Tidal Locking
Hyuuga Sai is a quiet child. It is not a good thing.
He flinches away from sudden movements, avoids touch that isn’t Hisae’s, and he does not breathe a single word in Mito’s presence. If Hisae is not within reach, he will panic but he won’t cry out. In the few minutes it takes Mito to examine his seal upon Hisae’s request, he is near catatonic.
“He’s been like this for nearly a month,” Hisae says later at night, after Sai has been put to bed, her hands twisted in her lap.
“The seal was used to punish him,” Mito concludes grimly.
“Yes,” Hisae confirms, voice barely above a whisper. “He’d been playing with Himeko-sama, and it must have gotten too rough. She ended up spraining her wrist. Sai was taken away to be personally disciplined by my brother.” She folds over, burying her face in her hands, sobbing out, “I could do nothing to stop him.”
Mito grimaces, laying a gentle hand on Hisae’s back. “They would have only punished you too for rebelling against the main house. Don’t blame yourself.”
Hisae shakes her head. “Sai came back practically a shell of himself. He doesn’t want to eat anything. He sleeps fitfully and wakes up screaming. I couldn’t get him to talk for two weeks. It’s like he has disappeared into himself, and I don’t know how to bring him back.” Her face is wet with tears when she raises her head. “The first time he saw the seal on his face again after the incident, he was inconsolable for hours. My baby is hurting so much, Mito-san, and it kills me that I can do nothing to lessen the pain.”
As always, Mito’s first instinct is one of anger. The idealist within her wants to rage and demand justice of the Hyuuga elders and leaders who reinforce and perpetuate generational systemic abuse, stripping away individuality and imposing total obedience upon those they have a duty to look after. Children as young as Sai—with unstable chakra coils, soft bodies and softer hearts—being ‘disciplined’ so harshly as an excuse to instil fear and ensure that the status quo is maintained. Uzushio’s most sacred art form being misused to do it. Mito seethes. Here is a problem and she is equipped with the tools to dismantle the very key that allows it to exist. And yet—
It is not her place to do so.
She breathes and pushes away the anger. She might not like bearing witness to the injustice of it all, but it is still Hisae and her son’s pain that Mito would be infringing upon. She would be putting her rage over the generations of Hyuuga branch family members who deserved the right to seek freedom for themselves. She cannot force herself into this matter.
“There is no undoing what has already been done, Hisae-san,” Mito says gravely. “I am so sorry that this has happened to young Sai. However, he is young and, more importantly, he has you to love and support him. It may take time and effort, and you will have to be unendingly patient with him, but there is hope that he may come back from this.”
Hisae nods mutely, wiping at her tears fruitlessly. Then, she says, “But it could always happen again.” She lifts her head, gaze unseeing. “The next time he does something they don’t like, this will happen again. Sai will never know safety in his own home. He will feel their eyes watching everywhere he goes. He will know just why and how he is lesser than his cousin, and he will never stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Hisae smiles and there is nothing happy about it. “I would know.”
‘What must it be like to lose a brother while he is still alive?’ Mito wonders.
“I can nullify the seal,” she says after a moment.
Head snapping to look at her, Hisae asks, wide-eyed, “Truly?”
Mito nods. “Truly. However, the seal is a brand and there is little I can do about the mark it will leave.” She waits for a beat, and then points out, “It is a dangerous position for you, however, Hisae-san. Someone could notice that Sai’s seal is deactivated, and you could be accused of treason.”
A shaky breath leaves Hisae. “I know,” she whispers, looking like a ghost of the woman Mito came to recognise. “I know,” she repeats, voice breaking around another sob. “I had hoped Sai could just keep his head down and live without ever knowing the pain of having a loved one wield the cursed seal against him. I had hoped the mark would only ever be a mark, but—” She stops and swallows, lips trembling. “There’s no other way I can think of to help him. I know what that means for me—for my husband and Sai and every other person I love—but I can’t just do nothing anymore. Not when Sai needs me.”
“No one deserves to be sealed in this way; children least of all—as if you are all criminals or livestock.” Mito bites the inside of her cheek. It is now or never. “Hisae-san, you could be the one to change things for your clan.”
Hisae’s eyes widen. “Me?”
“Yes. If you consent to it, I will alter your seal too. When you leave, you can take the altered formula with you.”
