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Ragged panting filled the humid air and rushed, heavy steps pranced over damp grass. A man holding a little boy were being chased, the four others of his group had already died. Their deaths were so swift that the man’s brain could barely process what had happened. All, he knew was that he had to flee and survive.
This was by no means an easy job and the five rogue ninjas had known it when they took it. A client wanted the Uchiha’s sharingan and they were paying loads for it. Plus, they were the best of the best. There was no way some clan from the Land of Fire would be able to catch them—famous dojutsu or not. Furthermore, there had been rumors spreading like wildfire for the last few years that made any proud mercenary’s adrenaline rush.
There’s a ghost haunting the Land of Fire, hunting any that offend it. It’s called “Fox”.
Of course, they challenged this. There was no way every bloodline thief or criminal were killed by this ghost if rumors could spread. It must be propaganda spread by the shinobi clans of that nation to prevent outsiders from meddling in their business.
Or, that’s what they had thought.
They were proven wrong.
Snatching some brats wasn’t that difficult. However, the instant they managed to escape Uchiha territory, they had been targeted.
It started with one of them. His head flew off with a clean cut.
Next, two of them had stopped to confront the pursuer, allowing them to catch sight of its ghostly lanky form.
“Ghost” was an accurate descriptor for the man—surely, it was living, for it had legs despite how pale and ghastly it seemed. “Fox” was quite literal for a name for the ghost-like man donned a fox mask. Perhaps, for the more superstitious, the man would be mistaken for a kitsune—a great youkai known for transformation. However, this “ghost” fought like a man—like a ninja. To delay the hunter, two of them stayed behind while the other two carried the kids.
Those two died with as little of a fight as the first one of them had, except the result was bloodier. The remaining two had only seen the result: blood splattering everywhere as if the other two had exploded. The blood in their own veins betrayed them.
They were picked off one-by-one. The last one had sacrificed himself to buy more time for the last of them who now carried both kids. That was a foolhardy plan though.
They would never escape the Fox.
The last remaining thief had an epiphany. If the Fox came for the kids, then he just had to use them. Except the moment he was going to make the prizes into hostages, it was already too late.
Whether the Fox had noticed his thoughts or not, the man was already drowning. The man dropped the kids to reach for his throat, whatever he could to resist the oncoming death. But, his efforts were futile.
The Fox always managed to hunt its prey.
Rumors had it there was a ghost donning a fox mask, haunting the Land of Fire, hunting those that offend it—mainly bloodline thieves and child hunters.
Madara was neither of those, yet the ghost had ambushed him in his own office.
“I have a proposal for you, Uchiha Madara.”
This wasn’t the first time Madara met the Fox.
The first time they met was before the rumors of the fox mask started in the Land of Fire.
Madara had yet to become the head of the Uchiha clan and was on a mission, tracking down a heinous human-trafficking ring to take them down and reclaim the victims. He had managed to track the group to a small village—their current cover for their activities according to his informant.
Madara was expecting to find a rough place with thugs out and about, pretending like they weren’t some gang of inhuman trash. However, all he found on arrival were bloody corpses littering the barren streets. Following the trail of carnage, the dark-haired teen reached the largest house in this forsaken village with its door wide open.
Stretching his senses for good measure, Madara frowned as he only found one clearly out-of-place chakra signature with smaller ones—clearly non-shinobi—signatures gathered together; likely in cages. That larger chakra signature was definitely one of a ninja, but it was strange.It was difficult for Madara to get a read on it, like there was a fog that only covered that chakra to block perception.
On guard, the Uchiha crept into the building. Someone awaited him there, but given the state of the town, they weren’t necessarily a foe – a competitor at most.
Past the dead guards and inside the large room full of cages with distraught people stood a single person sheathing a sword more than half their length. The first thing Madara saw was the fox mask on the pale man – judging by his body – which blocked his face. Due to the mask, it was difficult to judge the age of the shinobi.
