Event Horizon
Hello Tobirama-sense
Honourable Senju To
Dear Tobirama-san,
I hope this letter finds you well. My mother says that building the village is very hard work and you must be busier than most since you’re so important, so I should be grateful that you are taking the time to keep up our correspondence instead of being impatient for your reply. I would like to tell you that I am very thankful, but I make no promises about being more patient. The teacher at our temple school says I’m not very good at it.
He says I’m a disruption to his meditation class but what does an oldie like him know anyways.
I am doing well in my classes. We’re learning wilderness survival this week. My class got to go camping by the creek for two nights. It was fun but there were lots of bugs. One boy got freaked out by a beetle in his bedroll and set a tent on fire. That was kind of cool. Our teacher didn’t seem to think so though. He took us home early because he obviously doesn’t know how to have fun.
How was your week? Did you manage to figure out how the pipes would be laid? Everyone knows how much time Madara-sama has been spending in the archive and library to work on the village plans and he’s super smart, so it must be really complicated if he’s having to study so hard. Do you have to study a lot too? Do you like studying? I don’t. I like it better when we get to actually do stuff.
I guess all leaders have to study. Izuna-sama has been doing it a lot too. He tends to study outside, under the big fig tree near the shopping district. He makes a lot of notes and always looks kind of angry. I thought he was making a list of his enemies, but my mother says that’s just what he looks like when he’s focusing. I’m not so sure about that. Izuna-sama has been acting really weird lately. I’m pretty sure he’s wishing for someone’s downfall.
He also said you guys are friends now. I don’t really believe him. Izuna-sama lies for fun sometimes. One time, he told me that if I didn’t grow taller fast enough, one of Madara-sama’s hawks would mistake me for food and carry me away. I haven’t believed a word that’s come out of his mouth since.
If you really are friends with Izuna-sama though, maybe you can tell him he needs to relax and stop shouting at thin air in public. He’s being a disruption. It’s very rude of him. Also, he looks lame. Don’t tell him I said that though.
That’s all for this time. I hope you get more free time so you can reply faster. I like talking to you even if it takes forever.
Yours sincerely,
Uchiha Kagami
“I would like it to be known that I suggested the gingko.”
Tobirama’s lips twitch as he rolls his eyes at Hashirama’s smug reminder.
Seated at his back, Mito huffs a quiet laugh. “Yes, well done, beloved,” she says indulgently. Across the table from them, Hashirama perks up, evidently preening. Mito lightly taps Tobirama’s shoulder, sobering up as she says, “This doesn’t have to be completed in one sitting. We can take a break whenever you’d like.”
Tobirama hums. “It’s alright,” he tells her. “I can’t really feel anything.”
“Still,” Mito insists.
“Okay.”
Not that it will be necessary with the pair of needles stuck into the top and bottom of his spine to numb the area using acupuncture. Tobirama isn’t personally familiar with the practice, but Hashirama has picked up quite the eclectic collection of skills since he became clan head and stopped taking regular missions. Besides, as far as Tobirama knows, tattoos are a fairly tolerable pain for those who are used to a shinobi lifestyle.
He supposes it’s nice of Mito to offer, nevertheless.
“I’ll get started then,” she says by way of warning. “The ink goes on first.”
Her words are quickly followed by the first touch of cold ink to warm skin—a decidedly odd sensation considering that the area is still mostly numbed.
“We tend to use a wooden engraving covered in ink to transfer designs onto the skin for tattooing,” Hashirama remarks as he folds his arms on the tabletop and leans his weight forward onto them so he can get a closer look. “Then the ink gets pushed in with a needle.”
“Is tattooing common among the Senju?” Mito asks.
“It isn’t uncommon,” Tobirama says. “Arts and expression are encouraged greatly among us after all.”
“Some will avoid it if they liaise with outsiders frequently. Mainly those with connections to wealthy merchants or nobles, like the old families or middlemen. There are those outside the clan who would disapprove unfortunately,” Hashirama adds with a sigh. “It’s such a shame. Body inking is simply another form of art, yet even well-known patrons of arts and artists in the capital find it a divisive topic. Too ‘modern’ and ‘rebellious’ for them.”
Mito hums, applying the ink in careful strokes down Tobirama’s skin. “Then won’t they find you too modern and rebellious now that I’ve marked you? Should you ever bathe with them, you will be found out.”
“It matters less now that we’re building the village and there will be a system for contracts. I don’t need to put in as much work into maintaining personal relationships with them to guarantee the clan’s prosperity,” Hashirama says.
