.

Do I have to spell it out for you or scream it in your face?
Oh, the chemistry between us could destroy this place.

Things had settled down after that – the following few days passed peacefully; Mito had begun to feel what she still did not dare to label as –hope- or -optimism- as a semblance of a pattern emerged. She was starting to get comfortable in the niche that she'd found herself in, enjoying leisurely time spent with her fiancé, with Reiko and occasional tag-along Tobirama, and if she were completely honest with herself, especially with Madara.

Of course, she had been determined to remain vigilant against any other… incidents… but as they spent more time together, it seemed to her that both of them were so diverted by the Academy project that it had been almost silly for her worry in the first place. And besides, ever since he had given her that unprecedented smile in what would become the schoolyard, Madara had been acting… different, his behavior and attitude markedly changed. Did he walk around with a grin plastered to his lips, no, but the way he carried himself had grown incrementally less cold. He and Hashirama were together often, discussing policies to implement once the Hokage appointment was official, other clans that wanted to add themselves to the growing village, how to help the local businesses thrive, and the like. It was refreshing to see him as a person, to see them as friends, and did much to alleviate any of Mito's concerns. She had never seen Madara as a bad person – just as she'd told him that stormy evening by the lake – and she was glad to see herself proved right. She was close to calling their careful, tremulous bond something close to 'friendship'.

So it was with only the barest vestige of apprehension that she prepared to meet him one blindingly sunny morning, her heart pounding, close to panic, for altogether different reasons. It was the day of the Hokage appointment ceremony, and Mito was loath to admit it, but she was running catastrophically behind. Usually, being chronically late was something that Reiko had covered, but this morning Mito was filling the role. To make matters worse, Hashirama had left far before dawn to prepare, and there was no one to help her get into her formal attire. Stopping for a moment to take a few deep breaths, she tried to calm her nerves. She had to get it together – she was attending, not just as Hashirama's fiancée, but as the representative of the Uzumaki clan and the Whirlpool village itself, showing their approval of the new Hokage. This was not something she could afford to screw up.

Just then, she heard the sound of someone at the entryway; Madara's voice, especially gravelly at this hour, resounded through the house, "Mito-san, I'm here to escort you to the ceremony."

Mito stole a glance at herself in the mirror. Her hair was messily piled on top of her head, she didn't have her kimono on, and the ceremony was due to begin in a mere half hour. There was no denying it – she needed help if she was going to make it in time. She sighed deeply. Was she really going to do this? Yes, you are, because you don't have a choice! her thoughts admonished her. Sighing once more, she gathered her robes around her, and peeked out her door into the hallway.

Taking a last desperate lungful of air, she cringed before calling out, "Madara-san… Could you come here for a moment?"

He appeared from around the corner, typically wild hair mostly tame for the occasion, his frame swathed in a navy blue kimono that could only be fine silk, curiosity evident in the deep slate-grey of his eyes. He stared at her expectantly, and finally Mito pushed the door the rest of the way open. As she did so, she refused to look up, and she muttered quietly, the last words coming out in a jumbled rush, "Do you think you could maybe-possibly-pleasehelpmefinishgettingready?"

Standing in the hallway, Madara's initial reaction was only to raise his eyebrows, as if trying to decipher what exactly her question had been. Of course, he had understood her, and it was clear from what had been revealed when the door slid open that she most certainly needed help. Scarlet locks were thrown up in a makeshift bun, and her kimono's outermost robe hung off her small frame, obi nowhere in sight. Madara would have almost found her disheveled state… cute… if there had been time for such musings. But there was not, and he had determinedly – and mostly successfully – kept himself from dwelling on such thoughts in the past few days. However, he was not sure what she expected him to do – did he look like one of her ladies? When she remained silent, he considered her face and… "Ah, Mito-san, you have something… in the corner of your eye," he observed mildly.

At that, she snapped into action, rubbing furiously at her eyes to eliminate the sleep he had pointed out, and audibly groaned. Eyes meeting again, she reiterated, "Please, Madara-san, I really need your help. I can't be late."