“Are you here for them?” The boyish voice that emitted from behind the mask answered that question. This teen couldn’t be older than Madara, judging by the way his voice came out, he was likely a few years younger.
“What if I am?” Madara did not let his guard down. Regardless of age, this was a shinobi and a skilled one at that; someone that took down a whole village of criminals without many injuries. “What is it to you?”
The fox mask boy silently met his gaze, though given the distance and without his sharingan active, Madara was unsure whether he was truly looking at his eyes. After some consideration, the masked teen nodded. “Good, take care then.” His words fluttered in the air as a dismissal.
Then, the masked boy swiftly passed Madara, leaving from where he entered. Madara followed the teen’s movements and caught sight of the pearly light-colored hair poking out from behind the mask before he disappeared.
Madara blinked, confused by the whole interaction. It seemed that, unlike him, the boy hadn’t even come there for a job. Could it have been for revenge? A personal vendetta against the slave traders?
Those questions were pushed aside quickly as Madara heard rustling from the room, unrest from the prisoners snapped him back to reality. He had more important things to take care of, so Madara didn’t dally much longer on the mysterious masked boy.
It wasn’t long after that encounter that rumors began to spread about a ghost-like vigilante donning a fox mask haunting the Land of Fire, saving those in need. He was dubbed “the Ghost Fox” and was referred to as “Fox”.
The next Madara saw Fox, years had passed since their first meeting and now he was the clan head.
Two children had been snagged by bloodline thieves right within the Uchiha territory outside the compound. Alarmed, Madara chased after them. As the clan head and one of the strongest sensors, he immediately ordered for Izuna to take charge before he went after them.
High on adrenaline, Madara rushed through the forest. He stretched his senses and managed to witness the moment.
At first there were five adult signatures—the bloodline thieves—with two smaller signatures—Kagami and Rin—and then there was another one. A muddled chakra like it was shrouded in fog, one that Madara recognized as the mysterious Fox.
Then, in a second after Fox’s abrupt appearance, one of the bloodline thieves’ chakra signatures disappeared. They had been killed. A minute of chase later and two of them that had stopped, likely to block Fox, were cut short.
Madara was on the edge as he rushed through the forest all while monitoring the chakra signatures.
Fox worked fast, just as rumors said. By the time Madara reached them, the ghostly young man was finished with the thieves and was holding the two sobbing Uchiha children in his arms. The way the two kids were tucked into his shoulders, it was like Fox was trying to protect the kids from the carnage surrounding them. Blood was splattered all around, even on the vigilante’s mask.
“Fox,” Madara stepped toward the young man holding his clan’s children. There was no reason to be alarmed. This young man went around saving people left and right, likely whenever he could, regardless of their clan. It was clear from his initial encounter with the ghost-like man and rumors that he had a soft spot for children especially. “Thank you, for saving my clans’ children.”
Fox stayed silent, choosing to just nod in acknowledgement. He walked slowly to Madara with the kids, careful not to jostle them. The transfer of the children went smoothly as the Uchiha head took them off the other man’s hands.
With the kids safe and with an appropriate guardian, the masked man turned away, ready to leave. However, Madara didn’t feel good just leaving it like this. He couldn’t stand the feeling of debt.
“Wait!” Hastily, he called out. This made the moonlight-haired man freeze. “Is there anything I could give in return?”
Fox didn’t turn around, but he stood there for a long moment. Madara waited patiently. Thankfully, the masked man didn’t take too long though.
He shook his head a bit stiffly in response and finally spoke.
“Not now.” His voice was low and quiet, almost like a whisper yet loud enough to be heard. It was stilted, as if the masked man was trying to avoid speaking.
Before Madara could try to pry any other clues on the mysterious man’s identity, Fox abruptly disappeared. He swiftly sent out his chakra, hoping to sense the ghostly man, yet somehow his foggy signature was gone. There was no trace of it.
Somehow, Fox had the ability to instantly travel far enough to leave Madara’s sensing range, which was already quite impressive. Teleportation?
Fox was full of mysteries and Madara couldn’t help but wonder who was behind that mask.