It won’t stop him even if he doesn’t become Hokage this time round by some stroke of chance. Hashirama is well-liked in the upper society circles of the court and his personal relationships will still be of benefit to the village. He enjoys the mingling and relatively harmless mind-games regardless of his claims. With how charismatic people find him, even the bulk of his eccentricities come off as endearing.
“He can always say that they are seals drawn by you and the matter will be dropped,” Tobirama points out. “Everyone already thinks him a romantic fool anyways. If anything, they’ll approve of him engaging in your traditions with you.”
It’s not like the people of Uzushio have ever hidden their sealing arts or how almost all of them wear ink on their skin. Since most Fire natives assume it’s one those ‘shinobi things’ they mostly refrain from expressing an opinion or thinking too hard about it. The tattoos in this case aren’t disapproved of because, in their eyes, it’s utilitarian as opposed to fulfilling an artistic or cultural purpose.
“And Tobirama doesn’t share baths with anyone he doesn’t trust, so he’ll be fine,” Hashirama says.
“You’re surrounded by the elite so often though,” Mito says. “Don’t they find you rude?”
“Yes,” Tobirama confirms.
“He just doesn’t care.” The grin is evident in Hashirama’s voice. “Tora’s too stubborn to ever be peer pressured into anything.”
Mito lets out a soft huff of laughter. Her thin brush dips back into the bowl of ink at her side. “Well, I suppose it’s good to be so self-assured.”
“Conforming serves me no great purpose,” Tobirama justifies. “Anija is the one who has always had to maintain relations for the clan, so there was no great need for me to suffer as well. My time and energy are better spent elsewhere.”
He has never been one to put much stock into others’ opinions of him; not as a child, and certainly not now that he has even more data to draw his conclusions from. Tobirama has a very small selection of people he actually cares about and it is their thoughts he holds in any regard. Nobody else matters in the larger scheme of things. It isn’t Tobirama’s job to maintain a network and to socialise so the clan is guaranteed wealthy clients. He’s the second son after all. So long as he performs his actual duties and fulfils contracts as required, he doesn’t have to think too hard about the rest.
“You should have seen the first few times he had to act as regent in my absence,” Hashirama says to his wife.
Tobirama frowns. “It’s not like I ever said anything to anyone.”
“It’s the face you’d make while not saying anything that was the problem, Tora.”
Mito laughs while Tobirama rolls his eyes and shoots a pointed glare at his brother. Hashirama is not deterred in the least, far too used to Tobirama’s irritation for it to even register as anything other than amusing to him. Instead, he launches into stories from their childhood, telling Mito about the trouble they’d get into as boys while Tobirama interjects with protests or more details every so often.
“We’ll have to swear you to secrecy after this, aneja,” Tobirama says seriously. “We’ve gotten away the bulk of the stunts we pulled. It’d be a shame to have to fess up after all this time.”
“You’re an accomplice to our crimes now,” Hashirama agrees with feigned seriousness.
“Ah, of course. The ideal bond between family members,” Mito comments drily. There is a soft clatter as she places her brush down. “It’s time for the needle now, Tobirama. Ready?”
He nods and then Mito is carefully pushing the ink into his skin with a needle. The sensation is odd. He can tell what is happening even though he can’t quite feel it. The most discomfort he feels is from holding himself still for so long. Perhaps he should have taken Mito’s suggestion to lie down from the start.
Nonetheless, the afternoon passes slowly with Mito working with quiet precision at his back and Hashirama chattering along to fill the silence, happy to carry the bulk of the conversation on his own while his companions just listen. Tobirama closes his eyes and lets the contentment in both their chakra signatures wash over him, indulging in a private game of trying to guess what Mito might be writing on his back in her combination of kanji, Devanagari and the adapted Phoenician script used on Uzushio.
“Which one was that?” he asks her.
“Devotion,” comes the quiet reply. She reaches for another spot on his back, her fingertips almost reverent against the ink. “Loyalty,” she pronounces. Memory. Protection. Care. Connection. Brother-mine. Dear-heart. Adored-one.
As she speaks, Hashirama’s chakra rises to blanket them both as though he cannot contain the embrace within him as he watches the two most important people in his life celebrate their family so freely. Tobirama closes his eyes and breathes out slowly.
It isn’t just that Mito designed a seal specifically to craft a channel from her chakra to his, allowing him to pull on her reserves should he ever need to in case of an emergency. It isn’t even that she chose a dragon or that Hashirama decided a gingko tree most apt to symbolise the bond between them.
