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Mito trailed a spiralling design on the tabletop with one finger, allowing herself the simple fidget. She lifted her head and smiled slightly as she met Hashirama’s warm eyes.
“I do have one,” she paused, “final question, before I formally assent to our marriage.”
Hashirama brightened further, his smile wide and gentle. Mito suppressed a shiver and returned the smile with a slight broadening of her own. He was . . . so different than Mito had expected, and he was so sweet.
He was also an incredible romantic. Which. . . It was not unpleasant for Mito - by far the opposite, in fact, to a degree that had surprised her - but had only highlighted her concern, though she thought they could match well and be happy together - perhaps even find love together. In time.
“What is it? I will answer anything I can, Mito-hime, of course.” Hashirama said easily.
Mito took half a breath and tilted her head slightly. “Are you truly sanguine with abandoning your soulmate in favour of our marriage, should we go through with the arrangements as they have been written?” she asked as bluntly as she could - experience of the past few weeks having taught her it was the best way to approach Hashirama, who was rarely offended by anything and certainly not directness, when it was only the two of them.
. . .and that he was equally likely to miss a subtle inquiry entirely as to actually catch it.
Hashirama’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened, and Mito tensed, startled. Not only by the reaction, but-
“I would never abandon my soulmate.” Hashirama said harshly, his voice low and cold.
Mito suppressed a tremor, feeling a crack in her heart. Perhaps, she thought painfully, she was closer to love than she had been quite willing to admit. The pain faded beside the spike of fury his words also inspired within her breast, however. “I will not be some political emblem used for leverage, held up for show, and then put aside so that my husband may carry on with someone else, be they soulmate or anyone!” she snapped in return.
“Oh. Oh!” Hashirama almost yelped, the harsh cast fading from his face as quickly as it had come.
Mito focused on her breathing, stiff and slow, muscles tense. She took a slow, carefully controlled sip of her tea and returned it to the table without so much as a click of porcelain on wood. “It seems we-”
“Mito-hime! No! It-” Hashirama shook his head, reaching across the table for her. Mito withdrew her hand sharply before he could make contact, not allowing her expression to change. “That is not what I intend or- or what I want for us, at all!” he cried.
Mito glared. His reaction to her question had been . . . startling, but quite plain, and she was no fool. It had evidently been more than wise to bring up the concern, though she had not thought. . .
“I would never expect- never want- Mito-hime I only hope very deeply that our- our marriage can work out well for us both!” Hashriama said insistently, and Mito fought to keep her lip from curling. “My soulmate is- That is, erm. Oh, I’m not good at this at all, Tobirama told me not to say. . . Tobi!” he cried, suddenly louder, almost enough to make Mito jump. “Tobi! Please! Would- Come here!” he almost wailed.
Mito tried not to cringe, but at least Hashirama’s brother was excellent at making him see sense when he lost sight of reasonable things. Perhaps he could . . . impress upon Hashirama why- Why Mito would have to refuse him.
Mito’s stomach knotted and her heart ached, but she refused to let her distress show.
Tobirama appeared only a few moments - and increasingly loud cries - later, looking slightly distracted even as he took them in with a quick glance. “What is it, Anija?” he asked, attention turning away from Mito as he arched one brow.
“Mito-hime! Asked me about,” Hashirama faltered, “I told her I would never abandon my soulmate, how could anyone,” he said in a rush, and Mito was slightly surprised to notice Tobirama’s expression softening, “be so terrible? But then- Tobi I’m not-” Hashirama fell silent as Tobirama hushed him soothingly, brushing a hand over his shoulder.
“My apologies, Mito-hime,” Tobirama said politely, dipping his head in a bow, “for the . . . confusion.” He tilted his head and glared at Hashirama, but his lips were curved into a soft smile. It was the first time Mito had seen any manner of resemblance between the brothers; Hashirama’s smile was soft that way, curved that way, gentle on his face the same way that Tobirama’s was now. “My brother has . . . fought very hard, over the years, over his insistence that he would never give me up or turn me away.”
Mito blinked, stiffening. Deftly loosening the beaded cord holding it in place, Tobirama unwound the fabric at his wrist and offered it to her eyes.