“Mito-san, what you are suggesting—”
“Find a sealmaster you can trust,” Mito cuts her off, knowing she has one precious chance to make this happen. “Find clansmen who feel as you do and want better for their children. Free them. You are the only one in the position to do it.”
“We will all be killed!” Hisae exclaims, panic in her countenance. “If even one of us gets caught, there will be no mercy for daring to rebel so openly. There will be no home for us to turn to. The main family has access to the vaults even if I somehow manage to turn majority of the clan against them—and there is no guarantee that I could. They will simply hire someone else to hunt us. There will be no surviving this.”
“You will not be alone, Hisae-san,” Mito stresses sincerely, shifting to take Hisae’s hands in her own. “If you need somewhere to go, I will ensure you find sanctuary here with me. The Uzumaki and Senju will support you. Madara-san is in agreement with us on this matter as well. Certainly, there will be others, but our might alone will prove enough to keep the Hyuuga main family in line.”
Hisae stares at their connected hands. “You planned this.”
“I hoped for this,” Mito corrects her. “You could join any one of our clans. You could even form a clan of your own and continue to live in Konohagakure once it is established. If you wished it, I would personally guide you to Uzushio and you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding you past its borders. You have options, Hisae-san.”
“Would anyone even want to follow me?” Hisae questions. “I am not strong or charismatic or brave. I have never had to lead. Why would they ever trust me enough to betray their clan head? Why would they put their lives in my hands?”
Mito meets Hisae’s eyes and states, “Because you are strong and brave enough to risk everything for the sake of your son. How many mothers have wished to do as you did, Hisae-san? Do you think none of them would risk everything for the slightest chance that their children could be free? They will follow you because you will be a living example of what they could have.” Raising her chin, Mito continues, “You are Lady of the Clan. You are the bridge between the main family and its branches. Your brother might oversee external trade, shinobi training, and diplomatic relations with other clans, but you solve internal disputes and oversee education. You watch over the families, make sure the markets run smoothly, and ensure that everyone is fed and clothed sufficiently. They may fear your brother, but they will never know or trust him as well as they do you. You are a powerful woman, Hisae, even if you have never thought to see it in yourself.”
“I—” Hisae bites her lip. “What if I fail?”
“You cannot,” Mito says simply. “I can change your son’s seal, Hisae-san, but know that it will change the trajectory of the rest of your life. You will do or you will die. You must decide soon; your excuse to visit me on a whim must already seem flimsy and we cannot afford to draw scrutiny so soon.”
Shoulders trembling, Hisae closes her eyes, tears escaping them. “It’s not fair,” she says and then she is folding into Mito, clinging like a child would as loud, broken sobs wrack her frame.
Mito sighs, holding Hisae together.
“I know.”
In the end, they decide not to alter Sai’s seal just yet. Mito still rages but she will not endanger a child to assuage it. Instead, she draws out her modified design on a piece of paper and includes step-by-step instructions for whichever sealmaster is entrusted with it.
She bends down and offers it to Sai who only stares at her with big, lilac eyes. “This is for you,” she tells him softly. “It will make sure that you can never be hurt like that again.”
There is no change in the emptiness of his face, but after several heartbeats, he reaches out tentatively and accepts the sealed envelope being handed to him. Mito smiles and rises to her feet.
“I cannot thank you enough,” Hisae says, reaching for Mito’s hand and squeezing it.
Mito squeezes back. “You don’t have to. We are friends, aren’t we?”
The smile on Hisae’s face is shaky and small, but true. “Yes.” She hesitates, glancing down at Sai and placing a gentle hand on his head. “As for what we talked about the other night—I promise you I will think about it.”
Exhaling slowly, Mito nods. It’s a start.
“Good luck, Hisae-san.”
“Farewell, Mito-san.”
“This is the worst,” Izuna grumbles, scrubbing at his shirt viciously.
Tobirama nods his sympathetic agreement, frowning down at his fingers that have turned red and wrinkly from doing his washing in the freezing cold river water. He is greatly looking forward to being back on dry ground where he can make judicious use of heating jutsus to dry off. It feels like the chill has settled right into his bones—it is entirely unpleasant.
“Why can’t you invent some sort of laundry jutsu?” Izuna demands, using the back of his hand to rub at the red tip of his nose, all but pouting in displeasure.
“Why can’t you do it?” Tobirama retorts.