He considered her, and dubiously gave his consent, asking, "What do you need me to do?"

"Thank you so much," Mito exhaled gratefully, not answering his question, and pulled him through the doorway. He allowed himself to be drawn inside, and she began busily moving about the small space. "First, I need to get this kimono the rest of the way on," she grabbed the green obi lying on the still-messy bed, "and then we can worry about my hair and face," she finished, gesturing to the vanity. Meanwhile, Madara stood near the threshold, inwardly assuring himself that this was fine. Sure, he was in the bedroom of his best friend's fiancée – The bedroom of your best friend's half-dressed fiancée, his thoughts corrected him – and they were alone in the room – Alone in the house, his subconscious butted in again – but it was no big deal. He would just help her, and then they could leave. Nothing to worry about.

Clearly, the redhead didn't feel as if she had anything to worry about, seeing as she had bodily dragged him into said bedroom, and he refused to analyze why the thought prickled, uncomfortable. Maybe because you thought she was someone who was able to see you, and you fooled her so easily, his mind suggested uncooperatively. You must be a better actor than you thought. At this rate, you might even be able to fool yourself. But his inner dialogue was interrupted when Mito shoved the obi into his hands, instructing, "Just hold on to that for a second…" as she shifted the kimono's material until it was wrapped around her, hanging correctly at last, the Uzumaki symbol prominently stitched on the material between her shoulder blades. "Now I'm going to hold the kimono in place," she said, turning so her back was fully to him, "And I need you to put the obi around my waist and tie it."

When he made no move to do so, she turned back to look at him, urgency in her tone, "Madara-san, we are running out of time…"

And while he was never one to back down from a challenge, Madara had never had any experience in obi-tying, only in obi-untying. "Ah, yes," he covered, not wanting to admit such a thing, smoothing it out and raising it over Mito's head, pulling it snugly around her slender waist. However, he was left looking at the ends of the material as if it were a bomb he was not sure how to defuse. Evidently, she picked up on his lack of expertise, and Mito began shuffling forward awkwardly. She drew him along behind her in an uncomfortable fashion that echoed a horse and cart until they were in front of her vanity.

"Keep holding the obi tightly, okay?" she told him, head turned partway to the side. Madara nodded silently, and she moved small, pale hands behind her to grasp his where they were curled around the jade material. It was then that he noticed how her fingers trembled, clammy, as she guided him through the motions of tying the obi. Guess she's not as unaffected as she seems, his pride chimed in deviously. Knowing the repercussions of indulging in such thoughts, he merely followed her instructions without comment, and after a few minutes, the obi was finally secure. Madara stilled, as did she, when their eyes met in the mirror.

Mito could not tear her gaze away from their reflection, the silence not even broken by a whisper of a breath. Her brain bucked the comprehension of what she was seeing, and so comprehend she did not, but still, she did not move, did not breathe.

The span of a few seconds seemed to pass in a thousand years as they stood there, suspended – the sun streaming through the window, revealing ribbons of dust in the air that were settling around them as if they were a statue, a relic, watching the passage of time for untold eons. In that moment, there was no world outside of the two of them, standing in the sunlight, so close and yet so far, her hands still on his where they were splayed across the span of her obi.

But it was his eyes that had ensnared Mito, rendering her motionless – they were dark, smoky, and she could see the embers burning behind them, stoked until they were blazing. Her response was involuntary – dilated pupils, the grey of her own eyes darkening as she remained hypnotized.

Madara's eyes did not leave hers, but when his fingers flexed to grasp the curve of her waist instead of simply resting there, the spell was broken. Finally, she moved – pulling away, hands fisting in her kimono, she breathed, the air rushing into her lungs all at once only to exit in stuttered bursts.

"Mito."

He spoke over her shaky exhalations, and when she met his gaze, she saw the fire still there, burning just below the surface in something between a promise and a threat. She gripped the fabric in her hands more tightly, trying to gain control.