It is that Mito sits at his unprotected back and paints on each individual dragon scale in the crimson ink she painstakingly mixed so it would match the exact colour of his eye once it settles under his skin. It is that Mito and Hashirama took an entire afternoon off in perhaps the busiest time of their lives between the building of the village and harvest season so they could sit with him. It is that she etches into him the love she and his brother feel for him so Tobirama may never go without or part from the truth of their hearts.
“It’s done,” Mito declares, placing her needle down and carefully removing the acupuncture needles keeping him numb. Tobirama goes to roll his shoulders but is held still by a gentle hand at his nape. “When shall I expect you to ink me in return?” Mito asks, and he can hear her smile despite not being able to turn and see it.
“I have the seal ready, but I can only lay the base in ink without running it through with chakra for now,” Tobirama answers, clearing his throat so his voice won’t come out as hoarse as it feels. “I thought it might be better to just wait.”
“What for?” Hashirama asks curiously.
Tobirama looks at his brother sidelong and blinks. “Aneja’s coils are shifting,” he says, frowning slightly because he’d assume this much would be obvious. “Anchoring a seal directly into them could be harmful.”
Mito shifts back behind him. “What,” she says.
“Shifting?” Hashirama repeats, sounding alarmed. “What do you mean they’re shifting?” He whirls around to stare at Mito with wide eyes as though searching for answers. She only turns to stare back at him.
It occurs to Tobirama that perhaps he assumed prematurely that they were all on the same page about this information. He didn’t want to mention that he knew since he figured the couple was keeping it quiet until they’d better come to terms with it, but now he must grapple with the obvious reality that they hadn’t said anything of it because they simply hadn’t known.
Awkwardly, Tobirama turns around so he can look at both of them when he says carefully, “Aneja, you are with child.”
Mito stares at him blankly while Hashirama gapes and lets out a sound remarkably akin to that of a tea kettle. Slowly, the couple turns to look at each other. Hashirama’s gaze drops to Mito’s stomach like he has never seen it before.
“You didn’t know,” Tobirama confirms. Wonderful. Exactly the kind of private moment he endeavoured to avoid intruding on by moving into a separate wing of their home. Perhaps it is time for him to consider moving to a different house entirely. On another continent preferably.
“I—” Mito sounds lost. “I’m late by a few weeks, but I wasn’t—” She turns to Tobirama, looking half-wonderous and half-disbelieving as she asks, “You’re sure?”
“I can sense how your chakra pathways have begun to alter their course to feed the new life that is beginning to take root within you, aneja,” he tells her gently. “I am sure.”
Mito nods slowly, swallowing. She faces Hashirama, a tentative smile coming to touch her lips. “We’re going to be parents,” she whispers.
Hashirama immediately bursts into tears. He all but launches himself over their low table so he can fling his arms around Mito’s neck and sob into her shoulder. “We’re going to be parents!” he wails.
Leaning her head against Hashirama’s, Mito rubs his back soothingly. Her other hand reaches out to curl around Tobirama’s wrist as she meets his gaze and offers a watery smile. “Tobirama-oji-san, huh?” she says.
Tobirama smiles at that. He has memories of his niblings; it will be nice to formally welcome them into this world when it is time. He wonders in what ways they might differ thanks to growing up in a different peacetime, being raised by people who are just a touch different than that other life.
He can’t wait to meet them.
Dear Kagami-kun,
Thank you for your letter. I hope my reply arrives with sufficient haste as per your standards. Building a village while trying to run a clan and prepare it for mass exodus does indeed occupy a great deal of my time these days, but nevertheless, since our correspondence is important to me, I shall endeavour to write back sooner.
I am glad to learn you are doing well in your classes, barring meditation. Not everyone is suited to sitting still and trying to empty their minds. Admittedly, I struggled much the same way when I was your age. My master turned me towards practicing physical forms of meditation such as kyudo and kata. Perhaps you will find them useful as well.
My week has been productive. We did manage to finalise the layout for the pipes and hire a contractor to oversee their installation. It is a complicated task to work out the logistics of a new settlement, and we are on a tight schedule now that winter will be upon us in a few months. As shinobi, none of us are specialised in such matters, and so, we must study to ensure we are making informed decisions. Being a leader does require frequent reference to all sorts of information so one can maintain well-rounded knowledge to ensure smooth governance.
Personally, I have always enjoyed studying. However, I understand your preference for doing things to learn them. It is why I am so fond of experimentation. If you’d like, maybe we can arrange for you to visit the Senju compound. I can introduce you to the basics of kyudo and show you around some of my personal laboratory.
