„Why don't you trust me?"

The question comes from Hashirama, and even though this version of him is only part of the Genjutsu Madara created, he has the same guileless and innocent expression on his face as the original. The Uchiha is not sure how he feels about that and he drowns everything in another sip of his sake. He cannot truly get drunk here, but it makes for an alright diversion.

"Madara, you know I trust you!" presses this Hashirama further, a certain kind of urgency in his tone, the seemingly sincere words misleading. A scowl mars Madara's features at that statement because even in this world Hashirama has to be the most infuriating being in existence.

"Then you're an idiot and I have every reason not to trust you" replies Madara courtly. He sounds convinced, certainly, and if this were real, his words would probably cut like a knife. Hashirama's expression twists, contorts, until a pout, a childish pout! appears on his face.

Silence settles for a bit. They're outside of the empty house, the air warm and humid this summer night. Madara lets his legs dangle from the porch, eyes peering up to the moon above; not that he avoids having to endure looking at the other's visage.

"How do you feel about me?" asks the illusion next to him eventually.

Madara knew sooner or later he'd have to answer that question again, as it keeps repeating in his mind day in day out and it always lead to the same result and-
"I love you. I'm sure you know."
Some more sake is consumed. Hashirama doesn't stop haunting him just yet because Madara is not drunk, not drunk enough.

The Senju heaves a heavy sigh. Madara can feel his gaze upon him, however he keeps his attention focused on the moon. "Maybe I don't know, you know how I am. Why don't you act on your feelings? Why don't you tell me?"

Madara tenses, for just a second. He fists the fabric of his pants, before his right hand moves to the right side of his thigh, hovering over the kunai pouch for a moment, then he reaches inside and pulls out one of the sharp weapons. The moonlight reflects in the metal of the blade; Madara stares at it, as if mesmerized.

He speaks, "Because my love kills people."

The next instant the kunai is buried with lethal precision in the flesh between the illusion's ribs, piercing the heart. Madara activates his Sharingan while Hashirama chokes and spits out blood. A flash of red, and the Genjutsu dissolves.

Madara sits upright on his futon, back leaned against the wall of his dark bedroom of his empty house. For weeks he has been repeating this ritual; he casts a Genjutsu upon himself to find some peace and quiet, yet every time his mind forces him to face his conflicts. Sometimes Izuna visits him and demands to know why Madara let all of this happen, despite the sacrifice, and on some other nights, like this one, Hashirama appears in his illusions. Lately he's terribly persistent and his inquiries make Madara more and more uncomfortable each night.

The summer night's air is warm and humid; it feels rather heavy. The cicadas are humming loudly, making heads hurt and sleep an unaffordable luxury.