There was something close to pain in her eyes as she corrected him softly, "Don't you mean 'Mito-san', Madara-san?" Almost immediately, she regretted the words as she saw the reality of her statement sink in for him, and his gaze hardened, once again cold and detached.

"Yes, of course, Mito-san," was the cutting response as he looked down his nose at her, and Mito did her best not to cringe, hoping she had not destroyed what little bond of friendship they had established.

"Thank you for your help," she said quietly, above a gust of wind, "I think I can manage the rest, myself." There was no response, and when she looked up, breeze blowing her hair across her face, he was gone.

It was at times like this that Madara appreciated his speed, flickering away from the scene of what his conscience was already deeming a crime. However, that same conscience would not let him abandon his duty to accompany Mito to the ceremony, and he came to a stop as he rounded the house, leaning against one of the supports of the front porch with his eyes closed. He had been so determined to absolve himself of any attraction to the scarlet-haired kunoichi, and yet he had not been able to think clearly, had not been able to act rationally. The fact that she – she! – had moved first, had come to her senses first, was deplorable. How could he be so weak, so close to coming undone all because of this girl?

Growling under his breath, he knocked his head backward against the wood, as if the force could knock all his errant thoughts right out of his head.

"What's eating you, Uchiha?" came an unwelcome voice from his left. Madara didn't need to open his eyes to recognize it as belonging to Tobirama, so he didn't, and simply ignored him. "Fine," the other man huffed. "Well, Reiko is inside with Mito-san. They should be out shortly." This time, Madara decided to acknowledge him, air exiting his nose in a short 'hn.'

They stood there in silence, waiting, as five minutes passed, then ten. At last, the door swung open as Reiko burst out, Mito trailing dutifully behind and looking more than presentable, no doubt thanks to the blonde's help. "Sorry, guys!" Reiko declared loudly, "We're ready to go!"

"Finally," Tobirama grumbled, and Reiko responded with a smack to the back of his head.

"Just use your Hiraishin to get us there in time, Tobi. I know you have Hashirama marked. Geez, keep your shirt on," she told him, suggestion accompanied by an eye roll.

"Reiko, it's a high-level jutsu, it's not meant as something to conveniently use whenever you are running late! Which, I might add, is always!"

She huffed, "I am not always late!" At this, Tobirama snorted. "But," she ignored him, "that's beside the point anyway, which is that we are late now!"

A palm smacking against his face plate, Tobirama replied, "Reiko! I am just saying that I don't feel it's appropriate for me to use this kind of jutsu for something so trivial!"

"You think your brother's appointment as Hokage is trivial?!" she all but screeched, expression indignant.

"No, that's not what I meant…" he said, palms out in what seemed to be an attempt at calming the small woman's rage.

Reiko strode toward him until they were only inches apart and said, poking him in the chest with every word, "Senju Tobirama, so help me, if you don't stop being such a stiff and just get us to the ceremony…" She trailed off menacingly, leaving her threat unfinished.

Throughout the lovers' exchange, the other two said nothing, simply observing them, and Madara could not deny that he was grateful for the distraction. After a few minutes of bickering, however, Mito cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the other three. "I hate to say this, but Tobirama-san, at this rate we really are going to be late…"

"Fine," he agreed begrudgingly. "I need everyone to hold hands or I won't be able to transport us all at the same time." Obediently, Reiko grabbed his hand and held out the other to Mito, which she accepted. Madara moved to Tobirama's other side, and the two men grimaced as they held hands, touching as minutely as possible.

"Oh my goodness, come on, To-" and then everything was cut off as they were sucked through space and time.

Thankfully, Hashirama was alone when they blinked into existence behind him, as their landing was far from graceful. They were a tangle of limbs that ensnared even the brunet and sent them all tumbling to the floor.

"What is going on?" Hashirama asked incredulously, looking down at his fiancée, who had somehow ended up underneath him. "You guys couldn't just show up normally like everyone else?" he laughed, getting up and straightening his hakama. Madara could not reply, unsuccessfully trying to erase the image of Hashirama lying on top of Mito from his mind, trying to rein in his anger, reminding himself that it was irrational, that Mito belonged to the soon-to-be-appointed Hokage, and not to him.

