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“Right now, we can drink together, as war buddies.”
Blinking blearily, Madara wakes up and finds himself in Hashirama’s bed. Standing right beside the bed, Hashirama stares at him with a beaming smile. He looks so young: his expression is so eager, and his face is smooth and flushed pink—the characteristic cracks of the Edo Tensei are absent.
Where am I? I should be dead—
“Good morning,” Hashirama says, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. “I hope you enjoyed the one year anniversary of the village yesterday. And everything that came after it.” He winks.
That memory instantly flashes in his mind, and Madara can’t help the roguish grin that spreads across his face. How could he forget the firebreathers, jugglers, countless drinks, rounds and rounds of mahjong, and the wild night back at Hashirama’s house?
“I did,” he said, his voice raspy.
So it seems I’ve been sent back in time. Or to an alternate universe.
Hashirama’s smile becomes smaller, more tentative, and his eyes search Madara’s gaze. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he says sincerely.
Ah. That’s right. Around now would have been the time that I started dropping hints to Hashirama that I wanted to leave the village. I wasn’t particularly subtle about it, after all.
Madara nods. “It might have even been better than the festival celebrating the village’s foundation,” he says, smirking.
Hashirama gives him a playful push. “I made breakfast. Come down, will you?”
Stretching his arms above his head, Madara says, “You’re quite the hospitable host, no?”
Giving a small bow, Hashirama says, “I strive to please. In all aspects of the word.”
After a languid breakfast, the two of them make their way to what will become the Hokage Tower. Inside the office, they greet Tobirama, who has been hard at work since the early hours of the morning.
“You should have come earlier,” drones Tobirama. “The stack of documents didn’t go away just because you decided to leave early yesterday.”
Madara snorts.
Hashirama groans as he sees five large stacks of documents piled high on his desk. Madara pulls up a chair next to Hashirama. “I’ll help you look through these,” he says.
He can practically feel Tobirama’s raised eyebrow.
It’s not unwarranted. I had been…shirking my duties to ponder the stone tablet.
Hashirama beams. “Oh, Madara, you’re the kindest,” he gushes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Madara ignores him and snatches the document Hashirama’s holding. “They’re trying to rob you blind,” he mutters. “The Takahashi rice merchants owe the Uchiha clan a favor. I’ll ask them to renegotiate this contract.”
If possible, Hashirama’s beaming smile grows even larger.
Madara feels Tobirama’s attention refocus on his own documents, and he resists the urge to snort.
It’s hard for you to believe I can put the village first, I know.
After a long day at the office, Madara doesn’t turn down Hashirama’s offer for dinner, which surprises both Hashirama and Tobirama.
This is my second chance, he thinks to himself. It’d be a shame to waste it.
At Saito’s Udon stand, Madara smiles fondly as Hashirama slurps on his noodles. Madara watches his reflection ripple in the broth as he picks out the small cubes of silken tofu.
“I can’t believe Touka’s actions yesterday,” Hashirama says, giggling. “She’s usually not one to start dancing on tables.”
“Hikaku dared her,” Madara says. “Said he’d pay her his next month’s salary if she did it. Well, both of them were five drinks deep at that point.”
After he finishes taking a long gulp of sake, Hashirama gapes. “And Hikaku told you this?”
Madara raises an eyebrow. “Of course not,” he says sardonically. “I overheard them at the firebreather tent. Not that they were being very subtle about it.”
Hashirama raises his cup. Sighing, Madara raises his cup in turn and clinks it against Hashirama’s. Both of them sip their sake, and Madara places his cup down, giving Hashirama a considering look. Then, Madara leans forward to rest his head on Hashirama’s shoulder, and he smothers a smirk at the sudden spike he feels in Hashirama’s chakra.
With a moment’s hesitation, Hashirama wraps his arm around Madara.
“Come home with me?” Hashirama asks.
From where he’s smushed against Hashirama’s shoulder, Madara gives a slight nod.
After they finish their thoroughly strenuous activities, Madara waits until Hashirama falls asleep and stealthily climbs out of bed and escapes to the bathroom. Staring at himself in Hashirama’s mirror, he carefully inspects his mind and body for any trace of Black Zetsu. He finds nothing.
This is truly my second chance.
When he returns to the bedroom, he finds Hashirama pouting at him.
“I had to pee,” Madara lies as he climbs back into bed beside Hashirama. Once he pulls the covers over himself, Hashirama rolls over and nuzzles his face in the crook of Madara’s neck. Madara smiles and runs his hand through Hashirama’s hair.
—
With each day that passes, it gets easier to leave the chaos and failure of his first life in the past. In the village, Madara settles into a rhythm: he attends meetings, works with Tobirama to hold Hashirama accountable to his paperwork, and smooths out matters with his own clan. The Uchiha, once on the path to distrusting and discrediting him, notice his changed demeanor and slowly begin to believe in him again.
