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Home.
Comfort, familiarity—the surface level definitions of a home. A place to return to when the labors of the day are finally complete.
Beneath that surface: family, however tense through the worst of nights. Laughter, sorrow, well-hidden tears.
The sharp edges of a sword are not home. The gasping nightmares, awoken suddenly and clutching at a long-healed wound—a wound that should have been fatal. That is not home.
Home is a man who cares for nothing more than his last remaining brother, sitting in silent grief after each death comes to pass. Mourning together for names that will never leave one’s mind, seared forever.
In the brightest of times, home is belonging. Bright smiles to match a summer day, where there is no fear of the cold. In the darkest of times, home is acceptance. Comradery soaked with gentle care.
Sure, there is comfort and there is familiarity, but that is not what makes a home.
In a home, one is loved.
Home is a village, borne of foolish dreams that somehow made their way to reality. Surviving what should have been death and living to see a brother’s smile for another day.
Home is noticing when one’s brother smiles more; realizing that he is happier here than he ever was at war.
Very decidedly and determinedly, home is not the enemy. It is not blood and memories and fatal wounds.
Home is not Tobirama.
The speech must pass through Izuna’s mind once a day. He puts home into categories, and then decides what is and is not his home.
He is loved by his brother. He is accepted and appreciated. He finds home in Madara, just as he always has.
Although, Madara’s home is no longer entirely Izuna; he knows this, and he has come to terms with it. Madara loves Hashirama, and accepts everything that comes with the burden of loving a Senju. That, now, is his home.
Izuna must find his own home, now that safety is a possibility and comfort is not rare.
Madara has given him suggestions, friends, time, energy. All that Izuna does not deserve for the burden he has caused his brother. And yet, that is something he has—Madara’s unending love.
It is no secret that the Uchiha love too much. In fact, it’s intrinsic in the biology of the clan. Their power is awoken from it.
Izuna remembers when Madara awakened his Sharingan. He recalls stories of those who have lost family and friends, the grief and sorrow that culminates in a tragedy-induced blessing. Yet all Madara needed to achieve his was the loss of friendship with Hashirama. Izuna remembers his outrage that Madara achieved it so easily.
He did not understand until much, much later just what that loss had meant to Madara, or why it had caused the Sharingan.
Izuna’s Sharingan was much more traditional in its acquisition. Loss, of course, and sorrow, and grief. Everything proper for an Uchiha.
The Uchiha love so strongly, and when it is lost—as all things must eventually be—it is lost even stronger.
And, far more terribly, an Uchiha’s love does not retreat.
Izuna remembers Madara’s words. He knows that Madara loved Hashirama as a child, and then never stopped loving him. Even in the cold of winter when battles raged like storms, Madara would return to the compound with a tangible sadness.
To the Uchiha, home was more than a place or a fleeting feeling. It was everything.
And Izuna knew, with full certainty, that Tobirama was not his home. Unbidden emotions and longing glances did not change the fact that Tobirama had so very nearly killed him—their peace was already so tentative, so hesitant. Izuna did not want to love somebody who would always hate his bloodline.
Perhaps there was a village, but no single person in it that had not previously been Izuna’s home could rise to that standard, no matter how peaceful.
~•~
Summer built a home in Izuna’s chest as he found his own in the village, rediscovering life. There was so much to do, and yet it seemed like the plausibility of its success was greater each day. There was no time restraint; no looming battle on a bloodstained horizon. They were cleaning that blood alongside their clan names.
Madara always had so very much to do, and Izuna was never hesitant to have some of the work delegated to himself.
It took a long time for Izuna to no longer feel useless. He simmered away in a tent for weeks after sustaining the worst injury of his life, and even after recovering a breadth away from death, there was nothing he could do for weeks further.
During his time being idle, Izuna heard about peace treaties and alliances, and scoffed at the mere concept. The Senju were violent, brutalistic animals who lived on vitriol and spite with no moral code to speak of—well, that was what Izuna had been raised to believe.
While Izuna rested, Madara would voice his excitement about the Senju’s willing cooperation. He didn’t even believe it to be a trick, which Izuna had further thought ridiculous.
But the more that Madara spoke of Hashirama and the Senju he had met with, the more it seemed that they were, fundamentally, people.