As for Izuna. We are in fact truly something like friends now. I believe that Izuna is never not at least passively praying on someone’s downfall, but he’s also thoroughly occupied with vetting and contracting merchants and builders for the village-to-be. I doubt he has much time to sleep or eat, let alone relax, but I will endeavour to get him to do so for your sake. Perhaps he would like to accompany you if we manage to convince your mother to allow you a visit to my home. I did offer to show him around once, so I might as well make good on that.
I do not think it is wise or respectful for you to call your clan heir ‘lame’, but your secrets are always safe with me.
I look forward to hearing from you again.
Sincerely,
Senju Tobirama
Hyuuga Hisae is a rather quiet woman.
Since the wife of the current Hyuuga clan head’s wife succumbed to illness a few years ago, Hisae has had to take on the duties of the Lady of the Clan as she is the second highest ranking member of the family what with being Hyuuga Hanae’s only sister. Despite the considerable power that should afford her, however, Hisae is meek and unobtrusive. When Mito personally invites her for an autumn viewing of the Senju groves, Hisae appears almost startled to be directly addressed, which is perhaps fair considering how open Mito has been in her dislike for the Hyuuga.
And yet, as she greets Mito now with large and uncertain eyes, there is something about her that Mito wants to believe in.
“Thank you for the invite, Mito-dono,” Hisae says, her voice soft. “I must admit I was rather surprised to receive it.”
‘There it is,’ Mito thinks with a thin smile. For all that Hisae appears shy and afraid, she is startlingly open. There is a quiet kind of sincerity and bravery to her; she just needs to be given the chance to shine.
“Not at all,” Mito demurs. “You see, I had a bit of an ulterior motive in inviting you, Hisae-dono.”
Hisae is too disciplined to outright shift in discomfort at that, but she stiffens ever so slightly. “Is that so?” she asks, avoiding Mito’s gaze and turning to stare up at the trees they are seated among in an open pavilion. “What did Mito-dono require of me?”
Mito leans forward slightly, hand coming to rest against her belly and voice softening as she says, “I am with child.”
“Oh!” Hisae’s eyes widen slightly, gaze flicking from Mito’s abdomen to her eyes. “Congratulations. May your child be born healthy and blessed. Did you just find out?”
“Yes,” Mito confirms. “Only a week has passed.” She allows her shoulder to shift inwards, making herself smaller by the slightest degree. “Hisae-dono, you have a child, yes?”
Hisae smiles sweetly. “I do,” she says, the affection is so evident in her voice. “Sai-kun will turn three this winter.”
“All the other Ladies of the Clan in our alliance are much older than you and I. It has been quite some time since they had to raise children, and the young mothers around me are…” Mito trails off.
“Not of status,” Hisae provides delicately.
Mito smiles awkwardly. “No,” she agrees. “Both Hashirama and I have lost our own mothers. There is no one else I could ask.” She purses her lips and sighs. “I just wished to speak to someone who might understand what it’s like to be in my position.”
Hisae’s face goes soft with understanding. “Of course,” she says. “You must be nervous.”
“A little,” Mito admits honestly. “There is life growing in me and soon I will have a small person depending on me to do right by them. It’s a bit frightening.”
“Ah.” Hisae tilts her head, seemingly mulling over her words before she asks, “Was it a surprise?”
“The pregnancy?” Mito laughs. “Not quite. We weren’t actively trying but we’d spoken about it and neither of us was opposed really. Was yours a surprise?”
Hisae smiles wryly. “Planned,” she says. Probably part of her marriage contract then.
“What is your son like?” Mito asks. “You said his name is Sai?”
Hisae lights up entirely. It’s the right thing to say because it brings her out of her shell and she forgets to be nervous or cautious when she is talking about her beloved child. It is clear that she finds great joy in motherhood. It’s almost infectious; Mito finds herself even more excited for when she will have her own baby in her arms.
“And your son gets along with his cousin? Do they fight?” Mito asks, refilling their cups with the sweet chrysanthemum tea she pulled from Hashirama’s collection for the occasion.
It’s subtle but Hisae stiffens slightly at the inquiry. “No,” she says after a moment. “They don’t fight. They’re both well behaved children. Sai-kun is a bit younger than his cousin sister so they don’t play together often.”
So, Sai isn’t often allowed to play as an equal with his cousin of the main line, and even if they do play, he can’t exactly fight or harm his clan heir. There are already power imbalances in the dynamic between them.
“That makes sense,” Mito says instead of voicing any of her private conclusions. “Will he start training soon?”
“It is...about time,” Hisae says, pursing her lips. Sai will receive the cursed seal soon then.