Everyone else began picking themselves up as well, Mito remaining silent and Tobirama grumbling under his breath. Reiko responded to Hashirama's question with a flippant, "Who cares how we got here, Hashi, we're here and that's what matters." She grinned, "So let's get this show on the road!"

Standing silently among the other clan heads, Madara told himself that no, he did not fume at the image of Mito's soft smiles during the ceremony. She was watching her fiancé with a perfectly crafted blend of pride and affection, and it tore at his heart, despite what he tried to convince himself. Images flashed through his mind, fantasies of Hokage robes being placed on his back, of the headdress adorning the crown of his head, of Mito smiling that way at him. Nevertheless, it was pointless, he knew – what was done was done, and he resolutely turned his attention to his friend, to the proceedings, to something – anything else.

It was with much care that Mito had composed herself, standing amongst friends and strangers alike, playing her role more than adroitly: perfect posture, her golden crown balanced delicately on her head, tags hanging just right from her buns, hands folded formally in the sleeves of her kimono. At least, that was what she was hoping for. Inwardly, her thoughts were racing, her heartbeat a staccato rhythm that resounded sharply against her skull. She kept her eyes on Hashirama, trying not to betray the conflict behind her hollow smile. More than a few times, it had felt as if a pair of grey-black eyes was trained on her – Madara's gaze seeming to rest heavily like a physical weight on her form. Despite that inkling, she refused to even glance in that direction. She had decided that she would act as if nothing was wrong, and she intended to make good on that decision.

In actuality, nothing had happened, she reassured herself. What were a few moments of eye contact in a mirror? What was a simple guiding of fingers to tie an obi? What was an innocent touch on her waist, skin separated by layers of clothing? What was her given name being breathed in a tone that echoed such want? Separately, these things did not amount to anything, and together, they still did not, she told herself. Mito would not allow her imagination to run away with her – there was no reason to read too much into things; all she had to do was talk to him, hear him say there was nothing between them, and then she could go on pretending that it was true.

There was no question; she would lie and she would smile and she would do it all convincingly. Being Hashirama's fiancée and soon, his wife, was her role to fill, and that was all that mattered: duty, honor, propriety. She would not diminish everything she had already prepared herself to give up. Her eyes gained an edge like sharpened flint; Mito would not throw everything away because she was uncomfortable, she would not bend, she would not falter, she would not be selfish. She would not – she could not – disappoint her father.

Resolved, she clapped with everyone else as the ceremony concluded, Hashirama coming to hug her too-tightly. But she did not shrink back, she did not shy away, and when he released her, her back was ramrod-straight, head held high, the picture of a composed princess. He held her hand as they turned to the small group of fifteen or so that had attended, and she retained her image: he was the Hokage and she was his fiancée; he was now "Shodai-sama" and she was "Mito-hime." And there was nothing that would change that.

So she curbed her thoughts and swallowed hard, she did her job and smiled brightly – and though it did not reach her eyes, she prayed it would be good enough.

However, Madara had noticed. He cursed himself for his over-observance, but he had seen her smile, he had seen joy written on her face, and what she had displayed at the conclusion of the ceremony was not happiness. It was dead, vacant, empty: a sad excuse for excitement.

His thoughts were far from the luncheon celebrating Hashirama's appointment as he sat at the table, mulling over Mito's behavior. Like a child who could not stop picking at a scab, he could not keep his probing thoughts in check despite the fact that he very well knew it was of no benefit to continue thinking about her, that he would only end up hurting himself.

Thankfully, most knew him as a man of few words, and it was not unusual for him to remain silent. But he was forced back into the mundane conversation when Hashirama mentioned him by name – though not addressing him directly, he tuned into the exchange since it involved him. He best friend was currently explaining to the other guests about the great progress that Madara and Mito were making with regard to the Academy.