It was difficult to believe, when Izuna’s opponent was so cold-hearted and wickedly efficient. Izuna almost hadn’t believed Madara when he said that Tobirama had asked about him.
And what of Izuna?
The words danced through Izuna’s mind like sharp flames, even hours after Madara had told him. Tobirama had cared enough to ask.
In Izuna’s opinion, that was where it all went wrong. The flickering belief that his opponent might care, might feel remorse.
Izuna still does not believe that to be the case. Even as he thinks about it, glancing over some of Madara’s paperwork and wondering how true that could possibly be about the Senju.
Other times, it’s almost flawlessly simply to believe. When Izuna pulls another late night on a project, long after even Madara and Hashirama have left, Tobirama is there.
They work in tandem by firelight, whether it is Tobirama bringing his project into Izuna’s office carrying tea he somehow knows Izuna likes or Izuna sitting on the floor in Tobirama’s office because the fire burns brighter in his but there are no other chairs—it is a system and neither of them speak of it by daylight.
When Tobirama falls asleep in his chair, Izuna must extinguish the fire with care and drape a blanket around the Senju’s shoulders before he leaves because Hashirama will cause a scene if his younger brother dies of hypothermia in the night.
It feels horribly domestic, Izuna sometimes thinks when he wakes blearily to morning light filtering through his office window with a blanket around his own shoulders.
Even then, he must remind himself, that home is not Tobirama.
Tobirama is cold, calculating. He is all perfect posture and cutting words—which never cut so deep around Izuna, oddly—that every Uchiha rightly dislikes.
Izuna does not dislike Tobirama. Through every argument over trade routes or foolish older brothers, every glare toward Tobirama that the man somehow never fails to notice, every cold walk home wondering how Tobirama could possibly be human—there is never any true hatred. Somewhere along the road of peace, Izuna lost all of his hate, blame, disdain for Tobirama.
And it seems that Tobirama has lost his, as well, for as much as he says against the Uchiha his actions never match his words around Izuna.
All of which only makes Izuna’s predicament much worse. If he cannot dislike the person who nearly killed him, how will he stop himself from falling into something he cannot escape?
Often, Izuna wishes that he did not have the Uchiha emotions. That he could fall in and out of love as easily as leaves in the wind. If he could do that, he would not have to struggle with finding a home in dark places.
~•~
The sun is high, its cool beams marking the beginning of autumn after a long and wonderfully warm summer.
Izuna is outside, avoiding responsibilities—it isn’t a common thing for him, especially not in the first stages of a village, but he does occasionally give himself time to sit in the sun.
There’s no one else by the river, and Izuna watches as the water lazily drifts through without a care. Branches float idly in the river and Izuna would join them if it were warm enough. As it stands, he’s not exactly cold but it is clear that summer is making its descent.
The world is quiet out here, and Izuna appreciates how he can hear birds and flowing water, but no people.
That is, until he becomes aware of footsteps behind him. Izuna quickly turns and stands, sees the silent form of Tobirama behind him. He bristles. Izuna does not like thinking about Tobirama; it takes his mind down a dangerous path.
“I did not expect that you would be here,” Tobirama says, and Izuna’s fairly sure he detects a bit of shock in the Senju’s voice.
“Aren’t you some powerful sensor?” Izuna asks, trying to appear bored.
“Only when actively infusing chakra,” Tobirama explains, as if Izuna didn’t already know that. “I did not see the need today, since I come to this river quite often. Alone.”
“It isn’t your river.” Izuna crosses his arms. He then crosses the distance between them, hoping to make Tobirama go away through… discomfort, or something. He didn’t think it through that much.
Unaffected, Tobirama simply stares at Izuna from the now-short distance with a bored expression. “Of course not. I was merely pointing out that you aren’t typically here when I am.”
“I can go where I want, Senju.”
“You seem to be under the impression that I’m scolding you, Uchiha.” Tobirama glares now, and Izuna thinks he may end up successful in getting him to leave. Strangely, though, Tobirama steps closer. “I cannot stop you from going places within the village, even if it is the river that I frequent.”
“Once again,” Izuna says, “This isn’t your river. Are you trying to start something? You know how our brothers hate conflict. They’d hate to see us fight, however fun it might be.”
“I do not want to ruin Hashirama’s guise of peace,” Tobirama agrees. He does not back down physically, however, and continues staring at Izuna. Not his eyes—never his eyes.