Pausing to level him with an unimpressed stare, Izuna points out, “You want me to invent a suiton jutsu?”
Tobirama shrugs. “If I can learn to use all five elements, so can you. You already know fuuton, and doton is the opposite of your natural affinity, so suiton is the logical next step.”
Izuna rolls his eyes. “Maybe I’ll use that stupid water dragon on you then. See how you like it.”
Lifting a brow, Tobirama says, “It can’t be that bad.” Izuna is proficient in using both fire and air, which means he should have no trouble drying himself off. Of course, it is inconvenient on a battlefield, but Izuna has undoubtedly faced more irritating tricks. Tobirama would know—he’s the one who employed those tricks after all.
Evidently, Izuna disagrees with this assessment, however, because a dark glint of stubbornness flickers in his eyes, and then he is smacking his sopping wet shirt against the current specifically so the water splashes right across Tobirama’s front.
There is stillness as the shock wears off and the cold sets in. Izuna bursts into laughter, one hand still clutching the offending shirt while he uses the other to point rudely at Tobirama. Tobirama’s eyes narrow.
“Tell me, Tobirama,” Izuna coughs out, “was it that bad?”
Tobirama sighs and looks down at his wet clothes mournfully. Izuna laughs harder. Well, then.
The balled-up shirt Tobirama had been washing nails the distracted Uchiha in the face. Tobirama grabs it before it can drift away too far downstream. Izuna is still gaping at him, wide-eyed, face drained of all laughter. Tobirama smirks at him.
That seems to snap him out of it. Izuna’s face sets into a grin that is a close cousin to a sneer. “It is so on,” he says lowly, and that’s all the warning he gives Tobirama before launching himself at him in a tackle that has them both crashing into the river shallows.
Tobirama wheezes as the wind is knocked out of him, but there’s no time to pause and catch his breath because Izuna is already moving again, splashing Tobirama in the face with a wicked cackle. Tobirama curses and splashes back, shoving Izuna off him and into the river with some difficulty because his rival is determined to try and drown him. With a one-handed seal, and barely holding onto the poor shirt he’d been washing, Tobirama utilises a water whip to smack Izuna in the face.
“That’s cheating!” Izuna accuses, wildly pushing away the wet strands of hair that cling to his cheeks.
“Perhaps,” Tobirama acknowledges. His lips twitch. “What will you do about it?”
Izuna purses his lips as he straightens to sit back on his haunches. “Well,” he says, looking very solemn, and all of a sudden, his hands are on Tobirama’s shoulders and pushing him back into the water, shoving Tobirama’s face under for only a moment before retreating to loom over him with a wide grin, “maybe just that.”
Tobirama splutters and pushes himself up on his elbows. He takes in the flush of cold and exertion that sits across Izuna’s cheeks, the bright spark of mischief in his obsidian eyes, and sighs. “Fair enough,” he acknowledges, reaching out swiftly to grab Izuna’s collar and yank him down face first into the water. “Now we’re even,” he decides.
Izuna comes up laughing, his hair plastered to his skull. “I’ll learn suiton,” he announces, “and once I do, you’d better watch out, Senju. You’re number one on my hitlist.”
“Provided hypothermia doesn’t take us both out first.”
“As if a spiteful bastard like you would ever let the cold be how you die,” Izuna snorts, smacking his shoulder.
“I don’t know,” Tobirama comments, unconvinced, as he starts the arduous process of hauling himself back to his feet. “I would say this was a battle valiantly fought.”
He looks down to where Izuna is sat in the water and looking up at him expectantly. Tobirama considers offering his hand to help the Uchiha up, decides that Izuna is far likelier to pull him back down instead, and summarily busies himself with unsuccessfully attempting to wring the water out of his clothes.
Izuna pouts and stands up by himself. He’s untying his hair to squeeze the water out of it when his eyes land on the shirt Tobirama is gripping. He curses—something archaic that has Tobirama blinking—and whips around to glare into the water, sharingan spinning as he looks around frantically. “I’ve lost my shirt!”
“You’ve lost your shirt,” Tobirama repeats incredulously.
Izuna buries his face in his hands. “It will probably reach the thrice-damned capital before we do.”
“At least it will be clean,” Tobirama points out, attempting to sound reasonable and landing squarely on entertained instead.