There was a broad tree growing up the inside of his wrist, its heartwood twisted and moulded something like a wave, but healthy despite its shape, strong and steady. A hollow at its core revealed an expanse of water, a shimmering sea among bright greenery. Mito crossed her ankles under the table and pressed them tightly together, using the sensation to ground herself, taking a breath and swallowing.
“My brother and I.” Tobirama confirmed her sudden suspicion, and Mito flushed, raising a hand to her mouth. “Platonic, to erase any lingering possible concerns.” he added dryly.
Mito winced. “I . . . am sorry.” she said softly, terribly embarrassed. And . . . relieved.
She eyed Hashirama, head slightly bowed.
“Don’t be!” Hashirama said immediately, even as his fingers curled around his brother’s wrist in a light clasp.
“We should have explained to you sooner.” Tobirama said, almost gently.
Hashirama tugged at his brother’s wrist and Tobirama let himself be pulled closer, his side bumping Hashirama’s shoulder. “Tobi’s right,” he said apologetically, meeting Mito’s eyes, “I am very bad about explaining our bond. I didn’t think and I shouldn’t have assumed but I’ve grown so comfortable with you I had entirely forgotten that there was no reason to assume you knew.”
“This does make things much clearer.” Mito said, tracing another spiral on the tabletop and taking a deep breath. And this. . .
This, Mito could accept. Hashirama’s love for his little brother had already been clear - though she had not so much as considered this - and even had Mito not found herself growing fond of him as well, she would have anticipated his playing a large role in her life with her husband after their marriage. It had been clear already that did she accept the marriage with Hashirama, she would not merely gain a husband, but walk into a family.
“And what of your soulmate?” Tobirama asked, and Mito stiffened suddenly.
“Tobi?” Hashirama questioned, looking up at Tobirama, then across at Mito. She looked away, feeling a throbbing on her side that she knew was entirely in her mind. “I thought. . . Surely Mito’s bond is platonic, like ours.” he faltered, and Mito barely had to look up to know there was a devastated, faintly horrified look on his face.
Mito delicately cleared her throat, but it produced a quiet rasping sound. She reached woodenly for her tea.
“Mito has no such person close to her,” Tobirama said, his cool voice gentle, “and no arrangements included in the agreements for your marriage make any reference to anyone else . . . already found or waiting.”
“Indeed not.” Mito said as she lowered her cup again. This time it clinked harshly on the table. “I. . .” she began, then paused. “Not all soulmates are good matches for one another, in life.” she said thinly, the mark on her side throbbing again.
The mark that was now Uzushio’s spiral, inked thoroughly over the flowers and bells that had once been a bright display there. Her father had tutted and huffed in concern, but Mito had demanded the tattoo to mark her in lieu of the one she bore already - if she hadn’t gotten it she would have removed the mark herself, had she been forced to do it with acid poured over her skin.
“My soulmate is not a concern.” Mito said evenly. “For myself or for our marriage.”
Hashirama was still watching her with a dreadfully concerned expression, lips parted.
Tobirama rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “As you say, Mito-hime.” he acknowledged, and Mito let out a soft huff, bowing her head gratefully, thankful for his perceptive nature. “Anija, it’s all right. Mito-hime will have you, mm?” he said, gently pointed, and nudged Hashirama firmly.
“And you.” Hashirama said, somewhere between question and statement, leaning back in his chair and looking up at Tobirama. Mito blinked, startled.
Tobirama smiled crookedly. “Yes. And me.” They both looked at her.
Mito pressed her lips together, then raised her chin, gathering herself. “I have never had a brother,” she said softly, finding a smile, “I think I would like it.”
Tobirama returned her smile.
Hashirama gave a wordless, happy cry and flung an arm around his brother’s waist, hugging him tight - Tobirama allowed himself to be hauled nearly off his feet with the embrace, sliding one hand over Hashirama’s shoulder and back - then hurriedly released Tobirama again, bounding to his feet. He darted to Mito’s side instead as Tobirama stepped neatly out of his path. Mito tensed as Hashirama was suddenly right beside her, but rather than duplicate the . . . boisterousness of the affectionate gesture, he only dropped to his knees beside her chair and took her hand, kissing it warmly, almost leaning his head into her lap.
Relaxing again, Mito stroked his cheek with her thumb, a small shiver of comfortable, assured warmth blooming in her chest as she looked at him.