Izuna nods. Then, “Guise? You believe that the peace isn’t real?”
Tobirama doesn’t respond.
“You can admit it,” Izuna says, almost teasingly. “I won’t tell anybody. Plus, I agree with you.”
“What?” Tobirama asks, eyebrows furrowing. The gears behind his skull seem to be clicking away in thought. “You also have trepidation regarding the peace?”
Izuna shrugs, takes a step back, and stretches widely. “Who’s to say? But now you’ve told me that you do.” He smirks at Tobirama, catlike.
Tobirama becomes unnaturally quiet at that, and his eyes don’t leave Izuna’s form. “My brother is not a fool. But he makes a lot of mistakes. I believe that the way he’s going about this peace isn’t strong enough.”
“So you think, what, we should have more soldiers?” Izuna asks. “That wouldn’t work. Your trust of the Uchiha is too little, and bias automatically creates conflict. Hashirama and even Madara may not be the most strategic leaders, but they know how to play their cards to keep peace.”
“I thought you said you agreed with me.”
“In some aspects. But I do think you should place more trust in your brother. And mine,” Izuna adds as an afterthought.
“Madara thinks so lowly of me,” Tobirama responds quietly. His eyes are trained on the ground. “I will not trust him until he trusts me.”
“Do you trust me?” Izuna asks, a switch in topic that causes Tobirama to look up abruptly.
Tobirama pauses. “I’m not certain.”
“You trusted me enough to say all of this.” Izuna shrugs again. “That must count for something.”
“Hm.” Tobirama looks at Izuna for a moment, evidently puzzled, then back toward the ground. “I suppose you’re right.”
Izuna tries not to feel so smug about it. The warmth in his chest is quickly squashed in favor of annoyance that Tobirama is still at the river.
~•~
Izuna is yawning one night, listening to the high chirps of cicadas that seem to lodge just outside of his office window. The papers in front of him are no more complete than they were hours ago. Correspondence with another new village that have urgent consequence, as clans from other lands are getting uneasy with two previously warring, powerful clans somehow reaching peace. It would make anyone wary.
He doesn’t know why Madara has assigned this to him, though. He isn’t good with words, or diplomacy. That sort of careful grace is more of Tobirama’s style, however much it pains him to admit.
The letters are no more responded to than they were an hour ago, so Izuna sighs and stands up. He always dreads asking for help, but Tobirama does not belittle him for it and he is the only one still awake in the office. It is far from the worst case scenario.
As Izuna walks the empty halls, he wonders when Tobirama became his first choice. As he knocks once before letting himself into Tobirama’s office, he wonders when he had become familiar enough to do so. As Tobirama abandons his own work and asks how he can help, Izuna wonders how he can make the terrible fluttering of his stomach more befitting a teenager than an adult go away.
Tobirama, in all of his irritating generosity, is willing to help. Izuna glances at the papers already scattered on his desk and feels a bit guilty, but Tobirama is the hardest worker he knows. This isn’t something unusual.
Izuna watches as Tobirama annotates the letter sent from the new village, making notes to himself and writing clan names that Izuna has never heard of before.
It only takes a few minutes for Izuna to realize his hovering over Tobirama’s shoulder is likely more of a distraction than a help, and he moves to step away and give the Senju space. He also rationalizes that space would help clear his own mind of the dangerous thought that Tobirama really wasn’t so bad.
Except, the moment he moves, Tobirama’s attention has snapped back to him. Those red eyes, so earnest in the dim light, stare at Izuna questioningly.
“Is something the matter?” Tobirama asks, voice a low rumble that seems to spike through Izuna’s veins and sent his hair on edge.
“No,” Izuna responds, keeping his composure. “I was only giving you space.”
“If you would like to watch me work, you may. It is, technically, your assignment.”
“Right.”
There’s something in Tobirama’s eyes that Izuna is scared to discern, and instead of arguing he simply moves closer to continue watching over Tobirama’s shoulder.
Despite the fire, it’s cold in Tobirama’s office, and Izuna shivers. Tobirama furrows his brows at this, and Izuna wonders just how much attention he’s paying.
When Tobirama doesn’t comment on it, Izuna wisely does the same. A moment of peace between them is nothing new for the nighttime, and he is unwilling to break it with presumptuous questions.
