Chapter Text
“-A housecat!” Hashirama exclaims out of nowhere, interrupting Madara’s trail of thought.
“What?” he asks, because they’re nowhere near any cats, sitting in the middle of a recently opened izakaya. “That’s what he re- Tobirama! He sleeps exactly like a housecat!” His friend is staring towards the ceiling as if some higher being had inserted the thought into his empty skull. A cat? A housecat, at that?
“When?”
“Just this morning-”
“-did I bring that up?” He’s not even trying to be cruel, it was a genuine question smushed between Hashirama’s excitable ramble that was sure to come. While his friend sulks, he tries to realign the shaking his brain was just mentally put through. Purple skies set an atmosphere he’d dreamed of gaining, waning sunlight making way for candlelight within every establishment on Konohagakure’s soon-to-be culinary district. There’s a few other customers seated far enough away to remain private, cushioned by the same tatami mats he and Hashirama have flattened from their generously timed outing. And still, there is nothing that brings cats to mind, much less Tobirama.
“Quit sulking,” he grumbles. “What exactly made you think I needed to know that?” and just to make sure, he sips at the last few milliliters of sake sitting at the bottom of his cup to better digest his friend’s answer. Or grant him patience, whichever one he required more.
“It’s just that-” he sips from his own cup and wipes at his mouth with his sleeve eugh- “I wake Tobirama when the morning seems to pass him by, and he gets hissy if I don’t do it before the sun barely rises, so I’m the one-” another sip, “who has to act as his personal wake-up call! Can you believe it?” Madara nearly answers to say no, because Tobirama? Needing to be woken up like some child who hasn’t yet learned discipline to wake up on time? He nearly giggled. “But the sight had always reminded me of something, the only reason I even recalled it is because I had seen a stray stretched out in the sun today,”
He imagines the multitude of sleeping positions he’s seen the stray cats at the compound adopt, from twisted spines, curled into a ball, other that stuff their paws under the mass of their torso, before trying to translate those onto Senju Tobirama, as his brother claims. “It must have been a sign because even its fur was as white as my brother’s hair!” And lets out the loudest guffaw of his life , before abruptly shutting his mouth because Hashirama was startled enough to flinch in place before staring at Madara with comically wide eyes.
At the periphery of his vision, he can see that the other customers had quieted to a noticeable degree and turned their heads. He should be embarrassed at such a slip, but the sake must have done its job and more, because the look on Hashirama’s face is enough to send more laughter bubbling up his throat. It must be contagious, his friend’s face morphing to laugh between Madara’s own laughs, before they’re both cackling loud enough to sound like a pair of turkeys.
Hashirama attempts to speak between his snickering, “And- and he- Tobirama’s always dead asleep each time-!” his breath is near heaving now “Any time I try and bring it up, he just swats at me.” His hand swipes at the air, his sleeve following soon after. Just like-
They’re both close to toppling over themselves as the second round of snickering is overpowering enough that they smack their own knees, the table, the floor, and then try to grasp onto each other across the low surface. The Hokage and the Uchiha clan head, laughing themselves silly like teenage girls who just exchanged the latest gossip. How the mighty do not fall, but stumble. And chortle.
Not cold, but a chill steeps over them once they make their way out of the izakaya later that night. Both of their faces are ridiculously flushed, not quite belonging with the steady movement of their stride on gravel roads. It isn’t until they reach a fork in the road where they each head to their own districts, before Hashirama speaks up with a simple, “Do you want to see it?” and swipes at the air before curling his fingers into a loose fist and lets it hang from his wrist. What a ridiculous man, with an equally ridiculous brother, it seems.
“Yes.”
Hashirama had shared that the Senju tend to live communally with their closest members and whatnot, regardless of the fact that they’d marry or come of age. In Madara’s humble opinion, they resembled overgrown cradles, except the recipients can take care of themselves. Previous visits have made the sight of a modest home with kawara tiles lining the roofs, their color a deep green (“To resemble the land before we inhabited the area!”) and a plethora of greenlife surrounding the home a familiar sight. He might even call it nostalgic, thinking back to the barebones of the village when everyone was still earning their keep, lack of time and energy leaving no room for decoration. He can still smell the leftover dew sitting deep in the dirt. It’s quaint.
His friend is not as quiet as he should be because he’s letting his feet thump the barest amount, so he follows his lead as he slips off his sandals, brushes the soles of his feet against the mat at the doorway and weaves his hands into the sleeves of his mantle. Then he lets his arms hang at his side soon after because the air inside had turned the slightest bit humid.
“Psst!” Squinted eyes peer at him with a mischievous look dancing in every wrinkle of skin, thumb pointed towards the room where his brother sleeps. It occurs to Madara that his behavior is ridiculous, venturing into a home just to catch a glimpse of a feline man to gain some sort of visual blackmail, maybe to hold over his head when teeth are unsheathed enough to reveal shiny gums. Steeping in the thought a little longer causes Hashirama to call for him again, this time with a small hum as if one would call a bird. If his arm knocks into his shoulder in his drunken stupor, neither of them make note of it.
