Work Text:
That morning, when Hashirama had smiled at him over toast and orange juice and said that the weather forecast had reported there would be no rain for the next two decades or so, Tobirama should have known that something would go terribly wrong.
Yet, he had disregarded the gnawing at his stomach and had gone on his merry way and completely forgotten about the weird interaction, busy as he was.
As a matter of fact, he shouldn’t have. The thunder and lightning had struck first, but the pouring rain had caught up right after, flooding the streets with colorful umbrellas, dampness and honking noises due to the heavy traffic.
The pitter patter on the many windows, together with the soft music would have been welcome on any other day, but Senju Tobirama not only lives half a town over, and even more so, has promised to close the shop for the day. It means that he is stuck there, without an umbrella, until transportation has all but stopped and too much pride to call his brother and ask him for a favour.
Certainly, not all of his days could be bright, and dry, but Tobirama also knows for a fact that Uchiha Madara, of all people, would be likely crashing at his and his brother’s place for the night, and due to the day’s trend of turning a grain of sand in a shitstorm, he is positive that nothing good would come out of that either.
Wishful thinking in his case is of no help, Tobirama tells to himself, as he walks down the road, the hood of his jacket soaked, his hair damp and sticking to his temples, his feet cold and pruning in the wet socks.
“Fuck you Hashirama, and fuck this weather,” he mumbles, only ten minutes in his trek home.
“Tell me about it,” he hears from his side, before he’s fully facing what looks like a half drowned furball, rage in his obsidian eyes and the fiery temper of a warrior of other times, well contained in a sturdy body.
“Could you for once behave like someone with more than a single braincell and not half scare me to death?” Tobirama pleads, as Madara flanks him from the left and laughs gruffly.
“Where would the fun be in that, Senju?”
Tobirama shakes his head. “Somedays I know exactly why you and Hashirama are so close.”
“We find the faces you make when startled very entertaining, indeed,” Madara answers playfully, as the rain continues pouring on them, muffling their tones, the conversation placid and even friendly.
Tobirama peeks from beneath the sewer rat he is sure he is sporting atop of his head towards his companion, but a second look does not make Madara look any better, as Madara’s usual fuzzy hair looks like a giant ball of hay, frizzled and ready to be chewed on.
“Are you coming back from the academy?”
“Yeah. Lessons have started to run longer and tomorrow there is an early drill at the fire station right beside your house, so there is no way I would be walking home to get up at ass o’clock tomorrow.”
“Where’s your car?”
Madara sighs, as he sweeps his bangs away from his forehead, one of the street lamps hitting his sculpted marble features, cheeks flushed strawberry pink.
“Izuna has hogged the old lady for the week, so I’m relying on public transportation for a while.”
“That’s heartless,” the Senju answers, deadpan.
Madara chuckles, soft, and Tobirama is hit by the sensation of something churning in his stomach, again, helplessly trying to tell him something that he continues to ignore out of spite alone. He does not need to add anything like that to his own disastrous attempt at living a normal life. Not when he knows that there would be no space for Tobirama in Madara’s busy life.
“That’s a sibling for you,” the older man chimes.
Another ten minutes in, the rain lets up, and the remaining slight drizzle keeps them company until they’re almost a block away from where Tobirama can finally sit in a hot bath tub and warm his worn bones.
To his misfortune, he sings victory too soon, and the exact moment he bends the last turn towards the brick building, he feels the deep honking of a car that recklessly flees down the road, lights awash, its tires squeaking.
He looks towards his companion stuck a few feet behind him, looking like a drenched mop and this close to finally becoming a non-abiding the law kind of citizen. Madara surveys him up and down once before busting out in a knee shattering laugh, his whole frame shaking, his face almost bent to his thighs.
The Uchiha finds it funny.
“I am about to strangle you,” he warns, but Madara just laughs harder, as the situation could not be worse even if he wished for it. There is never an end to ill luck, after all.
It takes Madara a minute to pull himself together and nudge Tobirama into moving from his spot, raining on the sidewalk together with the sky. They barely make it to the foyer inside, before Madara is again hunched on his tiptoes, laughter brimming in his lungs.
Not that Tobirama wants to deal with it, or anything at all. He simply abandons his things by the entrance and makes a beeline for the shower, where he soaks himself again trying to warm up and forget the tingling sensation of Madara’s laugh on his skin, its echo still in his ears.
By the time he’s out, he can hear Madara in the living room, settling in for the night.
“The bathroom’s all yours,” he shouts, before adding a silent, “asshole,” at the end.
“I heard that,” he hears Madara say as he passes right behind him, a hand caressing his hip in passing.
Tobirama tries to concentrate on how he is sure that he hates rain, more than rain hates him not to blush.