Lifting his face up only to shoot Tobirama a look of betrayal, Izuna intones seriously, “I hate you; I hope you know that.”
“I’ll be sure to cry into my pillow about it tonight.”
Despite everything, Izuna snorts. “You do that.”
Tobirama grins. “Come on, let’s get out of the water before we lose our toes.”
“I’ve lost enough today as it is,” Izuna agrees sombrely. “I don’t need my toes making it to the capital before me too.”
Tobirama—unable to help himself—laughs.
They arrive at the capital with all their limbs accounted for.
Izuna brandishes the scroll he’s carrying which bears the Daimyo of Fire’s personal seal and is clearly addressed to Asahi Yama, the Daimyo of Iron, and the guards at the city gates arrange for them to be escorted to the House of Ecclesia where the Daimyo’s office is located while their horses are led away to the city stables.
The House is a large building at the heart of the capital, made of gleaming white marble with a cherry red wooden roof bearing carvings that follow the history of the land. There is nothing overtly flashy about it, but it stands tall with a quiet pride. Izuna decides he likes it much better than the Daimyo of Fire’s palace. Then again, he supposes that both structures serve different purposes—the Palace of Golden Flames is the Daimyo’s main residence and the country’s primary court, whereas the House of Ecclesia is a purely official building because the Daimyo of Iron’s personal home is elsewhere. This is mainly because, in Fire, the Daimyo inherits his position through his bloodline, and in Iron, the Daimyo is elected to the position.
Despite the elections being held every five years, Asahi Yama has held onto his seat for nearly twenty years. The samurai conflict may be giving the entire country trouble, but Yama’s policies are practically the only thing that have kept Land of Iron running through all of the turmoil and he is a respected ruler for it.
He stands to greet them when they are brought into his office, wearing a friendly smile. “Welcome! I have been looking forward to your arrival. I hope your journey wasn’t too difficult. I am aware that the weather might be colder than you are used to here.”
“It was no trouble at all, Asahi-sama,” Izuna waves off the concern with a beatific smile. “Allow me to cut to the chase: I come bearing a message from our honourable Daimyo.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Yama accepts the scroll from Izuna, breaking its seal and sliding it out of its container right away. His eyes scan over the words quickly and he is grinning by the time he reaches the end of the missive. “You have brought me most excellent news, my friends. I believe this is grounds for a celebration!”
Izuna dips his head and, out of the corner of his eye, sees Tobirama silently doing the same. “We only did our duty, Asahi-sama.”
“Perhaps,” Yama acknowledges, eyes warm, “but I am still grateful. I will have a feast arranged for tonight, and I would like to have you attend as guests of honour. My daughter is to be engaged after all—this is the least I can do.”
“We are humbled by your regard, Asahi-sama,” Tobirama says.
Yama makes a careless gesture. “There is no need to be so formal. I would like if you could relax during our time here.” He claps his hands. “For now, I shall have someone show you where you will be staying so you may get some rest before the evening festivities. I have arranged for you to stay in a guest suite of my own family home. If Uchiha-dono would like to seek personal quarters elsewhere for the duration of his stay here, we can discuss options then. Senju-dono, I understand that you will be leaving to continue your journey to the Hatake compound tomorrow?”
“Yes, Asahi-sama. I will depart first thing in the morning,” Tobirama confirms.
Izuna frowns. That soon?
“And I cannot convince you to stay for a little bit longer?” Yama prods.
Tobirama smiles wryly. “I’m afraid not. It would be risky if the passes close. I have heard that Iron is expecting early snowfall this year.”
Yama sighs. “Indeed, we are. Very well. I will make sure you have adequate supplies for the remainder of your journey then, Senju-dono.”
“You have my thanks.”
“I’ll allow you to get some rest now,” Yama says, and calls out for one of the attendants waiting outside.
They are led away again and assured that all of their belongings have already been taken to their rooms. Izuna busies himself with appreciating the layout of the city as they walk under stone archways and down narrow, winding roads.
“Similar to major cities in Land of Earth,” he observes.
“There has always been a lot of trade between Iron and Earth historically,” Tobirama supplies. “Of course, a lot of it has slowed down with Iron’s messy internal politics.”
“But the cultures have developed similarly anyways,” Izuna finishes. “They have similar geography and climates too. It’s only natural, I suppose.”