Izuna shivers again, tries to make it as subtle as possible—a hard task in such close proximity.
“You’re cold?” Tobirama asks after a moment, setting down the paper to look at him.
“Obviously,” Izuna mutters, but his sarcasm is not quiet enough to go unnoticed.
“Here.” Tobirama stands abruptly, and Izuna has to scramble backwards to avoid him.
He watches curiously as Tobirama crosses the room and retrieves a blanket from its folded position on a shelf. When Tobirama does not hand it to Izuna, instead wrapping it around his shoulders with efficient care, all Izuna can do is stand in awe, equal parts confused and grateful, before Tobirama sits again.
Izuna does not respond. He doesn’t know what he can say to this gesture, so different to how Tobirama usually acts.
And of course, Tobirama is still looking at him, moonlight reflecting his scarlet eyes, and all Izuna can do is stare back. His heart races dangerously and he wishes once again that his emotions were not so unforgiving.
Because this—being near Tobirama, having his full attention, watching firelight make a warm hue of that pale face, all of it is overwhelming. Izuna notices every detail and wishes he wouldn’t.
Izuna feels uneasy. “Aren’t you going to finish that?” he asks, since deflecting has always been easier than admitting emotion. He gestures to the letter.
“You could have done it,” Tobirama responds smoothly, not breaking eye contact. It’s remarkable how, after so many years of avoiding Izuna’s Sharingan, Tobirama now looks into his eyes so freely. “It is, after all, your work.”
Izuna lets out a sound of annoyance. “But you know that I’m no good at that.” He tugs the blanket a little tighter around his arms. “I’ll just end up offending somebody’s family, then Hashirama has to do damage control.”
“Perhaps you could choose your words more civilly,” Tobirama suggests. He pauses, perhaps noticing that his words aren’t insulting enough, before continuing, “Rather than consistently making a fool of yourself.”
“Hey!” Izuna raises his eyebrows, taking offense. “Just because you’re a genius, doesn’t mean everybody else is a fool.”
“Not everybody else.” Tobirama stands. Takes a step closer. Izuna feels his breath constrict. “Just you.”
Izuna is bristling—he can’t think of a person who wouldn’t be, not in this situation. He’s angry and his heart is racing and Tobirama is so close.
The only reasonable thing to do at that point is to close the distance, which he does, and shut Tobirama up the only way he can think of, which he does.
It’s a firm press of lips, harsh and forward while still allowing Tobirama the room to leave. He does not.
In fact, Tobirama gets a hand around one corner of the blanket and pulls Izuna closer, their bodies now flush against each other.
Izuna’s head is racing with thoughts of how dangerous, unwise, terrifying this is. His traitorous heart is racing with want and eerie satisfaction.
The kiss quickly becomes one of tongues and teeth that leaves Izuna gasping, wondering where and when Tobirama had learned this, because it certainly wasn’t Izuna’s doing—he isn’t going to complain, though. This was what he had wanted and more, even if he’s not sure just what it will mean.
Izuna briefly wonders how much of this is exhaustion and loneliness, and how much of it means something. He wants it to mean something, but he isn’t sure if that sentiment will stay in daylight. This feels much more clandestine than something actually tangible, especially for somebody who is not supposed to be home to him.
He’s distracted from his thoughts by Tobirama pulling away, and is momentarily disappointed until he feels a warm breath at his jaw. Tobirama trails light kisses from there to his neck, and Izuna has to grip the desk beside them because he isn’t certain he’ll stay upright like this.
After several moments of kisses and occasional bites to his neck, Tobirama is looking at him again. There’s something in his gaze, dark and intense like the moments before a battle, and it sends a shiver down Izuna’s spine.
“Oh,” Izuna says, because he isn’t sure what else there is to say. Tobirama’s hands have found his waist and are fidgeting with the hem of his Uchiha crested shirt, and his eyes are questioning. All Izuna can do is nod.
Tobirama does not respond, only surges back in for another searing kiss.
Izuna tries to remind himself how dangerous this is; that being in love with Tobirama would be beneficial to nobody involved in the long run. It would lead to disdain and loneliness and regret, and those were not a suitable home. Izuna cannot find solace there.