Lastly, there was the present.
Rather abruptly, the mysterious presence of Fox had appeared in his office by climbing through the window. In reflex, Madara swiftly spun around to attack the intruder. His sharingan spun.
Fox, to his credit, met the blows with grace even as he was pushed into a swift retreat to the other side of his desk. The light-haired man held his arms up in the air as a sign of meaning no harm.
“Fox… and to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Madara arched an eyebrow at the mysterious masked intruder. He didn’t let his guard down regardless of Fox’s reputation and their previous interactions. In the world of shinobi, there was no telling who was really an ally.
Madara scanned the man. He wasn’t carrying his signature long sword with him tonight, plus his mask was different. It wasn’t that he thought Fox really only had one mask; they would clearly wear out over time or get soiled. However, something about this mask bothered Madara.
That mask… It looks old and worn, yet clearly maintained. The Uchiha couldn’t help but notice the details with his sharingan still on. And, somehow… makes me feel nostalgic.
Madara concealed his thoughts as he crossed his arms and leaned against the windowsill, blocking the easiest escape path to out of the compound. The door would only lead into the halls which threatened the discovery of Fox’s intrusion in the Uchiha head’s house.
“I thought your modus operandi was to hunt bloodline thieves, not infiltrating a clan’s stronghold, for…” He provoked, “What?”
Surprisingly, or perhaps not given the nature of this meeting, Fox spoke. “I have a proposal for you, Uchiha Madara.”
Something about that voice was familiar, but Madara couldn’t place where he had heard it before. It was much deeper than he had let on in their previous encounter a month ago.
“Oh? A proposal, you say.”
Fox took out a scroll, likely from a storage seal on his arm, and placed it on Madara’s desk before stepping back. Madara watched the man back away before he moved to grab the scroll.
Curious, the Uchiha head opens the scroll carefully, still ready in case it blew up in his face. However, nothing pops out of the scroll upon unrolling it. Instead, his sharingan swiftly scanned the document. His eyebrows rose. “This is—”
“You once asked me if there was anything you could do in return” Fox interrupted. The masked man had his arms crossed, displaying his sculpted muscles beneath his shirt. “At that time, I had been weary from a mission and saving the young ones, so I did not have an answer.” As the man spoke, his voice left a twisting familiarity in Madara’s gut as his eyes latched onto the contents of the scroll.
Peace Treaty between the Senju Clan and the Uchiha Clan.
Madara could be forgiven for not immediately recognizing the man from his voice. In their first encounter, he had barely interacted with the teen. In their next encounter, he was distracted by the bloodline thieves and children plus the masked man tried to hide it. This time, though, the man wasn’t even trying to hide it; and Madara berated himself for not connecting the dots sooner.
“What game are you playing,” His words came out as a growl. Sharingan fixed on the fox mask across from him, shrouding the identity of the man that was both his clan’s savior and their enemy. “Senju Tobirama.”
“Not a game, I assure you.” Tobirama didn’t even try to deny the claim. Instead, his voice was as serious-toned as ever—not that Madara was all that familiar with his voice in the first place. He was usually too occupied with fighting Hashirama and it was Izuna’s job to match the younger Senju. “This was never a game.”
“Take that mask off and say that to my face.”
Strangely obedient, Tobirama does. He moved the fox mask off his face and to the side of his head, revealing those red eyes and tattoos on that vulpine face of his. “There,”
The younger Senju, much like his older brother, could be described as handsome. Madara would never admit that to either of them though. However, it was not Tobirama’s good looks that threw Madara off. No, it was the image of a similar young boy that flashed in his head.
It was from a memory—of festival lanterns and a boy younger than him that he had met once.
Could it be…?
“Now, I’ve done as you asked.” Tobirama redirected Madara’s attention away from his thoughts and back to the scroll in his hands. “Read the proposal at least, Uchiha Madara. I wrote it with the intention for it to be equal and acceptable for both our clans, but I cannot be certain what is so unacceptable about the terms if you reject it without reading and noting the specifics.”