"These two make a great team!" he said jovially, and looked back and forth expectantly, evidently waiting for one of them to respond.

Mito stepped up to the plate, "Yes, Madara-san has many good ideas. I think we work very well together, don't you, Madara-san?" Her expression was placid, but he did not miss the unnecessary force behind her words.

"You flatter me, Mito-san," he responded graciously, inclining his head ever-so-slightly, "But I would have to agree that we make a fine team."

That seemed to be enough to appease both the new Hokage and the guests, and both Mito and Madara fell silent once again as Hashirama continued, "The construction just began yesterday, and it is coming along well, also!" The conversation then turned to other building projects, and as the meal wound down without incident, Madara politely excused himself. Time to get out.

It was with perfect decorum that Mito conducted herself throughout the affair; conscious of the politics involved, she was gracious and mild, submissive and sweet. She filled her head with Hashirama, Hashirama, Hashirama, hoping the mantra would crowd out other thoughts. On replay in a continuous loop, she thought of everything she could – his voice, the way he had held her, his kisses, anything, and she smiled all the while.

When the meal finally came to a close, she could not help but notice Madara's exit from the corner of her eye. It does not matter if he is leaving, she reminded herself. You are going to treat him the same way you treat everyone else. Determination refreshed, she moved to begin to cleaning up as the guests filtered out. Soon enough, Reiko joined her, and as usual, Mito found herself diverted by her friend's comical disposition as they laughed their way through the task.

Some time later, there was a knock at the front door, and she opened it to find a young girl standing there. "Yes, how can I help you?" Mito greeted her, wondering just who she was.

She looked nervous, dark eyes huge in her face, and answered softly, "Um, I am looking for Senju Hashirama-sama. My grandfather sent me to tell him that his wedding band is ready, if he would like to come try it on."

"Oh!" Mito replied, putting the pieces together. "Your grandfather must be Otsuka-san, the jeweler, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," the girl confirmed, dipping her head in acknowledgment.

"Well, he should be inside somewhere, why don't you come in and we can find him together?" Mito smiled. "What's your name?"

"Otsuka Biwako," she said shyly, a hand toying with her pink headband.

"Biwako-chan, it's very nice to meet you," Mito gave a slight bow. "My name is-"

"I know who you are, Mito-hime," she interrupted.

"Oh! Well anyway, come on then, let's find Hashirama," Mito gestured for her to come in. Grinning conspiratorially, she asked, "Biwako-chan, do you want to see a ninja trick to find someone quickly?" The girl's eyes went wide and she nodded eagerly. Mito chuckled, "Okay, watch this…" as she brought her fingers together, closed her eyes, and sent her chakra out to sense Hashirama's location. His huge signature was almost immediately apparent to her, but the other large signature with his was one she recognized, also. She tried not to let her face betray her, but instead steeled herself to interact with Madara.

Opening her eyes, she said cheerfully, "Found him!"

They made their way down the hallway to the veranda, and when Mito slid the screen open, she declared, "Ta-da, Biwako-chan! Hashirama as promised!"

On seeing the Hokage, Biwako's expression was pure amazement. "How did you do that, Mito-hime?!"

"Well, if you want to become a ninja and your parents let you, you can attend the Academy and learn for yourself," Mito promised with a wink.

Nodding enthusiastically, Biwako promised, "I will!"

Mito affectionately ruffled the young girl's hair before Hashirama asked, "What's all this about?" and Mito finally turned her attention to the two men.

"Biwako-chan here was sent to tell you that Otsuka-san has finished with your wedding band, and that you are free to try it on and pick it up," she explained.

"Oh, wonderful!" Bending down, he smiled and said, "Biwako-chan, I would be very honored if you would escort me to get it."

"Yes, of course, Senju-sama! I mean, Hokage-sama!" the girl blushed.

He chuckled and moved to leave, giving Mito a chaste kiss on the cheek, "I'm going to stop by the Hokage offices to set up a few things on the way back, so I'll be gone a couple of hours. Dinner when I get back?"

