O ne Step Forward
Izuna hesitates on the edge of the engawa, his feet hovering just above the polished wood. Madara sits nearby, his back straight but his posture relaxed as he watches the fish dart through the water. Izuna’s heart pounds in his chest. He has spent days turning this conversation over in his mind, trying to figure out how to begin, how to frame the impossible truth in a way that won’t spark the infamous temper of his brother.
He finally steps forward, lowering himself onto the wooden platform. The cool surface bites into him even through his robes, a grounding sensation he desperately needs. Izuna doesn’t look at Madara at first, his eyes fixed on the koi swirling lazily in the pond.
“What’s bothering you?” Madara asks after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He doesn’t turn to look at Izuna, his gaze still focused on the water.
Izuna swallows hard, his throat dry despite the humidity in the air. “I... I need a favor,” he says finally, his voice quieter than he intends.
Madara sighs, a long-suffering sound that Izuna knows all too well. “Please tell this isn’t another situation where I have to smooze up Lord Hiroki because you said to his wife you have seen salads dress better than her, again. You can’t go around insulting our best paying client. We need the money. I don’t care if Lady Kirika’s dresses are hideous. If she asks you how she looks, fucking suck it up, smile and compliment her. Lie if you have to. Just stop insulting our customer’s fashion choices.”
Izuna’s cheeks flush, and he can’t help the slight pout that forms on his lips. “That was years ago! And it’s not about that,” he snaps, though his indignation is tempered by nervousness.
Madara raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, waiting for him to continue.
Izuna takes a deep breath, forcing the words out before his courage falters. “It’s about my soulmate.”
Madara’s reaction is immediate. His head snaps around so quickly that Izuna is momentarily concerned he might have strained something. “What?” he gasps, his usual composure shattered.
“My soulmate,” Izuna repeats, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I should have told you earlier, back when the shared dreams started. But until recently, I didn’t even know their name.”
Madara opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, shaking his head in disbelief. “But you know their identity now?”
Izuna nods. “Yeah. I found out a few weeks ago. We’ve been meeting in secret since then.”
Madara doesn’t speak for a long moment, his expression shifting between contemplation and suspicion. “Is there a reason you’re avoiding telling me their name?” he asks finally, his tone sharp but not unkind.
Izuna bites his lip, his heart sinking. Of course Madara would pick up on that. He always does. “You need to hear the rest first,” he insists. If he blurts out the name Senju Tobirama now, there’s no way Madara will listen.
Madara’s eyes narrow slightly, but he leans back, giving Izuna the space to explain. “So it’s someone I know,” he deduces. “Someone with a reputation, either bad or... complicated. Perhaps an enemy.”
Izuna grimaces, his frustration bubbling under the surface. Why does Madara always have to be so perceptive?
“Tell me,” Madara says, his voice quieter now, though no less commanding. “I promise I’ll keep an open mind.”
Izuna takes another deep breath, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. He starts with the most urgent part, the one thing he hopes will make Madara understand. “His clan is killing him,” he says, his voice tight with emotion.
Madara stiffens, his chakra spiking with shock. “What?”
“I don’t think it’s intentional,” Izuna adds quickly, desperate to keep his brother calm. “But they’re blind, prejudiced hypocrites. They treat their omegas as property, giving them no rights. His brother is the worst of all. It’s so bad that he’s forced to hide his secondary gender.”
Madara stares at him, his jaw slack with disbelief. “A male omega?” he breathes. “Your soulmate is a male omega? Do you know how rare—”
“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Izuna hisses, cutting him off with a glare.
Madara blinks, then ducks his head slightly, a rare show of contrition. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
Izuna lets out a slow, weary sigh, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on his chest. He forces himself to meet Madara’s gaze, even as his brother’s sharp, perceptive eyes seem to bore straight through him. “I can’t just bridenap him,” Izuna begins, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “His clan would retaliate, and it would only escalate the war. The only way for the Uchiha to legally acquire him that we could think of is through an official contract with his clan.”
Madara’s brow furrows slightly, and Izuna feels his brother’s chakra shift—calm but questioning, curious about what’s coming next.
“We’re working on a ceasefire and non-interference treaty,” Izuna continues, his words carefully measured. “Basically, our clans agree not to attack each other or sabotage each other’s missions. In return, we... get my soulmate.”
Madara narrows his eyes, his mind clearly racing to analyze the implications. His jaw tightens for a brief moment before he nods, the tension in his chakra easing. “You want me to sign the treaty,” he deduces correctly.
Izuna nods, relief blooming quietly in his chest. His brother isn’t objecting—at least, not yet.
“Well,” Madara says after a moment of thought, his tone light but deliberate, “if it’s just non-attack and non-interference, I don’t see any problem with that. We can always do with one less enemy clan. It would let us focus more energy on the Senju.”