Madara’s mind whirled at the implications Tobirama just spat out like it was nothing special. Tobirama had devised this entire treaty and it was impressive. Madara kept his sharingan on to quickly digest the content and, from what he had read so far, the younger Senju was true to his word in his attempt. It was so odd to Madara, since the one that the clan sighted to be the most likely to stab them in the back if they were to make peace in some form with the Senju, was the very man that weaved together a fair contract to confront the Uchiha head with and hid his identity while acting like a guardian of the Land of Fire.
The White Demon and the Ghost Fox. Both nicknames called attention to the man’s pale complexion and invoked fear, yet one was given in disdain while the other was given in reverence.
“This war cannot go on and you know it. Our clansmen are mostly exhausted from the constant cycle of loss and strife. I can feel it every time we take the battlefield.” Tobirama solemnly clenched his fist. His eyes did not stray from Madara’s face, though he did not look into his eyes. “So, at least give this a chance. We are no longer stuck under the leadership of the previous generation. If any were to question your decision, you can offer the excuse that your hand was forced in exchange for the rescue of those children.”
Tobirama was serious. He was extending an olive branch, except unlike Hashirama’s attempts, this effort came with an actual direction. This wasn’t like those promises that were often accused of being empty, it was a solution that Madara couldn’t have conceived on his own.
Some might argue this was all one large farce, that the Senju was trying to pull one over him to annihilate their clan. However, Madara was the best sharingan user in centuries. Nothing in the younger Senju’s body language betrayed his portrayed intention.
“… Alright.” Madara agreed. Tobirama’s logic was sound and he had even created an adequate excuse for him. There would be no loss on his end for giving the proposal some consideration.
“Good,” The silver-haired man appeared pleased. There was a miniscule lift on the edge of the other’s lips that would have been lost if Madara’s sharingan was not active and trained on the man. The twitch left as quickly as it came as Tobirama warned, “Don’t send your correspondence by hawk. It could be intervened in transit.”
That made sense. They needed to be careful so no one caught wind and tried to deter their efforts. “Then, how do we correspond? It’s not like I can just throw it at you on the battlefield.” Madara almost snorted at the image. Hashirama and Izuna’s reactions would be comedic.
Tobirama tilted his head slightly, eyes averted in deliberation. “The moon-viewing festival held in the capital is nearing.” His red eyes returned to meet Madara’s, not flinching away despite the presence of the sharingan. A show of trust that Madara wasn’t sure what to make of. “That should give you a few weeks to review and be prepared for discussion.” As if to prove that the younger Senju could surprise him more that evening, Tobirama continued. “I’ll meet you alone. The fewer people involved, the less likely the matter will be caught before the plan is complete.”
He openly proclaimed he would come alone – again – to meet Madara of all people. Tobirama was ballsy and Madara was fairly certain the younger knew he was at a disadvantage against the Uchiha head.
That determination perhaps sparked his own response. “Fine, I’ll go alone too.”
Tobirama nodded, not vocalizing his acknowledgement. Before the two men could fall into silence, the younger slid his mask back over his face. “I’ll be taking my leave then. Have a good evening, Uchiha.”
Madara deactivated his sharingan. “You too, Senju.”
Just as those words left Madara, the masked Senju disappeared. It was the same jutsu he had witnessed a month ago as Tobirama’s foggy signature—likely an effect of a seal, now that he thought about it—vanished beyond his sensing range again.
Madara frowned, brows furrowing as a sudden revelation hit him.
Tobirama was a well-known innovator and jutsu creator. Izuna complained about the new techniques his rival brought to each battle. Yet, Tobirama hadn’t revealed this teleportation jutsu at all despite it being under his arsenal for at least the past month.
If he had brought the jutsu to their clashes, then Izuna may have lost his life—he wouldn’t have been able to even see it. Madara was proud of his younger brother’s prowess which matched up to his own; however, that didn’t make them invincible. Especially with the scathing way Tobirama fought, it wouldn’t be difficult for the pale man to launch a surprise attack with that jutsu of his and catch Izuna off guard enough to kill him.
