it rains the whole night
When it rains the whole night, Hashirama gets restless.
He rolls around on the futon whining about sad, lonely days, because if the sky is crying, it means some god or goddess must be heartbroken. Look at the sky, he says repeatedly, it's grey and gloomy and full of grief. It's sad, so so very sad that its tears flood the earth, he goes on and on. What is with people or gods and their hearts, he asks, why do we get so affected by things, why do we get sad so easily, why do we cry so easily? What is with those who are crying, why is it that they grief alone but cry openly, why are tears so cheap, why does it rain so easily?
He rolls and whines and mutters until Madara has enough and asks him to shut up but heavy cloud forms over Hashirama and Madara feels its thunder.
(The thing about Hashirama is that he doesn't mean a lot of things he does. He doesn't mean to annoy Madara, he doesn't mean to make him angry; he doesn't mean a lot of things and yet there are meanings in things he does. Hashirama is a lttle annoying sometimes, a little crazy sometimes, a little enigmatic sometimes, yet there are methods in his madness and it annoys Madara to no ends.
The thing about Madara is that he just can't seem to find him annoying enough to be a dealbreaker.)
Madara lies beside him and cover his eyes with his sleeve and says, here you go, an umbrella for you, and Hashirama's eyes have stars like the clouds just got melted off.
When it snows the entire night, Hashirama gets nostalgic.
He stares outside and starts talking about memories. Hey Madara, do you remember that first day of the first winter we had spent together, you and I had thrown snowballs at each other, you got me wet and cold and sneezing the day after? Hey Madara, do you remember that time when winter stretched all the way to take up the time meant for spring and we were both so starved that we had contemplating eating snow? Hey Madara, do you remember that time we had spent together on the coldest day we have ever experienced, and you got so sick that you could barely breathe?
Then he stares inside and starts inventing memories. Hey Madara, I seem to remember that one day when you had cooked hotpot for me when winter was going to end and we both fought for the toilet because we had eaten some poisonous mushrooms, do you? Hey Madara, I think we used to find frozen lakes and dance on the icy water, do you remember? Hey Madara, I remember that time you told me during snowstorm that you would tell me something, but you never did, was there anything important?
(The thing about Madara is that he's sure that they'll one day reach a time when such memories, invented or not, are too little to count.
The thing about Hashirama is that he's sure that they'll one day reach a time when such memories, invented or not, are too much to remember.)
Madara leaves him alone to his thoughts, warns him about not sneaking around behind his back, and maybe starts checking if there's anything he can cook for that night.
When the night is hot and dry, Hashirama gets excited.
He fans himself strongly and boasts. I can feel it, I know it, it's not going to escape me, he'll always start. Madara, you're going to believe me, right? You, of all people, would know how right I'll be, right? You know there's no way I can get this wrong, right? You know there's literally nothing that I'll get wrong, right?
Then there's the rinse and repeat and Madara's ears could go deaf from listening and his jaws would hurt from nodding. Yes, you idiot. I know it, shut up. Stop talking and go to sleep.
(The thing about Hashirama is that he's crazily right about many things. He sees things as they are, he sees things beyond what they are, and he sees things for the lies they tell him. He sees through deceits, disguises, discords. He sees through arguments and disputes, feuds and tragedies, acts and cover-ups.
The thing about Madara is that he's always wrong about things that Hashirama gets right.)
Hashirama doesn't stop getting excited. He rocks around and tells Madara stories with his hands, then he sleeps and drools like an overgrown infant.
When it snows the entire night, Madara gets worried.
Hashirama's not good with cold weather. He closes in, he shuts down, he starts malfunctioning. Madara, I think I'm done for, I can't stay awake, are you here? Madara, why do you think I have this weakness, why must I be terrible with cold things, why can't I like all the things, not just good things? Madara, why am I like this? Madara, are you here?
(The thing about Hashirama is that he, for most part, is a blunt hammer. He doesn't mean to hurt, but he knocks Madara out with his words, soft yet hard, gentle yet piercing.
The thing about Madara is that when Hashirama gets weak because of the cold weather, Madara gets weak because of Hashirama getting weak.)
You're an idiot, Madara says one of the few phrases that never fails to pacify Hashirama.
When it rains the whole night, Madara feels calm.
He likes the sound of it, pitter patter pitter patter, and the petrichor that will permeate through the walls, that scent of spring nights and summer days. He composes music to go with the rain, the steady beat of water hitting the ground and the droplets bouncing off. He lets the chilly breeze hit his face, he lets the cold seep into his bones, he likes everything that Hashirama hates about the rain.
(The thing about Madara and Hashirama is that they both have nothing in common.
The thing about Madara and Hashirama is that they both know everything about what they have nothing in common.)
So Madara offers a hand and umbrella and Hashirama smiles like the rain is as good as the sunshine, because when it rains the whole night, Hashirama gets restless.