Hashirama grows softer, more tender with him. Hashirama looks at him as if he hangs the stars. He grows more public with his affection towards him to the point that it’s the hottest village gossip. Madara finds that perhaps he can begin to believe Hashirama’s words that he was “his gift from the divine”.
To be loved this openly by Hashirama is a blessing that Madara never could have imagined, and life is sweeter for it.
—
Four months after Madara initially woke up again in the village, the dreaded day comes to pass. Izuna’s death day. He visits the Uchiha cemetery, intent on paying his respects.
As Madara finishes brushing Izuna’s stone monument, he feels Tobirama’s chakra from behind him and turns around. Tobirama is holding a fresh bouquet, a bucket and ladle, and three sticks of incense.
Madara raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Tobirama clears his throat. “May I?” he asks quietly.
Stepping back, Madara nods. Tobirama comes closer, then begins to carefully pour water over the gravestone. Each pour of the ladle over the stone is methodical and meticulous.
Then, Madara places his bouquet of white lilies at the foot of the grave. Tobirama follows with his bouquet of bone-white chrysanthemums, and seeing the two bundles of flowers together brings a peace to Madara he hadn’t expected. Reaching into his pocket, Madara pulls out a box of Izuna’s favorite cigars and places it in between the flowers.
In unspoken agreement, they both crouch down at the same time, placing their sticks of incense in the burner. With a soft puff of breath, Madara starts a flame at the tip of his index finger and lights both sticks of incense. They place their palms together and bow their heads.
I hope you’re living a better life in the Pure Lands now, otouto.
After their prayers, they fan out the flames with their hands.
“Thank you for coming,” Madara says quietly. “I think Izuna would be proud to see where we are now.”
Tobirama bows. “You honor me with your words, Madara-san. This is the least I can do for Izuna-san.”
—
A week later, after they finish dinner together, Madara says to Hashirama, “Let’s invite Tobirama to dinner tomorrow. Does he like zangi?”
A grin spreads over Hashirama’s face. “Yes, actually.”
At five minutes to seven, Tobirama knocks on the door. Madara opens it and raises an eyebrow at the especially large bottle of sake Tobirama is holding.
“I didn’t take you for a drinker,” Madara says as he gestures for Tobirama to enter.
“I don’t. But I thought you and Hashirama would appreciate it,” Tobirama says as he steps into the house.
Madara hangs up Tobirama’s coat in the closet. “Quite considerate of you. I’m sure Hashirama and I will finish it by the end of the night. Unless you’re drinking as well?”
The corner of Tobirama’s mouth lifts upwards. “Tonight, yes.”
Walking out of the kitchen, Hashirama calls out, “Tobirama!” Once he's standing next to Madara, Hashirama throws his arm around Madara. “I’m so glad you decided to join us.” He’s beaming.
An indulgent smile spreads lazily over Madara’s face as he leans back, letting Hashirama shoulder his weight. Hashirama turns his head and gives Madara a quick kiss on his cheek. Madara’s smile becomes softer, and he circles his arms around Hashirama’s neck.
Getting the memo, Hashirama picks him up and carries him bridal style to the dining room.
Ah, this is bliss.
At the dining table, the three of them eat copious amounts of spicy fried chicken and drink countless cups of sake—Tobirama is true to his word. The sake flows like water, and Madara finds that he’s a good bit more intoxicated than he planned to be. The alcohol makes him lax, makes him reckless. Truthful. But Madara quite likes this feeling of elation, of pure uninhibited pleasure.
“Thank you for inviting me, Madara,” Tobirama says, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol and the spice.
Hashirama nods vigorously. “Yes, otherwise you would have been slaving away in your workshop until the early hours,” he says.
His face pleasantly flushed, Madara smiles as he waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he says. “None of this means anything anyways.”
He blinks as the mood instantly shifts. Hashirama gazes at him in concern, the smile wiped from his face. Tobirama stares at him with a raised eyebrow.
Oops. I guess I’m drunker than I thought.
“Forget it,” Madara says halfheartedly, starting to stand up.
Of course this wouldn’t last. Who did I think I was?
Hashirama stands up as well and grabs his hand, tears beginning to well in his eyes. “Madara, what do you mean?”
Madara shakes off Hashirama’s grip. “Leave me alone,” he mutters. “I’m going upstairs.”
Hashirama reaches out again, his grip stronger than before. Madara doesn’t have the heart to slap him until he lets go.
Madara slumps into his chair. His head feels so woozy; his temples are throbbing. He blinks, trying to focus on Hashirama. The alcohol makes the words spill out of his mouth. “You’ve probably noticed that I’m very different from who I was a year ago. I’m a time traveler.”