Despite that, Tobirama didn’t use that jutsu against Izuna.
Madara had no clue what limitations that jutsu had. But if the man could teleport wherever he wished, then he could have infiltrated the Uchiha compound much earlier and massacred his unsuspecting clan.
The implications had Madara stuck in contemplation as he peered at the scroll Tobirama had given him.
The capital’s moon-viewing festival was a large event that had the streets of the city celebrating. Crowds of civilians ventured in hopes of enjoying the party.
Madara blended into the crowd with ease, dressed like a civilian to avoid standing out. He had taken the annual mission that requested a guard for a merchant caravan heading to join the capital’s celebration. After becoming clan head, Madara rarely got to go out beyond skirmishes with the Senju and occasional high risk missions. However, with enough reasoning of needed a small vacation to keep his sanity, the Uchiha head managed to designate Izuna as his stand-in so he could take the mission.
The mission was uneventful of course. It was much below Madara’s skill-level, but it was a good excuse to mask his true purpose for being in the city.
After all, there was a Senju waiting to rendezvous with him.
Perhaps Tobirama was the restless one with how he was already waiting for him outside the inn he had escorted the merchants to. Madara easily recognized the man, despite his disguise. The man was dressed in a plain festival yukata, not unlike the ones many others on the street wore; however, with his height and the fox mask on his face he easily stood out across the crowd.
Madara laxly stepped to him. As soon as he was in hearing distance, he heard the masked man mutter. “Let’s go.”
Without waiting for a response, Tobirama turned around and led the way. Madara didn’t fuss at the lack of decorum and followed the younger man to an inn. It was a fairly decent inn, not too cheap but not high-end enough for nobles. It was the sort that people wanting to meet in secret frequented. While, not for the same purposes as those folks, their meeting would be mistaken for that sort. It was quite the ingenious cover, so witnesses would pay little mind to them.
Upon entering what Madara assumed was Tobirama’s room, the Senju activated privacy seals as Madara locked the door behind him. There wasn’t much in the room beyond the standard bed and a small table with two seats.
The two men wordlessly sat at the table and got down to business. Madara pulled out the scroll Tobirama had given him weeks ago to review and unraveled it on the table so that they could discuss his ideas. The younger man’s efforts to appease both clans were evident in his writing; however, Madara discerned that they lacked in considering how people would react and think when faced with these ideas as brilliant as they were. People were not only driven by logic and reason; they were fairly easy to manipulate given the right action.
Madara discovered that Tobirama struggled to truly account for the thoughts of other people. It was both a surprising and not so surprising weakness of the taciturn Senju. Thankfully, Madara could offset it. He was a skilled tactician, strategy to manipulate the battlefield and to manipulate people were included in his arsenal.
After hours of back-and-forth, they settled on a satisfying treaty draft and had moved on to the largest roadblock to the plan.
Izuna.
Like Tobirama had pointed out before, the majority of each side’s clansmen were resigned to fighting rather than burning for revenge and blood. Sure, the clans still held hatred or dislike against the other, but the despair over this endless cycle – especially when hope was constantly beamed loudly by the Senju clan head – outweighed the grudge. Unfortunately, amongst those still in favor of war, there was one person that could not be ignored; and that was Madara’s last brother—Izuna.
Madara was at a loss when it came to his brother. He had tried to reason with Izuna in the past, but every effort was met with biting distrust and scathing hatred that stayed imprinted on him since childhood.
As they reached a stalemate on this topic, suddenly Tobirama shifted in his seat. An idea had sparked in the genius’ head. “While Izuna’s consent is desirable, it may be best to broker for peace regardless of his opinion.”
“You want me to just ignore him?” Madara glowered at the suggestion. He slammed his fist on the table, holding back from breaking the wooden surface. “He’s my little brother! My last brother!”