The attendant escorts them through the gates of the Asahi home, past the large courtyard garden and into the left wing. They are shown to a suite on the ground floor and then promptly left to their own devices with the assurance that there are plenty of servants around for them to find should they need anything.
Their quarters consist of a common sitting room, a large bathroom, and two bedrooms. The common room has a door leading out into a small, fenced off section of what must be a larger garden in the back of the house, creating a somewhat private space for the Daimyo’s guests.
“It certainly is treatment worthy of dignitaries,” Tobirama comments, peering down at the fine carpet running over most of the floor.
“Much nicer than mission accommodations usually are,” Izuna agrees, following the Senju’s lead and yanking off his boots before stepping onto the carpet.
Tobirama turns to raise his brows at Izuna. “Suitable enough for your noble tastes, Uchiha-dono?”
Izuna makes sure to roll his eyes in full view so it can’t be missed. “Go take a fucking nap, Senju. Don’t think I missed how little sleep you got last night.”
“You nag more than my brother,” Tobirama tells him plainly.
“Take better care of yourself and I won’t nag at all.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.”
Izuna’s lips twitch. “Well, maybe,” he acquiesces. “Go on then.”
Tobirama huffs, but dutifully makes for one of the rooms. “You’ll wake me up in time?”
Izuna watches him go, barely realising that he is wearing a smile at all. “I will.”
Izuna waits until the sun has just begun to set to unfurl his chakra and let it seek out Tobirama’s passive signature, poking at it until it starts stirring. He smiles as he pours tea into two cups, half his attention still on curling his chakra around Tobirama’s, making it run in circles just to be annoying. Tobirama’s chakra—a vague impression of coolness to Izuna’s dull senses—pushes forward, engulfing Izuna in annoyed-fond-tired-content before pointedly swatting his chakra away and pinging to full awareness.
In the common room, Izuna stills in surprise from the brief imprint of emotions he picked up from Tobirama. However, he has no time to process because the door to Tobirama’s room is creaking open to reveal the man himself, still blinking away sleep and scrubbing a hand through his hair, making it stand on end more than it already was. He looks soft and sleep-mussed, and Izuna feels his breath catch in his throat at how unguarded everything about him is in this moment.
Tobirama drops down onto the cushion beside Izuna, their arms brushing briefly when he reaches for the closest cup of tea. He is warm.
“Sleep well?” Izuna asks, sipping at his tea and tilting his head as he considers the spicy warmth of the blend. Unusual, but not unpleasant.
Humming, Tobirama confirms, “Yes, thankfully.”
His voice is lower than usual and gritty from disuse. Izuna wishes he could somehow unknow what he sounds like after just waking up because he thinks it might haunt him just like the thought of that dragon inked along Tobirama’s spine.
He clears his throat. “I’m glad. You’ll need the energy to get through a festive event.”
Tobirama sighs at the reminder, and his shoulders fall even further. It’s such a departure from his usual upright posture that Izuna finds himself unable to look away. “Don’t remind me,” Tobirama grumbles. “The Daimyo will probably have formal wear sent for us too.”
“He already did,” Izuna informs. “Instructions included and everything.”
“Of course.” Tobirama shakes his head.
Izuna watches him for a moment, setting his cup down so he can lean against the table and let his hand support his head. He reaches out to smooth away the furrow of Tobirama’s brow, smiling when the Senju turns to blink at him in surprise. “Relax,” he says. “It’s just dinner.”
“Along with a few speeches, plenty of posturing, and unwanted mingling.”
“That too.” Izuna shrugs. “It’ll be fun. You have me, don’t you?”
Tobirama glances at him. “I suppose I do,” he says thoughtfully.
Izuna elbows him. “Try to sound more convinced,” he says, grinning when Tobirama nudges him back. “We’re in this together, Tobirama.”
“Until you abandon me to go torment some unsuspecting ministers,” Tobirama says, sounding decidedly unconvinced.
“Just come torment them with me,” Izuna says simply.
Tobirama shakes his head, but his mouth is quirked into a smile of amusement. “You’re a terrible influence,” he informs Izuna. “I don’t want to be involved in your sadistic schemes.”
“Oh, please,” Izuna rolls his eyes, “as if you’re not morally bankrupt. You can’t fool me, Tobirama—I know you find my so-called ‘schemes’ amusing.”