A sound escapes from Tobirama’s mouth and suddenly Izuna does not care of the dangers, terrifying desire flooding his rational senses.
~•~
Just because something has become a regularity does not make it any less unwise.
Izuna spent a night with Tobirama, which subsequently became more nights and more danger for Izuna. He had already been in love with the man, cursing his Uchiha emotions, but this almost made it feel possible to hope.
There’s no way, of course, that Tobirama loves him in return. Izuna does not fool himself by presuming such a thing is possible. He is grounded in reality, and the reality is that what he has with Tobirama is purely physical.
Izuna is happy to pretend that there are no underlying emotions, no strings attached to their nights that connect them on any level other than surface. Having anything at all is more than he ever would have hoped for when he first discovered his unwanted emotions.
Often, their nights began when a familiar sort of tangible tension entered the office, and ended in the home of wherever both of their brothers were not. Because, often, Hashirama and Madara were at one compound or the other, making it far too easy to simply sneak into the unoccupied one unnoticed.
So, their relationship—Izuna isn’t sure if he can call it a relationship—became a secret, even if neither of them specifically agreed to such. It was more of a general understanding, with the knowledge of what their respective elder brothers could be like if they found out.
As the gentle comfort of autumn sheds it leaves into winter, Izuna realizes that he may be in more danger than he previously assumed. It starts when he makes the irreparable mistake of approaching Tobirama during the day with the attitude of their nights.
He’s in Tobirama’s office, and rays of sunlight cascade through the wide windows, leaving no necessity for artificial light. Paperwork is scattered across the desk, and Izuna is staring at a particularly nasty document for some formal affair of the daimyo’s.
“I don’t understand what this has to do with Konoha,” Izuna complains. “At all.”
Tobirama looks up at him from whatever he’s been doing, then glances at the paper in Izuna’s hand. “You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”
Izuna glares. “I’m already here. I’ll help with what you asked because I want to.” He had been bored, and walked into Tobirama’s office because of said boredom, and was subsequently given tasks.
“I don’t know what to tell you, then.” Tobirama’s gaze returns to his own work. “Comprehend it better.”
“I’m comprehending it just fine,” Izuna mutters. It isn’t as if it’s a complicated document; his only point is that it’s simply irrelevant to the village. But work is work, so he turns his focus back to the irritating document.
After a few moments, Izuna can’t shake the feeling of being watched. He looks up, and sure enough; Tobirama is staring at him, all sharp lines and unfeeling gaze.
“Yes?” Izuna asks, and it sounds more like he’s snapping. Tobirama looks caught; his eyes widen minutely and an embarrassed pink flushes his face. Izuna tries not to think about how pretty it looks on him.
He waits to see if Tobirama will respond. He does not. Instead, he leans back in his chair with a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. Izuna is watching every detail, noticing how Tobirama’s shoulders shift and how his eyes won’t leave Izuna’s.
The sigh Tobirama let out is more of a low, audible noise by the end, and Izuna fights back goosebumps.
There’s something thicker in the air, Izuna can feel it, and it’s so similar to how some of their nights begin that the buzz of anticipation begins to sear through his veins.
Silently, Izuna stands, stalking closer to Tobirama like a predator. He keeps his gaze locked with Tobirama’s as he approaches, watching every reaction. He is directly in front of the Senju, now, back against the desk, definitely blocking Tobirama from his work.
They’re close now, and Tobirama leans forward once again, but it’s evident that his work is forgotten. His hands find Izuna’s waist, and he continues to stare up at him, but does not stand.
This feels different in the day. He can see every detail of Tobirama’s expression, how his pupils are wide, and it makes it feel so much more real. The danger of being caught is a thrill, as well. Izuna knows he did not lock the door.
Tobirama stands after a moment, pushing Izuna to sit on the desk where he can stand between his legs. Parchment scatters across the otherwise-neat desk, some fluttering to the floor, but it seems that neither of them care.
It’s Izuna who closes the short distance to kiss him, feeling how Tobirama’s body is pressed against his own. By now, the movement of Tobirama’s lips against his is familiar, as is the hand that makes its way to his hair and the quiet sounds that escape Tobirama’s mouth.
“This is a bad idea,” Tobirama mutters against his lips, but continues to drag his fingers through Izuna’s hair.