Mito studies the woman across from her carefully. “Children do grow up so quickly,” she comments.
Hisae sighs. “They truly do. Sometimes, I wish—” She cuts herself off and frowns down at her cup.
“I know,” Mito says gently. “You only ever want what’s best for him. That’s natural.”
“Yes,” Hisae whispers. “I only wish for him to grow up happy.”
“Of course.”
Part of Mito wants to probe further, wants to push and plant ideas and see her agenda to fruition. It’s far too early for that, however. She’s not trying to scare Hisae off so soon. It will have to be a little while yet.
Instead, they sip at their tea and watch the autumn leaves in silence.
Izuna is possibly, maybe, slightly panicking. A lot.
To be very fair, he thinks he’s having an entirely justified reaction to realising that for whatever reason, when he wasn’t paying attention, some wires must have gotten crossed in his idiot brain and he has consequently managed to develop feelings for one Senju Tobirama, heir to the Senju clan, a.k.a, the man Izuna has spent a not insubstantial amount of time trying to kill.
Sure, they’re at peace now and could even tentatively be considered friends for a given definition of the word, but Izuna isn’t completely daft. He’s pretty sure that a history of attempted homicide is bound to throw a wrench in any plans of potentially romancing Tobirama into accepting his advances.
Not that Izuna has any plans of course. This is all just a result of a temporary fit of insanity and self-sabotage. A passing lapse in the good judgement Izuna is so well known for.
Except, he realises rather hysterically, that’s it’s really not. It makes such a frightening amount of sense that some distant part of Izuna’s lizard brain—the part that has checked out of reality and is vacationing on a remote island somewhere with some fruity wine in hand—is surprised that he didn’t come to this realisation sooner.
Tobirama is exactly what any Uchiha in possession of more than one braincell to rub together would want in a partner. He’s intelligent, aloof, and wears his lethality like it’s a second skin. He’s good with children and polite to his elders while simultaneously managing to also come off as a sanctimonious asshole. He has crimson eyes like the sun at dawn, and cheekbones that could cut glass. He comes from a strong shinobi clan and is its second-in-command, making him Izuna’s direct equal. Izuna’s evil grandmother likes him. He looks good in blue.
He fits the picture so well, it’s actually kind of disturbing and vaguely makes Izuna want to go find a nice brick wall to slam his head against so he can put himself out of his misery.
And then to make it worse, Izuna realises with no small amount of mortification that, without even consciously meaning to, he has been flirting with Tobirama and getting jealous when he has absolutely no business doing either of those things in relation to the guy he has been trying to kill since he was eight. Like hitting rock bottom with the whole feelings thing wasn’t bad enough, Izuna just had to go and start digging.
He doesn’t even want to imagine what will happen if Tobirama catches on. Izuna is just going to have to fake his death if it comes to that. He could run away and become a farmer or something. He’d be good at that. He likes cows.
It’s not like Izuna hasn’t felt attraction or entertained passing flights of fancy here and there over the years. If it were anyone other than Tobirama, Izuna would probably find the ordeal kind of exciting. He likes the game of flirting and attraction; he’s good at it, and it’s never been anything more than a little spot of fun. It’s never been real.
But something in Izuna knows instinctively that this won’t be like that.
He can’t flirt with Tobirama, have a quick fling, and then call it quits once one or both of them gets bored. Tobirama has been too constant in Izuna’s life for that. Nothing that involves him could ever be inconsequential. Izuna is too used to watching him, to chasing and demanding that he chase back. He’s not going to be able to let go. If Izuna is allowed to have this in any capacity at all, he’s going to fall in love and there will be nothing that could rip that out of him.
It is a terrifying thing to contend with, to know that he is on the cusp of something that could leave him irrevocably changed. He doesn’t know what to do with that.
And then, before he can begin to figure it out, the invite to the Senju compound arrives.
Izuna has barely started to consider acting like he lost the invitation when Kagami appears at his doorstep seemingly out of thin air to chatter excitedly at him about their impending visit, assuming by himself that Izuna will naturally be accepting. Izuna opens his mouth to tell the boy he’s too busy to go when Kagami’s mother also appears similarly out of thin air—did Tobirama teach them to teleport?—and thanks Izuna in advance for watching out for her son, citing how she has already made plans to get some extra work done that day.
All this to say, Izuna finds himself staring up at the massive wooden gates of the Senju compound with very little clue as to how he got here. He feels an odd sense of foreboding come over him; like a fate being set in stone.
It’s not too late yet, is it? No one has even noticed them. He has money. He could just...go.