“I do not,” Tobirama denies, but he’s not even trying to hide his smile now so it’s pointless.
Izuna huffs at him. “Liar. I should take you to court and have you admit the truth under oath.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t lie then too?”
“So, you admit you’re lying?”
Tobirama blinks. “I didn’t say that,” he tries to backtrack, but it’s too late.
Izuna levels him with a triumphant finger. “You implied it!”
“I doubt that would hold up in a court of law,” Tobirama sniffs imperiously.
“It’s holding up in this court right now, meaning that I won this argument, which is what truly matters. All is right with the world at last.” Izuna sighs happily.
Tobirama ducks his head to hide his grin behind his teacup, but not before Izuna catches him.
“I saw that,” Izuna says cheerfully. “Don’t bother denying it. You think I’m funny; we’ve already established this.”
“You’ve established nothing—you have no proof.”
“I’m my own witness!”
“That’s a conflict of interest.”
They bicker until they’ve finished their tea, at which point they’re forced to let the argument rest so they can go get dressed in time for the dinner.
The formal wear isn’t as complicated as Izuna had feared. There is a loose tunic in a deep blue colour, embroidered at the collar and cinched at the waist by a broad, colourful sash. The linen trousers for underneath are similarly loose and are matched by the black overcoat which has geometric patterns embroidered over it with threads of silver and blue while the inside is lined with some sort of fur. The edges of the coat are lined with intricate beadwork and tiny mirrors that catch the light like little twinkling stars. Izuna runs his fingers over them with a smile.
He has just let his hair down to comb through it when there is a knock at his door. Izuna frowns and goes to open it. “Did you need something?”
“The sun is down. Someone will be here for us soon,” Tobirama says. He’s dressed similarly to Izuna, just in shades of crimson, black and white. There is no beadwork on his coat, but the threadwork is more elaborate. He pauses and observes, “You’re not done.”
“Well done for noticing,” Izuna drawls sarcastically.
Tilting his head, Tobirama offers, “Would you like some help?”
“You know how to do hair?” Izuna asks, surprised, stepping aside to allow Tobirama into the room.
“I learned for Hashirama and Touka,” Tobirama replies, eyes sweeping over the room passively.
“I see.” Izuna pulls up the chair placed by the little desk off to side, dragging it in front of the mirror and taking a seat. “I’ll be in your care then.”
There is quiet for a beat and then the whisper of fabric as Tobirama comes to stand beside him. He accepts the comb when Izuna offers it and sets to working out the tangles in his hair, gaze focused as it is when he is reading one of his scrolls. The ministrations are practiced but gentle, starting from the bottom and working up to Izuna’s scalp. He closes his eyes.
All this domesticity is going to be the death of him. To get a glimpse of what life could be like if every day were like this, and then to deliberately turn away because Izuna can’t guess what’s on Tobirama’s mind. If he was someone braver or more honest, perhaps it wouldn’t matter, and he would just tell Tobirama. He would say it, so Tobirama would know and Izuna wouldn’t be able to take it back or pretend otherwise. But Izuna isn’t that brave or honest. He opens his eyes and simply watches Tobirama, wondering if Tobirama knows the truth anyways.
“You’re staring,” Tobirama says softly, not looking up from the task at hand.
Izuna doesn’t look away. He considers being brave or honest. In the end, he lies, “I’m bored. Tell me something.”
Tobirama’s eyes flick up to meet his in the reflection momentarily. “Tell you what?”
“Anything,” Izuna says, leaning into Tobirama’s hands, tilting his head back to look at him directly.
Seeming distinctly unamused, Tobirama pushes his head back up where it was, admonishing, “Izuna.”
“Tobirama,” Izuna says in the same tone.
The Senju sighs in defeat. “Tell you what?” he repeats.
Izuna shrugs. “One of your science things.”
Tobirama snorts and reaches over Izuna’s shoulder for one of the pins scattered on the table by the mirror. “Do you know what tidal locking is?”
“The moon is tidally locked with the Earth, right?” Izuna recalls. “It’s when an object’s rotational period is the same as its orbital period. That’s why we only see one face of the moon.”
“Yes, exactly. Sometimes, when both bodies are of a similar size and are close enough to each other, the phenomenon is called mutual tidal locking. The Pluto-Charon system is an example of this. Since they are both tidally locked, it appears as though Charon hovers over the exact same spot in Pluto’s orbit.” Tobirama pauses thoughtfully. “Although, I should clarify that Charon does not just orbit Pluto.”