“Why? Afraid of getting caught?” Izuna asks teasingly, leaning back enough to look into Tobirama’s eyes. The red there betrays nothing, a firm reminder that all real feelings between them are on Izuna’s part, and he is not hesitant to make them hidden.
Tobirama’s mouth finds Izuna’s neck, and he presses small kisses and invisible bites alike along it as he continues, “Frankly, yes. Relationships between colleagues without the proper paperwork are forbidden. We would need to be officially courting. I’m fairly certain that is not what this is.”
Leave it to Tobirama to be so formal in an intimate situation, Izuna thinks idly. He also thinks about the sting of the words, how they tighten around his heart to remind him of reality.
Izuna stares at Tobirama, how the light creates a halo around his hair that seems to contradict the very idea of the White Demon that he is known for being. It makes it very difficult to forget that he has fallen, when Tobirama stands before him so sweetly even despite his words.
“Then what will you do,” Izuna says, trailing a hand along the fabric covering Tobirama’s chest, “If we are caught?”
“Talk my way out of it, and leave you to deal with the repercussions,” Tobirama answers immediately. Izuna can feel the other man’s shiver beneath his hand.
“You’d trust me with something like that?” Izuna’s face slips into a sardonic smile. “I’m honored.”
“Ah, perhaps not, then,” Tobirama says. He inclines his head to pull Izuna into another kiss, soft and languid. Izuna tries not to hope that it means something.
They fall back into a quiet, and Izuna gets lost in the curve of Tobirama’s mouth and the feel of his hand in his hair. Somehow, during the day, it feels different. He can’t discern yet whether it’s a positive or negative difference.
Footsteps sound in the hall, and evidently neither of them considered the possibility that they may be approaching Tobirama’s office, because when the door swings open Izuna is startled into jumping halfway across the room from Tobirama; Izuna notes that Tobirama seems to have the same level of surprise. He’s certain that the state of them—messy hair, rumpled clothes, bitten lips—does nothing to hide the actions that preluded the sudden entry.
Hashirama stands at the door, blinking in shock between Tobirama and Izuna.
It’s silent for several long moments, throughout each of which Izuna wishes to be literally anywhere else. It’s one thing to joke about being caught, and another entirely to have it actually happen. It’s as if the universe is playing a cruel trick on Izuna.
“Tobirama? Izuna?” He asks in disbelief, and Izuna hopes that Hashirama did not actually see anything.
Tobirama clears his throat, responding before Izuna gets the opportunity. “Izuna has been helping me with some of my work,” he says, as if that explains or helps their situation in any way. Izuna bristles at the thin excuse.
“I know.” There is still shock in Hashirama’s voice. “But I assumed you meant actual work, not—”
“Are you implying that we’re doing anything else?” Tobirama lifts an eyebrow. His collar is askew, hair is tousled, and happuri long forgotten. Izuna thinks that nothing needs to be implied to know what they were doing.
“You—!”
“Is something the matter?” Madara’s voice sounds from just outside the room, and his footsteps click as he moves to stand beside Hashirama. “Oh, Izuna, you’re in here. I’ve got…” He trails off, clearly noticing the tension in the room.
“Did something happen?” Madara asks after a moment, raising an eyebrow at Hashirama’s crestfallen expression.
“I thought they were getting along so much better now,” Hashirama wails, “But they must have just been fighting in here! I walked in and they jumped across the room.”
Shock courses through Izuna, and he’s incredibly confused as to why Hashirama’s assumption was that they were fighting. He’s not complaining, though, because that’s a more reasonable explanation than yes, older brother and leader of the village, I, heir to the clan, have been sleeping with the heir to the Senju for the last few weeks.
He doesn’t know how well that would go down.
Madara seems to buy it, mostly because of how distraught Hashirama still is, and he directs a glare towards Tobirama. Biased, considering that if Tobirama and Izuna had actually been fighting, Madara would have no idea who actually instigated it.
After a thorough chastising from Madara, Tobirama and Izuna are alone in the room once again, staring at each other. Madara was furious at Tobirama and annoyed with Izuna, all while Hashirama took on his sad expression. Izuna wasn’t going to break and tell them the truth, though, and it was clear that Tobirama wouldn’t, either.
Hashirama and Madara left shortly thereafter with assurances from Hashirama that Madara would calm down.