“Izuna-sama!”
Farewell fleeting hope.
Izuna forces a smile onto his face and greets Senju Itsumi, who he recognises as one of the healers who had been sent to aid the Uchiha with their outbreak. He dips his head just enough to be polite. “Itsumi-san.”
She smiles at him, waving hello to Kagami as well. “You’re a bit earlier than expected.”
“Is that a problem?” Izuna asks, brow rising. “We can wait if it is.”
Itsumi smiles apologetically. “You might have to,” she admits as she gestures for them to follow her, waving at the guards as they pass through the gates and step into the compound proper. “Not for long though! Tobirama-sama is giving a demonstration at the temple archery range today, but it should be finishing soon.”
Kagami lights up, bounding forward to aim his best puppy eyes at her. “Can we see the demonstration?” he asks excitedly. “Tobirama-san promised to show me how to shoot!”
“Didn’t he invite us to tour his lab?” Izuna asks, easily reaching for the back of Kagami’s collar under the guise of smoothing it down when it really is a silent reminder to behave.
Kagami pouts up at him. “Can’t we do both, Izuna-sama?” he asks even as he obediently drifts closer to Izuna’s side, undoubtedly aware of the sheer weight of the attention being focused on them.
There may be peace between the Uchiha and Senju, but Izuna and Kagami are still the first Uchiha to set foot on Senju grounds since the night of the attack on the Senju compound. The Senju barriers that went up as a response to that attack are still up, albeit not entirely and allowing for a few paths through that change as per some order no one can seem to work out.
It’s interesting to walk through the compound now. Surreal almost. Izuna would never have imagined back then that he would return as an actual guest to the clan.
He looks around slowly now that he actually has the opportunity to take his time and do so. Clusters of quaint buildings made of dark wood and white stone, the bustle of people in clothes of earthen tones, rows of trees already turning with autumn’s colours. There are fountains and sculptures in the streets and bushes of cheerful seasonal flowers. Murals on seemingly random buildings. Music drifting into the air from somewhere further away. So different to the Uchiha compound and yet similar in the ways that truly matter.
At least now he knows how Tobirama must have felt when he first saw the Uchiha compound.
As they approach the heart of the compound, the path they were walking on leads into an open circle with a massive sacred fig tree at its centre, surrounded by a small but well-maintained garden. Colourful papers dot its massive sprawling branches and Izuna realises that they’re prayers. The tree still sports its cheerful green foliage despite the autumn that has settled over them.
“How old is that tree?” Kagami asks, craning his head to gape at the canopy that sprawls above them. “I’ve never seen a trunk so big.”
Itsumi smiles, an obvious hint of pride in the way she straightens. “It’s as old as the Senju clan,” she informs.
Izuna blinks. “Is this the tree your founder turned into?”
“Someone turned into a tree?” Kagami gasps, narrowing his eyes at Izuna in that way he does when he’s trying to judge if Izuna is lying to him or not.
“You know the story,” Itsumi observes with some surprise.
“Tobirama told me,” Izuna says, looking away from her.
Itsumi hums. “Well, yes, this is that tree. They say that when Kata-sama—that is Hashirama-sama’s late mother—was pregnant, she would come here and pray everyday for the health of her child, and that is why the spirits blessed Hashirama-sama with his mokuton.” Leaning closer, she lowers her voice and adds, “I heard it was a particularly difficult pregnancy. They barely managed to make it to term, and she lost too much blood in labour. It really is a miracle that they managed to save Hashirama-sama at all.”
Kagami, who has no interest in Hashirama simply because he isn’t Tobirama, interrupts to ask, “What story?”
Which is how Itsumi launches into recounting the tale of how the Senju clan believes its bloodline limit came to be, effectively passing the time till they’ve walked through an orchard of fruit trees and come upon a set of stairs leading up to a tori gate beyond which lies the Hachiman shrine. It is the built into the side of a small hill and overlooks the entire Senju compound, distant enough from the hustle and bustle below to seem as though it occupies a different world.
This is where Tobirama received his early education, learning strategy and rhetoric and laying the foundations for the man he has become today.
Despite the apprehension Izuna holds for his own feelings, he can’t help the sense of quiet awe that befalls him.
“This way,” Itsumi says, leading them past the grounds where they take off their sandals and follow the porch that wraps around the building until it takes them to the archery range nestled at the back.
There is a gaggle of children around Kagami’s age clustered along the back wall, but Izuna hardly notices them. Instead, he finds his head pleasantly blank and his gaze fixed upon Tobirama as the man stands in perfect form, holding his draw, muscles flexing under skin from the strain.
