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Hashirama wanted to build a world where all shinobis could live together in peace. Where they could thrive. Another part of his dream was to build a world for Madara and himself. A world where they could be both happy, a gorgeous garden with lavenders and poppies where they could hear the birds sing instead of children's screams. But sometimes, when you try to build a beautiful garden for someone, you keep your eyes on the garden so much that you actually start to forget about the person you started to build it for and about what he wanted in the first place.
Just when the Spring was fading away, Hashirama gave Madara keys to his one-bedroom apartment and invited him to live there, with himself. And Madara accepted, as he spent all of his time at Hashirama's place anyway. Because he slept better with Hashirama nearby. Because when he woke up in the middle of the night next to him, he was sure that the wars were over.
Hashirama was a man of honor, a man of his job, a real shinobi. He didn't chase women; for what was worth, they usually chased him. And so he expected that one day he will be chased by a woman he'll be happy to call his wife and everything will fall into place and everything will finally make sense. And in the meantime, he could drink, wait, and enjoy the fruits of his job. He was a patient man, never in hurry to do anything.
But Hashirama was also very confused and the Summer made him question himself and his feelings deeper. He couldn't sleep at night, he just tossed and turned, wondering what was it that he really wanted, probably too much. It wasn't safe, but what in his life ever was? Madara's name was constantly on Hashirama's tongue and in his mind. Hashirama just couldn't get Madara out of his heart, bed and mind.
It wasn't just Hashirama's place anymore, it was also Madara's. They didn't even bother to close the windows that whole summer. They could just sit on the floor with no shoes, drink cheap sake and watch knars in the wood. It was a hot, hot and dry summer. And Hashirama tried to be as chill as he could be while Madara was waking up by his side. It was like a joke from heavens and it made the Hokage confused. Was Madara blind or just confused too? And so they laughed and kept on drinking while their hands accidentally brushed.
Hashirama didn't want to say anything because words might not be enough. No one would probably believe him and he would have to apologize. And he never wanted to apologize for something like this. Everything about Madara was elegant, tender and fragile. And he knew he had to be extra careful not to break it. What if Madara wouldn't understand? What if it would shatter everything? What if Madara wouldn't care? Hashirama wondered whether he was losing his mind over Madara or if this was just a symptom of going mad? Would Madara even want to know the truth Hashirama held so close to himself? And what would showing the truth make Hashirama, devil dressed as a snake?
Hashirama tried to memorize every single thing about Madara, because he knew how fleeting the happiness was (and for Hashirama, happiness was tied to Madara). Every inch of Madara's silhouette and every movement of his muscles. Every word and whisper that came out of Madara's lips. He kept his eyes on him like people kept their eyes on horizons; because Madara was his horizon and the sky above. Hashirama built a nice home for Madara in his heart. He would gladly give him all the space it contained (and there was a lot of space.) He just wasn't sure if Madara would want it. Hashirama tried to ask but everytime they were drunk enough - just enough so Hashirama could ask the question - he took a step back because he didn't want to ruin the night. So he just looked at Madara's face in yellow shimmer, thinking about how hard it was to look away, listening to cicadas. Hashirama liked alcohol. Not just for the taste but also for the high he got from it. And Madara knew it well. All the bottles they drank in the quiet hot nights were put together on kitchen counter in the morning. And they were just as empty as Hashirama's soul after these nights. But sometimes he felt like he didn't need to drink, he was getting the high just from Madara's presence.
Other times Hashirama drank to find some clarity but it only brought his mind into a delirium and feverish-like state. So he tried to drink more but the more he tried to gain that clarity, the further away he was getting.
Of course there were whispers in the village (And some of them were true.) But when someone asked Hashirama about their relationship, Hashirama just shrugged it off himself, quickly. As if it wasn't such a big deal. They were just living together, because it was cheaper and they could focus on the work better. They were best friends. There were no deeper or darker feelings, there couldn't be, which made it perfect. Hashirama didn't want to say anything; he would much rather pretend how cool it all was, just like the breeze in that summer night. Even for him, this was comfortable. He wasn't going to bother Madara, he was just happy in his play of pretend. He wasn't even suprised when Madara kissed him. It was a stupid bet, nothing else. Otherwise why would Madara want to kiss him? And Hashirama was playing it to be cool.
But in the end, Hashirama, drunk from sake and probably something stronger, outside of the pub, started to cry like a little child. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It was helping him that everyone was used to Hashirama crying when he was drunk - It was just what Hokage did. When Madara asked Hashirama, what was going on, Hashirama answered that he was just crying of happiness, which wasn't exactly the truth. But what else could he say, that he hated that Madara wouldn't even touch his face if it wasn't for that stupid bet? Madara was killing him. And he had no idea, while Hashirama constantly circled around him. Hashirama never addressed the kiss further. It was just a stupid kiss. For money, like they were whores, which made his skin crawl.