Izuna met Tobirama’s gaze across the room, feeling slightly amused. “That could have gone worse.”
Tobirama chuckles, and quickly retreats back to his desk. Izuna watches as he silently puts some of the askew papers back into organized stacks before sitting down.
“At least they don’t know anything,” Izuna continues when it becomes clear that Tobirama isn’t going to respond. “I would hate to be in a situation where they misunderstand our intentions.”
“What do you mean?” Tobirama asks, voice level, as he begins writing on what was presumably the document he had been examining earlier. His attention is only half on Izuna.
Izuna shrugs regardless of whether Tobirama notices or not. “I figured it was like this on purpose,” he says casually, trying not to let any particular tone escape. “What we have is purely physical, and if our brothers found out they would make assumptions which would make it more complicated.”
Tobirama looks up from his writing, now, fixing Izuna with a puzzled look. “Purely physical?”
“Yes.” Izuna squints at the Senju. “You know—no strings attached, no feelings involved.”
“I know what it means,” Tobirama says, voice somehow colder. Izuna gets a creeping sense of confusion and unease.
“Then why point that out specifically…?” Izuna trails off, trying to make sense in his head of Tobirama’s actions. As far as he is aware, everything he’s said is technically accurate. What he and Tobirama have is not a relationship—he made sure of that the moment that he decided that Tobirama could not feel like home to him, and then even after he understood something like that to be impossible.
Tobirama is silent for several long moments, simply staring at Izuna. “It does not matter. Go calm your brother down,” he says as a dismissal.
It’s only because Izuna is in a frenzy trying to assure his brother that really, Tobirama isn’t trying to kill him again, that he forgets about the Senju’s odd hesitation for the rest of the day.
~•~
Izuna is frustrated.
It’s due to a culmination of things that have somehow gone to shit in the last few weeks; a really bad exchange with a foreign village that he had to do damage control for, making a few stressful mistakes in a project within the village, the overbearing state of Madara when he’s worried about Izuna. Just to name the main stresses.
So, Izuna is frustrated, and he’s sure that his chakra sends out an irritated flare to everybody who approaches him because people in the village have started avoiding him. He isn’t sure how much sleep he’s had as of late, either.
He’s pacing in his own house, because it seemed like a smarter idea than fuming down the streets of the village and being a general disturbance, when the sound of the front door opening stops him in his tracks.
Izuna looks up, immediately on guard. It does not drop even when he sees that it is Tobirama walking through the door, carrying a bag over one arm.
“Is something wrong?” Izuna asks immediately, because Tobirama doesn’t make a habit of walking into people’s houses uninvited.pk
Tobirama doesn’t respond at first, simply steps past Izuna to place the bag on a counter. Then, he looks at Izuna with an almost concerned expression. “I brought you something to eat.”
Izuna blinks. Blinks again. He’s confused, and his face must look it, because Tobirama speaks again.
“I heard from my brother, who heard from yours, that you’ve been stressed and angry about something and you haven’t been eating well.”
“I…” Izuna trails off. His gaze flickers between Tobirama and the bag of what must be food now behind him. “Why would that matter to you?”
Tobirama, ever the one to be vague, deflects the question. “What is it that you’ve been stressed about?”
“Petty village politics,” Izuna responds, letting some of his exhaustion seep into his voice for dramatic effect. He steps close to Tobirama, if only just to reach past him and take the contents of the bag. “It shouldn’t matter, but it does, and I have to deal with the fallout.”
“I see.” Tobirama’s expression is incredibly solemn as he looks at Izuna. “Is there anything I can do to lift that burden?”
Izuna pauses; he isn’t quite sure. On one hand, the responsibilities were given to him. On the other, some help may ease the migraine that always seems to burn behind his eyes these days.
He eventually decides that while Tobirama can’t help with anything regarding the tasks, he can still be there, if he wants.
“Not with the work,” Izuna voices his thoughts, “but I won’t kick you out. I do like your presence.”
“Are you certain?” Tobirama narrows his eyes, taking a miniscule step forward. Izuna watches with intrigue as the tall Senju approaches. “I’ve been known to be quite a distraction to your work in the past.”
“Perhaps,” Izuna says, feeling a tingle of anticipation mixed with excitement. “But it’s not an unwelcome one.”