Izuna lifts an eyebrow. “No?”
Tobirama makes a sound of affirmation. “While most moons just orbit their planet, Charon is so large that it is able to exert its own gravitational pull on Pluto. The two orbit each other.”
“Does that make them a double planet system?” Izuna wonders.
“Not by official classification, but they’re referred to as such quite often.” Tobirama taps his shoulder. “I’m done.”
Izuna blinks and turns his head to find that Tobirama is indeed done and Izuna’s hair is pulled back into an elaborate four-strand braid. He watches as Tobirama reaches around him to carefully free a few strands in the front to frame his face. Tobirama’s fingers brush against his cheek as they retreat and Izuna has to remind himself to breathe.
He exhales slowly and pulls up a smile. “How do I look?” he asks, not really expecting a serious answer from his reticent companion.
But, as always, Tobirama manages to surprise him when he answers, “You’re beautiful.”
Startled, Izuna turns around to face him. Tobirama meets his gaze and there is something just as surprised in the slight roundness of his narrow eyes and the parting of his lips.
Silence descends upon them and Izuna flounders for some way to break it, searching desperately for a response past the buzzing of his brain. He opens his mouth to say something, to demand an explanation from Tobirama maybe, but a knock echoes through their quarters and the moment has passed.
“We should go,” Tobirama says, clearing his throat and turning on his feet to stride out of the room.
Izuna watches him go, feeling a little brave and honest.
He thinks he might tell Tobirama someday after all.
Tobirama can’t even bring himself to feel surprised when he finds Izuna dressed and ready to go in the common room. Still, he sighs and asks, “What are you doing, Izuna?”
Izuna smiles sweetly at him. “I’m double-checking my pack to make sure we’re not leaving anything behind.”
“We?” Tobirama repeats pointedly.
“Yes, Tobirama, keep up or we’ll be late, and it will be your fault.”
“We won’t be late because we are not going anywhere,” he insists. “The Daimyo already agreed to hosting you for the winter.”
Izuna shrugs. “And then he very kindly wished me well for the remainder of our travels when I informed him of the sudden change of plans last night.”
Tobirama narrows his eyes. “And you didn’t think to inform me?”
“Mm, no, it must have slipped my mind.”
“Why are you like this?” Tobirama asks him seriously.
“I think I was just born this way,” Izuna confesses. He swings his bags onto his shoulder and beams. “Come on then! We’re wasting precious daylight, you know.”
Tobirama does know—he’s the one who planned the entirety of this journey.
“I’ll teleport and leave you,” he threatens.
“If you were going to do that, you would’ve done it already,” Izuna huffs. “Quit playing hard to get and let’s go.”
“Hard to ge—” Tobirama cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “Sleep with one eye open tonight,” he informs Izuna succinctly and makes for the door.
Izuna laughs and falls into step beside him. “Sure,” he agrees cheerfully. “I’ll even keep my sharingan activated out of courtesy for my favourite old rival.”
“You’ll go blind before sunrise.”
“Is that concern I’m detecting?” Izuna feigns exaggerated surprise. “Oh my, so you do care!”
Tobirama seriously contemplates grabbing Izuna and losing him in space-time just to escape the obnoxiousness he seems to be in the mood for today. Tobirama hasn’t slept nearly enough to be able to deal with this.
It must show on his face because the dramatic flair seeps out of Izuna’s bearing and he brings them both to a stop with his hands on Tobirama’s shoulders. “My dear Tobirama, I swear I’ll be a perfect saint. I’ll even let you win every argument. Won’t you let me come along?”
His eyes are dark and imploring, and even through the thick layers of clothing between them, Tobirama can feel the warmth of his hands. He sighs heavily.
“You’ll be a saint?” he repeats.
“I swear on my life,” Izuna says immediately.
Tobirama purses his lips. “I’ve seen your life. Swear on something else.”
Izuna gasps and smacks his shoulder. “Hey!”
“Fine,” Tobirama relents. He rather suspects both of them knew he would. What a mess. “It will be four days from here if the pass is open. If it isn’t, then we’ll have to go around Mount Vora, which could take us an extra week or two.”
Izuna grins and loops their arms together, dragging Tobirama along. “Sounds like fun!”