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Butsuma looks up at the moon that hangs low in the sky, avoiding the gaze of the man who sits next to him on the steps. Full and round, it seems pregnant with possibilities, a silver fruit dangling from the branches of a heaven that is forever out of reach.
A lie, in other words, and one Butsuma is far too old to believe.
There's a burst of noise from the shrine behind them as even more yelling breaks out, and Tajima snorts into his sake. "I can't believe they're still at it."
"It's been years," Butsuma agrees, and yet he can see why the feud continues. "Looking at Hashirama and your son, I sometimes think the living move faster than the dead."
"Of course they do." Tajima leans back, sprawling on the stone slabs which they both saw their sons drag out of the ground. "The living know every moment is precious, but we..." he waves his hand at the ancestors who fill the shrine behind them, "we have nothing but time."
"And so we don't change." Butsuma raises his cup in silent agreement before taking a sip. "I wonder if our children will change us when they get here?"
"Are you so sure they haven't already?" Tajima's eyes are red, the tomoe spinning in a slow hypnotic circle, but Butsuma doesn't look away. There's no gain in casting a genjutsu on the dead, and so he's perfectly safe here beside his oldest enemy. "We wouldn't have done this when we were alive."
It's true, the idea would have been unthinkable.
The pressures of the war, the necessities of survival, the shed blood of the dead... they all dictated his choices then in a way they don't do now. And watching Hashirama and Madara marry, have children, grow old... it has changed him, and Butsuma can't deny it.
He's not the man he was when he died, and is that such a terrible thing to admit?
He lets his gaze linger on those eyes, that sharp jaw, the sly smile, and watches Tajima watch him. Death, the worst thing that can possibly happen to any shinobi, has already happened to him.
So what, truly, has he left to lose?
Butsuma leans over slowly, giving every possible opportunity for escape, but Tajima only tilts his chin up so their lips can better fit together. The sensation of skin on skin is smooth, and Tajima's mouth tastes like sake, moving under his but never yielding.
It's a kiss that burns like fire, and exactly what Butsuma always thought kissing an Uchiha would be like.
What kissing Tajima would be like.
"Heh." Tajima smirks at him as he pulls away, just far enough for their eyes to meet. "And it only took being dead for you to want me."
"No." Butsuma cups his rivals cheek and savours the surprise in those eyes. "No, it didn't."