When Tobirama kisses him, Izuna feels the weight of his burdens ease as hazy warmth fills the spot where annoyance had previously settled itself. He smiles into the kiss, because he can’t help it, which incites a small smile from Tobirama in return.
Purely physical, Izuna remembers saying, and curses himself for it as he struggles to grapple with what he feels for Tobirama.
It was once definitively hatred, but now no traces of that remain at all. Now he can look at Tobirama and think of the future, rather than the very bloody past.
Yet he still has to remind himself that Tobirama does not want him back—not in the way he yearns for Tobirama. He had said as much. So it’s difficult to hope for some future when he doesn’t know if he has any stability in the present.
Izuna probably shouldn’t let himself hope like that.
~•~
Sometimes, Izuna has to admit to himself that he’s wrong. He has to begrudgingly accept that Madara’s idea was a good one, or that maybe some plan or other is too reckless, or anything he would otherwise double down on. Sometimes, he’s wrong about something serious, and it matters.
Izuna stands in Tobirama’s kitchen early in the morning, listening to the sounds that come with it. He feels at peace, and he looks to his left to see his Senju quietly working on something—even though they aren’t at work. Izuna thinks to himself about how domestic this feels, how he could never tire of this.
He wonders if he really, truly is in love.
He wonders why it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He must have been wrong about that.
As wisps of white hair fall over Tobirama’s eyes, a comfortable warmth spreads through Izuna’s chest. He does not stop watching.
“I love you.”
Izuna’s words cut into the silent morning, sounding so loud amidst the gentle peace. He doesn’t realize he’s said it until the words have already left his mouth, and with mortification he realizes that he can’t take it back.
Tobirama looks up, but there is no surprise or worse, disgust in his expression. Instead, he’s looking at Izuna the same way he has been as of late. A look of comfort, of something far from distrust or hatred.
“I do as well,” Tobirama says, always so formal in his words. His brows furrow ever so slightly. “But I thought you did not. Purely physical, you said.”
Izuna’s panic must be showing, but neither of them address it. “I only said that—I didn’t want you to be… forced into something? I don’t know—wait.” He pauses. “You love me, too?”
Tobirama nods once. “I was under the impression that we had a proper relationship, and my emotions responded accordingly.” So scientific, Izuna thought idly. “But several days ago when you told me that wasn’t what you wanted, I was fine with those terms.”
Izuna presses his face into his hands, feeling embarrassed. “We never talk about anything. It just—happened. I had no idea it was something substantial.” He sighs, loudly and somewhat dramatically. “I kept telling myself how dangerous it would be to—to fall in love with you.”
“Why?” Tobirama asks, puzzled. “It was easy for me.”
Izuna continues, deciding he’ll parse through that statement some other time. “Because we were at war in the past, and it made me think silly things like believing that I would only end up hurt. Or worse, you.”
Tobirama is silent, clearly thinking through Izuna’s words.
“It’s like—the village may be here, and it’s stable enough, but the Senju and the Uchiha never forgot the war. Just the other day I had to break apart a skirmish between some members of our clans. I figured that it would be safer if I didn’t assume that you could be a home to me.”
Tobirama pauses. “A home?”
“Ah.” Izuna laughs, embarrassed, and looks down. “Where I feel safe, who I’m comfortable with. Something or someone I can return to at the end of the day. I didn’t want you to be that for me.”
“I see,” Tobirama murmurs. He stands, and approaches Izuna. “I can be. If you’ll let me.”
“You know what Uchiha emotions are like.” A warning. “I don’t want you to get into something you don’t understand.”
Tobirama reaches up, gently cups the side of Izuna’s face in one hand. “I understand more than most, trust me. I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t know.”
Izuna feels his throat go dry, words falling dead on his tongue. He stares up at Tobirama and wonders how this is real—something that would have seemed outlandish years ago. He never expected to fall in love with somebody who nearly caused his death. It’s frightening, but not at all for the reasons it should be.
Despite that, it’s also comforting. It’s like a puzzle clicking into place, because who else? Izuna wouldn’t have wanted anybody other than Tobirama—they know and understand each other better than any other person could even try to. Not despite their differences, but because of them.
“I love you,” he says again, because he’s not certain there’s anything else he can say.
You are my home, he thinks, and instead of pain or heartache, it just feels right.