“You make mistakes when you focus on the target instead of your breath. Align your body to the bow, no slouching, and pull from your back and shoulder instead of just your arm,” Tobirama is saying. “Inhale with the draw, hold, and then fire on the exhale.”
He releases the arrow and hits dead centre. His captive audience bursts into applause, including Itsumi and Kagami.
Izuna barely notices, too caught on the fact that Tobirama has shucked off a sleeve and tied it back, leaving a swathe of pale skin on display as only half his torso remains covered. A crimson tattoo stares back at Izuna from where it is nestled along the bump of Tobirama’s spine—a winding dragon in the likeness of the thrice-cursed suiton jutsu Tobirama is so fond of, twisting around gingko leaves, its scales hiding words in kanji and several scripts Izuna doesn’t recognise.
‘This was a mistake,’ Izuna concludes with the clarity of a man being marched to the gallows.
Tobirama cranes his head slightly, just enough to be able to look at his guests in his peripheral vision. His eyes catch the morning sunlight and glitter like rubies, and Izuna contemplates throwing himself off the hill so he can roll into the river and drift away to new lands.
He is so unbelievably fucked.
The Senju heir passes his bow over to a miko who comes to collect it, absently slipping his arm back into his sleeve and readjusting his clothing as he is immediately accosted by children who each spout questions at a mile per minute.
Izuna catches himself before he can mourn the fact that he didn’t have his sharingan on because that is not a thought he needs to be entertaining right now. Or ever, really.
“There’s a dragon on his back,” Kagami whispers to him, bouncing on his toes, eyes gleaming.
“I know,” Izuna says back mournfully.
“Tobirama-san looks cool with a bow,” Kagami continues.
“I know.”
Izuna has the sinking feeling that dragon is going to haunt him forever.
They spend most of the morning in Tobirama’s lab where he allows Kagami to perform some simple reactions-based experiments under his careful guidance while Izuna wanders around and peers at his various instruments.
After that, they break for lunch on the docks by the lake, soaking in the afternoon sun and watching the ducks paddling close by. Tobirama diligently tells Kagami innocuous facts about the birds while Izuna teases the boy by comparing him to the little ducklings much to Kagami’s annoyance. When Tobirama fails to hide his laugh behind a cough in time, Kagami shoots him a look of utter betrayal that has Izuna cackling so hard he nearly rolls right off the docks.
Now, Kagami has managed to fall asleep, head resting on Tobirama’s lap with one hand fisted into the man’s hakama and Izuna’s haori laid out over him.
“He’ll probably be upset with himself later for missing out on spending more time with you,” Izuna remarks.
Tobirama hums, smiling slightly as he runs his fingers through Kagami’s hair. He leans down and noses at the boy’s hairline, brushing his lips over Kagami’s forehead as he murmurs, “Sweet child.”
One of these days, Izuna thinks the White Demon is just going to spirit Kagami away and refuse to give him back. Kagami will probably be the most willing kidnappee in the world too.
“That’s a Hatake thing, isn’t it?” Izuna asks, watching Tobirama out of the corner of his eye. “The nose thing you do. I think I saw a few of them do something similar in Hinan.”
Tobirama blinks, as though surprised that Izuna noticed. “Yes,” he says after a moment.
“Scenting?” Like wolves do. Izuna hadn’t been able to place it first, but he has figured it out since. The Hatake did it as a greeting and passing form of affection between close friends from what he remembers. Brushing noses or wrists over skin, laying a casual claim to warn other predators that they’re not alone and are cared for.
“I actually don’t even have the senses for it. My sense of smell is fairly ordinary,” Tobirama reveals, looking amused.
“Really? Even though you’re half-Hatake?” Izuna asks.
Shrugging, Tobirama says, “Our guess is that my innate sensing ability is some mutated combination of the Senju-Hatake genes. Kawarama had been the same—his range was much smaller than mine, but he could parse through emotions in signatures without even trying. Itama was the only one to inherit my mother’s nose.” He tips his head back and squints up at the sky. “It’s more a learned behaviour than an instinct, I suppose. Anija does it too sometimes.”
“You laid claim to an Uchiha child even before we had peace,” Izuna observes quietly. Tobirama stills next to him. Had they not been sitting so closely, Izuna wouldn’t have even noticed. He turns to look at Tobirama properly. “You’re softer than I expected you to be, Senju.”
Tobirama appears startled for half a second. He turns his head, looks back at Izuna, and then says, “Maybe.”