“Calm down.” Tobirama shot an icy glare at him. “Peace isn’t just for the betterment of the clans, you also intended it for Izuna, yes?” He tilted his head a bit as he provoked thought. “However, Izuna doesn’t believe in peace… and, really does he need to?”
Madara arched an eyebrow in response. “What do you mean?”
“Izuna can stay skeptic. He can be the devil’s advocate.” The Senju proposed. “Who better to watch and ensure that both sides keep to their word or to catch who broke the trust first.” The Uchiha kept silent, considering the idea in his head, as Tobirama elaborated further. “His suspicion and caution isn’t entirely detrimental. It can be used to nurture the path.”
Certainly, Tobirama’s logic was sound and astoundingly would likely work against Izuna. Perhaps, the younger man was not entirely lost when it came to mind games. What mattered was whether he had a deep enough understanding of the opponent or not.
Madara was about to assent to Tobirama’s idea, but he was interrupted by the sound of fireworks and bright lights in the dark sky. Moon-viewing festivals weren’t typically celebrated with such intensity; however, the current daimyo’s daughter was born near this time, so the festivities had ramped up over the years.
Both men turn to look out the adjacent window, watching as vivid colors burst in the sky and chatter leaked into the room from outside. They both went silent, listening to the festival and the fireworks, allowing for the moment to stall their conversation.
In that shared silence, the whisper should have been overshadowed by the outside noise.
“This way… a world where the children can properly be children can be formed.”
The whisper held a melancholic, longing tone. There was a yearning there that Madara turned away from. It was already too late for them.
Madara averted his gaze to Tobirama, still donning the fox mask that now hung on the side of his head. The light from the window bled into the room, painting the pale canvas of a man. The sight reminded him of that one evening at a civilian festival in a village at the edge of the Land of Fire where he had met a shinobi boy younger than him.
Madara was fairly certain that Tobirama wasn’t just the spitting image of the boy, but was the very same person. However, the younger Senju never mentioned it once all these years and Madara doubted he had forgotten with how Tobirama wore that fox mask around.
Perhaps, Tobirama was convinced Madara had forgotten.
The Uchiha thought back to the old red pinwheel toy he kept tucked away in a box in his closet. After returning home from the festival, Madara had hid it there since Izuna enjoyed stealing his things, trying to copy him, and Madara had wanted to keep that memory to himself.
Back then, as children, that was likely one of the few moments either of them were able to do away with their duties as shinobi of the main family of their respective clans and truly act their age.
Faintly, Madara recalled a snarky boy that had stared, lost, at the mask stand—standing out like he did amongst the civilians in the festival—and how he gradually allowed himself to let loose after Madara’s poking and laughed brightly, much more child-like than the stiff expression he had started the night with.
It might be too late for them now, but at least they could ensure it wasn’t too late for others.
Using Tobirama’s reasoning, Madara had managed to convince Izuna to give the peace treaty a shot. Giving Izuna the role of devil’s advocate and enabling his caution helped his younger brother accept the chance for the arrangement to work.
The next time Madara met Tobirama was on the battlefield.
It was one of the usual Senju-Uchiha scuffles, where Hashirama reached out and brokered for peace between their clans.
Madara had already announced his plan to his clan prior and had stepped his foot down on any that opposed for stupid reasons. Thankfully, with Izuna’s help, this discourse was pacified and more people than what Madara had expected supported his decision.
Unlike the previous times, Madara accepted Hashirama’s offer. His old friend and the rest of the Senju clan, spare Tobirama, were stupefied in return. Hashirama was quick to recover though. His erratic mood swings likely made it easy for him to recover. The Senju head rejoiced loudly until Tobirama’s stern voice cut him down. “Shut up!”
“Well that’s anticlimactic,” Izuna muttered at the sight of cross-armed Tobirama lecturing the depressed Hashirama about propriety.
Madara snorted. He had a feeling that the following process would not end much differently.
He was correct.
Thanks to their earlier preparation with the treaty language and plans for presentation, the peace treaty was ready and signed without much debate. A village was being planned and built not long after.