Half-expecting the sight to change his mind (a newly formed opinion, a remarkable memory, maybe breathless from laughter), he just drinks in the sight with a blissfully silent head. Where there would be laughter, soft breathing takes its place, timed in the rise and falls of Senju Tobirama’s sprawled form over his equally sprawled futon. Wow, he thinks, This is more ridiculous than I thought.
The Senju has one arm above his head, like he dreamt someone had tossed him a scroll and moved accordingly, and the other is curled around his midriff, just barely above the expanse of skin that reveals itself from the wrinkled top he wears. On the arm above him, his head rests to smush his cheek into his bicep. Is he drooling? Dizziness warps his balance before it ceases when he remembers to breathe. Alright.
Hashirama looks back and forth between his brother and his friend, delight shining through the expectant gaze he levels on Madara. Just like I told you! He would say.
“I told you!” he whisper shouts before bringing up his hands to mimic cat paws and gestures. “Just like a cat.” Madara hums in response, not wanting to work up his friend any longer. It’s anticlimactic and amusing in equal measure, but he continues staring anyway, like Tobirama might start purring or twist into another ridiculous pose. Such a good shinobi who rests like he has nothing to guard. “How the hell does he run missions?” A genjutsu maybe? Or takes solo missions.
“Ah, I’m not sure. I’ve seen him sleep upright before, and he never sleeps like this outside our home. He slept like this back at the old compound as well.” He hums again, this time making note of how the tuft of hair on Tobirama’s stomach trails down under his low-hanging pants. A shade darker than the mess on his head. So content, so careless, the man doesn’t stir once and it makes Madara slouch a smidge more. Moonlight looks much too appropriate on his person, the waves of scrunched clothes and blanket contrasting more sharply against the face resting on it. Ridiculous.
More soft breaths fill the room, before he steps back and the sound of his clothing rustles in the silent home. “I need to retire to my own compound.” Pressure under his eyelids pounds a little more adamantly as if telling him to sleep while he still can, when he isn’t near dead or pulling all-nighters to finish paperwork or a mission. A sight for sore eyes, one might say, body spread free of worry in secrecy, daring him to try and sleep as well as the other currently is.
Wood creaks under the elder Senju’s weight, leaning heavier to face his friend, “Rest well, Madara.” and Madara sees himself out with a simple wave to make his way back to the entrance, put his sandals back on, and shunshins home.
The week continues as normal, paperwork floods into every block of time he has, before moving over to delegating within Konoha’s borders, and ending the day routinely with a simple discussion with Izuna before getting ready for bed. Simple turns to gossip fast.
“Tobirama sleeps like an idiot.” Madara says with no greeting. Izuna falls deathly silent and whips his head to stare. His mouth opens, closes, and when he inhales- “I know because Hashirama had taken me to their home and let me in the room as if it was an exhibition.” Madara interrupts.
“What does sleeping like an idiot entail…?” Izuna’s voice trails off as if curiosity had dragged his voice away.
“Other than your own example-” Madara moves his torso to the left in order to dodge a ridiculously dull senbon and he hears the fusuma rip, “ Aye! He sleeps like a damned feline. ” He enunciates the word as loudly as he can and then watches every character process in his brother’s face.
“Ha!-” Izuna throws his head back and Madara takes the chance to flick at his throat as payback for the ripped wall behind him, Izuna going hurk! And landing on his back to cradle his throat. “Traitor! Backstabber! So unfair!-”
“Yeah, yeah, what are you? Some year old babe? And so you know what Hashirama says?” Izuna has no choice but to continue to soothe his throat and tilt his head in response. “Called the man a stray cat. Said that’s the only reason he thought of Tobirama.” There’s hoarse laughter sounding from below him where Izuna continues to lose his mind on the floor.
“But don’t tell him I said that. No one else knows.” Madara has to fight the shame wriggling in his chest because he sounds like such a child. Don’t tell him? Has he lost his mind?
“Don’t tell who?”
“Who else.”
“Yes, but which brother?”
“ Both of them, Izuna. Both!”
“Then why did you only say ‘him’ instead of-”
He’s tired. He’s tired in ways he hasn’t been before, large knots under his skin right above his spine and shoulders. He has to fight the urge to roll his shoulders and head, to relieve his body and mind.
“I’m retiring, Izuna.”
“But you’re so young!”
The sliding door slams as he hurries to his bedroom in an effort to end the conversation. It works! And so Madara’s night is free. Free enough to lay in sweet silence and let his brain simmer.
Except his mind wanders much too far, beyond clouds into the stars before crashing down into the lone room in Hashirama’s home, empty save for the man sprawled and slackened on the floor. Boneless.
Relentless boredom must be the reason for his actions, the idea that Tobirama must be sleeping well due to his posing, so he tries to replicate what he saw as best he could. His shoulder pops once as he extends it above his head and it’s enough incentive to stop there and never try again. The heat doesn’t seem to leave his face even after sleeping till dawn. “Stupid cat..” he grumbles to himself.
It’s exactly seven days from his and Hashirama’s drunken travels that he sees Tobirama again.