Izuna feels his heart skip at the mention of the Senju, but he schools his expression carefully, making sure not to let anything slip. His brother’s words are logical, strategic, as always—but the name alone stirs a storm of emotion within him. “I need you to promise me something,” he says instead, steering the conversation before it veers into dangerous territory.
Madara raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking in a faint, questioning smile. “You know I would never hurt your soulmate, right? No matter who he turns out to be. He’s part of our family, after all.”
Izuna feels a flicker of warmth at his brother’s reassurance, but it’s not enough to quell his deeper fears. “Thank you,” he replies softly, “but that’s not what I meant.”
Madara tilts his head slightly, waiting for him to elaborate.
“He’s a scientist,” Izuna begins, his voice firm despite the unease curling in his stomach. “And a trained shinobi. While we don’t have any laws that forbid that and have, in rare cases, allowed omegas on the battlefield before, we strongly encourage them to take up occupations that are neither dangerous nor require them to leave the compound. I want you to give him the option to continue in this line of work. Even if the elders are against it.”
Madara’s expression grows thoughtful, his chakra steady but curious. After a moment, he shrugs. “I’ll need to evaluate his skills as a shinobi,” he says, his tone nonchalant. “But once the medics declare him fit for missions, I see no reason to deny him this profession.”
Izuna suppresses a smile, though he feels a flicker of triumph. His brother’s concession is a victory, however small. There’s no need for an evaluation—Madara already knows how skilled Tobirama is. But Izuna doesn’t push, not yet. There’s still more he needs to address.
“You’ll also need to watch out for his self-sacrificing tendencies,” Izuna continues, his voice quieter now, “and his non-existent self-esteem. He’d do anything to keep the people close to him happy, even if it kills him.”
Madara’s gaze sharpens slightly, and Izuna feels his brother’s chakra ripple with concern. “Go on,” Madara prompts.
“When he found out my identity, he assumed I wouldn’t want to be bound to him,” Izuna says, his words bitter with frustration and lingering sadness. “So he didn’t tell me. Even when we ran into each other...”
He takes a deep breath, the memory clawing at his chest. He leans slightly against his brother, seeking some kind of stability as he forces the words out. “I nearly killed him. The only reason I stayed my sword was because he fainted in the middle of our fight. I thought taking him hostage would serve the clan better than killing him.”
Madara stiffens beside him and for a moment, Izuna wonders if he’s said too much.
But then Madara moves, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace. The action is strong, protective—exactly the kind of gesture Izuna didn’t know he needed.
“You’re serious about him,” Madara murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
“Of course I am. He’s my soulmate” Izuna replies, his words muffled against his brother’s shoulder.
Madara doesn’t say anything more as he holds Izuna, his strong arms providing a solace Izuna desperately needs. The tension in Izuna’s chest begins to ease, his brother’s silent support grounding him in a way words never could. For the first time in weeks, he allows himself to breathe a little easier.
But the peace is fleeting.
The garden gate slams open, and Hikaku storms in, his face set in grim determination. “Skirmish with the Senju at our border!” he shouts, urgency crackling in his voice like a storm breaking on the horizon.
“Fuck!” Izuna curses under his breath, the fragile moment shattered. He’s on his feet in an instant, the heavy weight of duty descending back onto his shoulders.
Madara straightens beside him, his usual composed demeanor sharpened by the flash of battle-readiness in his eyes. “We’ll talk later, Izuna,” he says firmly, already heading toward the house to retrieve his armor.
Izuna nods, though his chest tightens at the abrupt shift. There’s still so much to say, so much his brother doesn’t know. But there will be time for that later—after the fight.
Together, they move with practiced efficiency, putting on their battle gear by piece. The sound of buckles snapping into place and straps tightening is a grim symphony of preparation, one they’ve both rehearsed countless times.
Madara’s voice cuts through the silence as they step outside. “Be careful,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.
Izuna nods again, though his pride bristles. “I’m not a child,” he mutters, but the words lack their usual bite.
The two brothers rush toward the border, their strides long and swift, Hikaku and the other combatants trailing close behind. The familiar rhythm of their movements should be comforting, but something gnaws at the edge of Izuna’s focus—a faint sense of unease he can’t quite place.
It’s only when they’re nearly at the border that realization strikes. His stomach drops.
The armor.
His hands touch his sides, just for a moment, as if expecting to feel the forgotten piece miraculously strapped to him. But of course, it isn’t there. It’s still lying on his desk, right where he left it, an oversight born of too many thoughts pulling him in too many directions.
He curses himself silently, his jaw tightening. Stupid, careless—
But there’s no time to turn back now. The sound of clashing steel and shouted orders reaches his ears, and the faint tang of blood sharpens the air. The battle is already underway.
Izuna pushes the thought of the missing armor aside. He’ll have to rely on his speed and instincts. He always has before.
As the battlefield comes into view, Madara gives a single nod, his expression unreadable. Izuna mirrors it, pulling his katana free with a sharp breath.