As he considers his next words, he can’t help the tendril of pettiness that strikes him as he takes in Hashirama’s stricken expression; Tobirama’s lips have flattened into a thin line.
There’s no going back after tonight. What’s the point of hiding the truth now?
Madara takes a sip of his sake. “You killed me in my last life, Hashirama.”
Hashirama is struck speechless; his mouth parts in shock. He lets go of Madara’s hand. “You’re lying,” he pleads.
Tobirama observes them carefully.
Madara shakes his head, then downs the rest of his cup. “Unfortunately not. But it was because I vowed to destroy the village.” His gaze grows distant. “I was fooled by Kaguya, the Rabbit Goddess.”
Tobirama’s eyes flash. “I have heard stories of her,” he murmurs. “Snatches here and there, never anything concrete.”
Madara pours himself more sake until his cup is filled to the brim, about to overflow. He picks it up and swirls it, watching the sake messily slosh over the edge until it forms a miniature whirlpool. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow. I’m going to bed now.” The finality in his voice leaves no room for argument. He downs the rest of his cup, stands up, and stumbles to the closet to grab his jacket. The house is eerily silent as he opens the door and lets the cold winter air blast him in the face.
His heart feels so empty as he observes the slowly drifting flurries. He extends his hand and watches as snowflakes land in his outstretched palm and melt into nothingness. Curling his fingers into a tight fist, he relishes in the icy wetness that spreads to his fingertips.
I’ll miss this.
That night, for the first time in many weeks, Madara returns to his own home in the Uchiha district.
In the morning, Madara lets himself into Hashirama’s house. At the kitchen table, Hashirama and Tobirama sit, both of them sipping on tea.
Madara gazes at the two of them evenly. “A genjutsu would be the best way to explain this. This is something that cannot be unlearned,” he warns.
Tobirama gives a curt nod. Hashirama says seriously, “I need to know the truth.”
Oh, I’m sure you’ll wish you hadn’t.
And so, Madara envelops both of them in his genjutsu that runs through the events of his life: his discovery of the stone tablet, his break with Hashirama, his attempts to destroy the village, how Hashirama killed him. Then, Madara shows them how he was revived, how he formed the Akatsuki and vowed to carry out his true dream, the Infinite Tsukoyomi. How the world was enveloped by a world war, how Madara placed everyone in his genjutsu. How he thought he had accomplished his dream, up until Black Zetsu revealed himself and betrayed him. How Kaguya sprung from his body and almost destroyed the world. How he died with Hashirama by his side.
After he ends the genjutsu, Madara gets up from his seat. “I’ll take my leave now,” he says softly, forcing himself to ignore the sinking of his heart.
How foolish I was to believe that this could last.
Hashirama’s hand grips his wrist tightly.
“Don’t,” Hashirama orders.
Madara stops, willing himself not to look back as he heats up his wrist to the point Hashirama has to let go. Vines ensnare his body, and Madara sighs.
“Let me go, will you?” Madara asks, unable to help the dejection in his voice.
Hashirama sounds tearful as he says, “I love you.”
Madara shakes his head. “The Madara you loved is gone. I’m not him.”
“Maybe not,” Tobirama agrees, “but it’s for the better.”
A smile spreads over Madara’s face, and he turns back to look at the pair of brothers. “Really? Because I find that I don’t have any dreams anymore.”
“Then why did you stay in the village in this lifetime?” Tobirama asks, his voice neutral.
Madara shrugs. “Perhaps I just like to spend time with Hashirama. And besides, there’s nothing for me outside the village.”
Hashirama steps forward and crushes Madara in a tight hug. “I’m sorry we failed you in your first life,” he says, sounding tearful. “I won’t do anything like that, you have to believe me.”
Madara sighs, placing a hand on Hashirama’s cheek, watching as the tears begin spilling. “I’m not going to leave,” he says tenderly. “The only reason I have to live is you.”
Hashirama sobs, butting his forehead against Madara’s. “I’m never going to let you go,” he promises. “You’ll have to kill me if you want me to let you go.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Madara says fondly as he gently wipes the tears under Hashirama’s eyes. Hashirama lets out another sob and hugs Madara tighter. Madara relaxes into Hashirama’s hold, feeling warmth and contentment spread through him.
Tobirama clears his throat. “In that case, I propose a marriage.”
Madara turns to gaze at Tobirama. He cocks his head. “I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Perhaps… this can last.
“Eyes on me,” Hashirama demands, and Madara can’t help but smile. Hashirama’s lips crush his own in a soul-consuming kiss, and Madara lets himself be swept away, his heart weightless and free.
A lifetime with you.
I can’t wait.