After the nights in pubs, Hashirama usually found Madara in yesterday's clothes with his head on Hashirama's chest and so it was little harder for him to breathe. They lived together and so Konoha hated it. Everyone thought that Madara plans to murder Hashirama in his sleep. But little did they know Hashirama didn't mind - if Madara was to kill him, his life wouldn't be worth living anyway.
Hashirama was careful about the feelings he caught like the illness. He knew they were too fragile and could make him go crazy any minute. What would happen if Madara found out? But Hashirama was much more concerned with what would happen if the whole Konoha and Tobirama found out. They would probably destroy any kind of relationship before the two even had a chance to destroy it themselves. Konoha people would probably eat them like vultures eat corpses.
Could the Konoha people see beneath their eyes? Could they tell how much Hashirama longed for the other? And they talked and Hashirama couldn't shut their mouths. People loved to gossip. And they had some evil tongues. There was not a soul, besides them, that would accept them together. For them, Madara was a devil and Hashirama was the angel. They would kill them before allowing them to have any kind of visible relationship. So Hashirama wanted to keep it a secret. Everything was getting brighter and better. The liquer in cups was a little sweeter and for Hashirama this world was a dreamland.
Hashirama wanted to keep Madara in a village at any cost, to make it pretty for him, like a golden cage around a beautiful garden filled with blossoming flowers and bushes. Madara was magnetic and his skin was electric. And Hashirama never wanted to lose it. He just ran after Madara, without thinking about consequences, as fast as he could. Maybe Hashirama wasn't supposed to jump after Madara into the darkness. Maybe it was a reckless decision. But how could he not go after a man he gravitated towards? He was so curious since childhood to let it slide.
Sometimes Hashirama felt like Madara wanted him just as much. And other times Hashirama felt like Madara was pulling out and so Hashirama tried to push him away too. Madara was lying next to Hashirama in bed naked. The heat was too high for them both, but Hashirama still wore his nightgown. Madara had no idea what he put Hashirama through. Hashirama wanted him happy and so he tried to accomodate Madara in every way possible just to make his mood better. Hashirama wished on eyelashes and shooting stars. He was asking flower petals if Madara felt something. He was searching for a signs in every place to find the answer, but he never got one clear. Hashirama wondered if Madara was thinking about him also. If he also pretended that there was nothing between them or if it was the bitter truth. Hashirama didn't want to look at anyone or anything else anymore. All the girls who were bringing him lunch, all the girls who were pining all over him, they were just pretty little things he didn't even bother to notice in the golden light of Madara.
Hashirama sometimes sat on the window, just watching the street below him, visibly upset, wondering what Madara is thinking. Was Hashirama just believing in something that wasn't there? Was he just imagining things? Hashirama knew Madara missed the old world, the world where izuna was alive. Where the clan listened to him. But the ground under Madara's feet was shattered. And Hashirama was more than willing to be the one to build the new ground under Madara's feet. With peace, village and love, maybe even to be the ground for Madara. Hashirama would let Madara have the best parts of him. He was willing to give them away. And then he felt like Madara might have wanted some parts of him, but that he never wanted him as a whole.
Maybe Madara knew it all but he wasn't ready to address it, just like Hashirama wasn't ready to come clean in front of their village. Maybe Madara noticed Hashirama's wondering eyes watching the muscles on his hands get tense. Maybe he saw through it all. Through Hashirama's loud heartbeats and through Hashirama's plans. Through Hashirama's infatuation with him. And for whatever was worth, Madara was obsessed with Hashirama and his powers - and Hashirama could see it clearly. But their hands were tied. There were far bigger things in the world that needed to be fixed and their problem seemed like a grain of sand in the big picture of things.
Hashirama didn't want to tell him the secret. Maybe another time, he though everytime. Maybe in another life, when he will be brave enough to stand his ground against their village. He was able to sacrifice everything but his image of the god of shinobi with that boyish charm he had.
Madara was the only one Hashirama wanted although he could never say it loud. So he kissed Madara, but only on forehead so the other wouldn't get the wrong idea, which was the right idea. And then he was upset when Madara didn't get the right idea. Hashirama only wanted Madara near. To drink and to hang out. He knew he made his own bed and so he was sleeping in it. And was stuck between words that he was imagining and words that he had never heard.
One night Hashirama woke up. He was ready to say it all. He touched Madara's shoulder to wake him up and Madara could see the weird look Hashirama gave him in the moonlight.
"You're my best friend Madara," Hashirama said.
"Awesome," said Madara like he was annoyed.
"And I think we... We could maybe catch all the tailed beasts?" Said Hashirama nervously.
"Sounds alright to me," replied Madara and closed his eyes again, still slightly annoyed that Hashirama couldn't wait for the morning.