arguments. But today, he bites his tongue. Today, his brother’s carelessness works in his favor.

“Of course, Anija,” he replies smoothly, rising to his feet.

Hashirama grunts in acknowledgment, his focus already back on the remaining stack of treaties. Tobirama steps out of the room, his movements brisk but deliberate as he carries the documents to the couriers. The marriage contracts are discreetly removed from the pile and tucked into the folds of his robe, hidden from prying eyes.

As he walks back to his house, the weight of what he has done settles heavily on his shoulders. Trust, once fractured, is not easily repaired. And yet, despite everything, a small part of him still yearns for the closeness they once shared—the unshakable bond of brothers united by purpose and love. But Hashirama, with his blind optimism and relentless pursuit of peace at all costs, no longer feels like the brother Tobirama once admired.

When he reaches his home, the familiar warmth of Haruto’s chakra is conspicuously absent. A cold knot of unease twists in his stomach as he steps inside, his sharp eyes scanning the empty space.

“Haruto?” he calls out, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest.

Elder Chiori emerges from the shadows, her lined face impassive, her chakra a steady current of disapproval and resolve. Tobirama stiffens, his crimson gaze locking onto hers.

“Where is Haruto?” he demands, his voice low and controlled, though his chakra flares faintly with warning.

The elder’s response is as cold as winter frost. “The boy is safe, but he will not be returned to you until you fulfill your duty to the clan.”

Tobirama’s fingers curl into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. “My duty?”

The elder’s gaze does not waver. “Kill Uchiha Izuna. With your new technique, this should be no challenge for you. Prove your loyalty to the Senju.”