His full attention feels like a physical weight, and in light of what Izuna has now realised, part of him wants to shy away from it. He doesn’t. He has grown indulgent without noticing and now the larger part of him doesn’t ever want that weight to lift.
“My brother—Akio—he used to say that softness was a weakness.” Izuna doesn’t know why he tells Tobirama this, but it’s like the words are pulled out him and he is helpless to stop them.
Tobirama doesn’t react visibly. “What do you think?”
Izuna purses his lips. “It’s scary,” he admits after a while.
Sympathy softens the lines of Tobirama’s face. “And?” he prompts, voice low.
Izuna makes a noncommittal sound. After a beat of silence, he offers, “I know you’re not weak.” He swallows. Whispers, “You’re brave.” And what Izuna thinks of as bravery in Tobirama feels like inadequacy in himself. Like an invitation to despair that makes his skin itch.
Tobirama’s eyebrows rise. His face is unreadable.
It feels like Izuna’s heart is caught in his throat; like he could open his mouth and Tobirama would see it beating inside.
“Not really,” Tobirama says after a moment. He looks away. Izuna tries not to feel like it’s a loss. “It never stops being scary. Never comes easy.”
The irony of him saying that while winding one of Kagami’s curls around his finger makes Izuna want to choke on a laugh.
“Doesn’t stop you,” he points out, letting their shoulders bump together and nodding at Kagami.
Tobirama’s mouth twitches into a smile. “It does sometimes,” he says. “It shouldn’t.”
Scoffing, Izuna gives up on the illusion of decorum and lets himself fall flat on his back. “In an ideal world, maybe,” he says wryly, linking his hands behind his head.
Tobirama lets out a huff, a not-laugh, and nudges Izuna’s foot with his own. “You ought to try being more optimistic.” He doesn’t even sound sincere as he says it.
Izuna snorts, turns his head just so and brings the Senju back into his field of vision. “It’s like you’re trying to ruin my life.”
“Could you be any more dramatic?” Tobirama says, peering over his shoulder to ensure Izuna has a full view of him rolling his eyes.
“Probably,” Izuna says, closing his eyes and grinning.
It’s a conundrum as old as their very profession, and they both know there’s no real right or wrong answer to the question of vulnerability. From one perspective, it is a weakness, and yet, it is the most undeniably human thing in the world to seek connection. One does not live if they do not love; not truly, anyways.
To an Uchiha, love is both an affliction and a reason to live. Disease and devotion go hand in hand for them, and they live and die by what they love. There’s no recovering from something like that.
Izuna is also painfully aware of how little choice there is in the matter. Love is a hopeless act of violence and worship in equal measure; it can morph and shift and grow or shrink, but to undo it is not possible. Not for people like Izuna. He can give in or he can refrain, but he cannot outrun that which lives inside him.
“I’ve never been in love before,” he says into the silence. “There hasn’t been time for something like that. I never wanted to connect with anyone in that way either. I’ve been careful.”
“I see,” Tobirama says slowly, carefully. Izuna can feel his eyes on him.
He doesn’t say, ‘I think I could be.’ He doesn’t say, ‘I think it’s happening right now, in this very moment. I can’t stop it. You terrify me.’ He doesn’t say, ‘I could try to bury you in every place I will ever go but you will always end up back in my hands.’ He doesn’t say, ‘If I asked, do you think you could want me too?’
He imagines what that would even look like. An endless string of moments like this perhaps—brave and achingly honest. Intentional. He thinks of Tobirama’s steadfast devotion and focused intensity, and wonders what it would be like to have that for himself. He pictures a quiet house where they could coexist. Tobirama would learn and teach and tell Izuna about gravity and ellipses and the immensity of the universe. Izuna would, in return, tell him about his favourite plays and books and write him music.
For a moment, this imaginary life he has spun in his mind feels so real that Izuna’s breath catches in his throat and he mourns for what he has never had. Suddenly, he is aching with the want for something soft. Something like birdsong and sunlight and river silt.
His eyes snap open and Tobirama is still there, edged further into his field of vision. He is still watching, contemplating.
And it's like learning to see where Izuna was once blind.
Terrifying and enticing. Immense beyond imagining.
He thinks, ‘I could be brave if it meant you would be there with me. I could wait if it meant you would never look away.’
Tobirama blinks and leans forward by the barest measure, just enough to block the sunlight shining directly onto Izuna’s face with his own shadow. It makes him look aglow with the sun at his back, pulls him into focus, makes his hair gleam like silver.
And Izuna, heart in his throat, opens his mouth and says, “Your eyes are like doves.”