In three years, they had managed to stabilize the village—“Konoha”, Madara had named it. Hashirama was elected as the leader of the village, the Hokage, in a democratic vote. Tobirama vouched that the vote would be the best show of fairness, though they all knew the brunette was too charismatic for his own good and would surely win. The votes did not disappoint their expectations, though Madara was pleasantly surprised when he found out he hadn’t been far off in popularity. What came as a real surprise to him was that Tobirama had voted for him over hid brother.
When asked, the Senju snarked, “At least, then we would have a leader capable of doing their own paperwork.”
Madara laughed and Izuna set a reassuring hand on his rival’s shoulder. The two younger brothers had surprisingly become friends over the years, though it was a gradual process. Realizing that they worked together well and found each other agreeable when one wasn’t spiting the other certainly helped.
It was refreshing to watch them interact. Izuna was social, but Tobirama struck Madara as a loner given how private he tended to be. The younger Senju had a presence to him that both drew people in and isolated himself unlike his older brother’s bright charisma and cheery personality. So, seeing Tobirama relax a little was pleasant. He was quite handsome, after all; more so when he wasn’t scowling up a storm or glaring daggers.
Of course, Madara wouldn’t openly admit that.
With Konoha stable as more clans joined their cause, it didn’t take long for Hashirama to propose that they hold a large village-wide festival to celebrate.
Hence, how Madara found Tobirama staring at a wall of masks under the bright glow of the lanterns decorating the street.
Oddly enough, the man lacked his fox mask despite being dressed for the festival in a nice gray yukata. While the man did look good in it, Madara felt he would look better in other colors—like red or indigo or blue; mostly, the sort of colors the Uchiha tended to wear rather than the Senju’s earthy tones.
Madara shut those thoughts away as he approached the pale man. “Shall I buy you a new one?”
This was the first time Madara hinted at their shared past.
Tobirama didn’t flinch. The silver-haired man just turned to him, meeting his gaze with his red eyes. “I have enough money to buy my own, as I did back then too.” He sniffed. “I’m fond of my current one though, thank you.”
“You're welcome,” Madara smirked, causing Tobirama’s eyebrow to twitch. “Speaking of your mask, you aren’t wearing it today.” Madara pointed out. “It’s the perfect opportunity to do so too.”
“It’s getting on with age,” He promptly explained, turning away from the dark-haired man. After a moment, Tobirama muttered. “It might not last if I wear it any longer.”
Hearing him over the chatter, Madara hummed and considered the masks on display. The old woman selling them was preoccupied with a group of children choosing masks at the moment. The dark-haired man stretched his neck from side-to-side as his eyes traveled from the stand owner, to the masks, and back to Tobirama.
The pale Senju with his moonlight-kissed hair was still staring at the masks. Just what is on his mind?
Unlike his younger self, the man clearly was not at a loss on what to do during a festival… right?
The thought stirred Madara forward. He took a fox mask that reminded him of the first mask from years ago and dropped the coins on the old woman’s table. “Hey Oba-san! I’m taking this mask. The money is on the table, here.”
“Thanks for the purchase!” The old woman hollered from where she stood, still occupied by kids.
Tobirama gave him a perplexed look that was quite endearing. Madara almost chuckled fondly over it as he stepped into the other man’s personal space.
“Here,” Madara fit the mask over Tobirama’s face. “You wanted this right?”
Tobirama hastily reached up for the mask to realign it out of his face. Once he moved it aside, revealing those stupefied red eyes and handsome face, Madara couldn’t resist leaning in and grabbing Tobirama’s hand.
The Senju narrowed his eyes, having snapped out of whatever astonishment had overtaken him in a split-second. “What are you doing?”
Madara smirked and just pulled Tobirama forward with him. “Come on, you can’t spend Konoha’s first festival just standing there.” He tilted his head, goading the other man. “Or have you forgotten how to enjoy one already?”
The provocation garnered a glower from the Senju. His eye twitched. “I haven’t.”
“Prove it.”