“Izuna.” he says in the blandest tone possible. Madara nearly turned around to see if his brother was standing behind him, but Izuna was sent to oversee the Academy training of the older students. The age range has increased dramatically and now even teenagers stay back to learn skills more thoroughly before being assigned missions. Madara worries for his brother’s wellbeing, blabbermouth in all but Uchiha matters and mission details.
“What about him?”
“Let me finish.”
He should strangle him, Hashirama’s tears be damned. They would be equals in another aspect, he’ll be wringing Izuna’s neck soon after depending on what brought this on.
“...” They both stand in tense silence, with only the scuffling of sandals of wood to fill the air as administrative employees wander about, luckily avoiding the one hallway the two founders occupy. In a show of goodwill, Madara shifts his weight on his other foot and lets his hands hang loose around his sides. Waiting.
“Finished?” and Tobirama sounds as if he’s forcing the next sentence out of his vocal cords,
“Izuna has been…” and he scrunches his face to an unimaginable degree. “Meowing. At me. And at first I thought he’d finally gotten his head knocked around enough to cause permanent damage.” Madara can feel his soul leave his body with every word Tobirama spews. Izuna, you traitor! Backstabber!
“So if he wanted to ruin his chances of ever being respectable out of the field, I certainly wasn’t going to stop him.” It’s at this point that his expression becomes less disgusted and more wrathful. The wrinkles around his nose keep twitching as if he’s trying not to snarl.
“Imagine my surprise when he decided to ruin your chances too.” There it is. Izuna tattled. Tattled in the hopes that he’d only be getting away by using Madara as collateral. “ A cat in the Senju Zoo and it was asleep, " he says verbatim…” Now he can see Tobirama’s chest heaving in an attempt to calm his breathing. Or blow some water senbon, most likely. “ An honor reserved for the two main founders, he says! So tell me, Uchiha , how exactly that came to be.”
Madara opens his mouth slightly, “-and why was it so necessary to gossip to your brother!” Tobirama interrupts and now his teeth are clenching together hard enough to cause a tremble in his jaw. Once he’s sure that Tobirama has finished, he responds in a tone that could be considered meek by anyone who didn’t know him personally, “It was Hashirama.”
“Oh I saw to that. How else would you have made a visit.” The white of his sclera is starting to redden from the lack of blinking. In fact, the rest of his face has gained a pink hue and has made its way down under his collar. “What I want to know is why. ” Madara has to fight to not shrug, because even he doesn’t know why he tagged along. Despite it increasing his chances of being mauled, he answers with a simple,
“It was amusing.” If possible, Tobirama’s frame continues to tense and even his hair puffs up like- “We were drinking and we had time to spare,” he averts his eyes to look at the silver spikes instead of ruby spheres. “I was curious as to why the Senju heir needed a morning alarm-” “Shut your mouth! ”
Blue chakra flares just enough to cause a single crack in the flooring. Hmm, he could take Tobirama in a fight. Even within the Hokage tower. He’d just rather not, especially over something so absurd.
“What did you say?” Oh, he must’ve said that out loud. “You believe this is absurd? Well, you know what I think is ridiculous ?” Tobirama doesn’t step forward, instead smiles mockingly and holds his arms out, motioning to Madara, and from here he can see the sharp lines of his hands as his bones jut out to form prominent knuckles. “That the Uchiha clan head is slinking into bedrooms to look at people sleeping.”
“Don’t make me out to be some sort of pervert, you moron! Your brother offered!” His face feels overwhelmingly warm. In an attempt to catch the man in front of him off guard, he follows up with a quick, “I’ve had ailments with rest lately. You slept so soundly. How did you do it?”
It feels disturbingly honest, to admit it out loud. Even now his back contains a pressure that only seems to grow with each day. He seems to have taken Tobirama off guard enough to momentarily shock him into silence. He’s incredulous, jaw hanging low enough to expose his bottom row of teeth, and his eyes are darting back forth. The sheen of wetness across his eyes has gathered enough to leave a lone tear down his cheek-?
“Are you crying? ”
“Shut up! I am not crying, you oaf.” At that, he rubs at his eyelids and angles his head upwards before sighing through his nose. And sighs again, this time bringing his palm down to cover his mouth and continue to stare at Madara while blinking away the redness of his eyes…
“Well?”
“Not at all.”
“Fine then, stare at me all day in silence if that’s what you’d like, better silence than your nagging.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.” Just like that, Madara’s getting agitated at the Senju’s refusal to just accept that he knows that he sleeps like a housecat. The warmth at his nape grows under the weight of his hair. Too many seconds pass by to sound honest in his answer, so he just shrugs.
“Fine then.” Tobirama yips.
“Fine.” He retorts.
“...You have a meeting to join Hashirama with the shinobi council and figure out this month's expenses regarding repairs to training grounds and restocking supplies.” He waits a beat. “In three hours.”
“And you hadn’t thought to tell me before because?” tiny squeaks sound from his clenched fist as leather stretches over his hand.
“Hashirama was supposed to tell you.” Ah. “Sleep well.” the man says before disappearing in a swirl of air with a lone leaf in his place. The one left behind can only gather his bearings enough to properly prepare for a meeting he didn’t even know existed until now. He stands unmoving a while longer before exclaiming, “Did he say sleep well ?!”