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“Tell me if it’s too much, yeah? I know how you get.” Madara puts his hand on Hashirama’s back, slowly dragging it up and down as warmth seeps through the furs and into Hashirama. It’s so nice he could cry. All winter he feels so cold, no matter how many blankets he piles on his futon. If he crawls as close to the fire the chill starts to dissipate, but the lungfuls of smoke and freezing side not facing the fire makes it a bittersweet victory, one that never lasts long before Butsuma berates him for keeping the fire strong and roaring using up their charcoal and wood. He banks it soon after and Hashirama cries as the winter chill creeps back in.
Here with Madara…
He shudders and presses hard against his friend’s hand.
“Ok?” Madara asks again, black eyes watching, unblinking.
“Ok,” Hashirama says and closes his eyes to better enjoy the heat.
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Bookmark Notes:
Littlest frozen baby.
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