"Sure," she agreed quietly.

"Madara, you're welcome to stay for dinner, too!" he called behind him as he and Biwako made their way down the hallway. "So, Biwako-chan, you want to become a ninja, not a jeweler, huh?" his voice trailed off as they moved out of earshot.

"So," Mito said placidly when she and Madara were alone. She was determined to act as if nothing was wrong, to be a peacemaker, to smooth things over. She asked, "What did you two talk about? Anything interesting?" and prayed for an uneventful response.

Madara breathed deeply through his nose, refusing to answer her stupid question yet. Because it was stupid, this was stupid, inane, pointless. He hated seeing her this way – it infuriated him, made him want to rip that insipid smile off her face. His rage and frustration clamored to be vented, desperate to be free, to tear that mask off forcefully.

But he didn't, he just stood there, unaware that his eyes had done all the talking for him. Finally, he said sardonically, "Does it really matter?" and turned back to face the edge, away from her.

"I guess not," she answered, her voice small, and he cursed himself for caring that she sounded hurt.

Refusing to look back, he stood there, waiting for her to give up, waiting for her to leave, leave him alone.

Silence reigned for minutes that felt like an eternity, but he knew she had not left. Frustrated, he whirled to face her, and asked the loaded question that he had been holding in.

"What do you want from me?"

Mito was struck by the almost pleading, quiet tone, despite the intensity with which his eyes were boring into hers. In that moment, he did not seem to her a proud Uchiha clan head, did not seem a formidable ninja, did not seem to be anything but a man, and she did not know how to answer his question. As she stood there silently, the look in his eyes made her heart constrict; he was vulnerable, and it almost made her want to comfort him somehow.

At length she looked away, whispering the truth, "I don't know."

Madara's only response was to scoff in disbelief, once again leaning over the railing.

Eventually, Mito approached him cautiously, as if he was a wounded animal she was trying not to spook. "Madara…" she said softly, a hand hovering above his arm as if afraid to actually touch him.

At her direct address, he faced her, face incredulous with a tinge of condescension, "Don't you mean, 'Madara-san,' Mito-hime?"

His words stung, but she would not be deterred, "I meant exactly what I said, Madara."

Brow furrowed, his eyes slid closed, "Don't say things like that. Don't say my name like that."

"Madara," she said again, fingers finally resting on his sleeve, "we need to talk about… this."

Eyes snapping back open, he hissed, "And what exactly is this?"

"I don't know!" Mito sighed exasperatedly. "That's why I said we should talk about it. We can't just keep… I don't know." She looked at him earnestly, "All I need is to hear from you is that there is nothing between us, that it's just in my head, please." Madara's expression was dumbfounded as she continued, "If you tell me that I am just misunderstanding, and then I can go back to acting normal… I can…" she broke off, grey eyes bright. "Please. Just tell me I'm imagining… whatever this is."

He was silent for a moment, teetering between the truth and fulfilling her request. Mito did not look away, so he closed his eyes again, as if shutting out the image of her would grant him some rationality.

However, it did little to quiet the maelstrom of his thoughts – as much as he wanted to dismiss his attraction, as much as that attraction made him want to do as she asked, how could he deny what was painfully obvious to both of them? Eventually he decided on sidestepping the matter, answering her with the same question he had asked her earlier, "Does it really matter?"

Shaking off her hand but not turning away, his tongue formed words he did not want to say, "You're marrying Hashirama."

Opening his eyes to see her response, he watched her lips shape the words he did not want to hear – "Yes, I am," and he tried to ignore the resignation in her voice.

"So it doesn't matter," he affirmed, doing his best impression of detachment.

Mito's hand returned to his arm, and this time he did not make a move to unseat it. "It matters to me," she admitted quietly.

It pained him to hear her admission, his unaffected façade lowering, replaced by a desire to hurt her, to push her away by force if she would not leave him alone of her own volition. "So what," he seethed, "You are marrying my best friend, Mito! He loves you, you love him, so whatever is between us is inconsequential–"

"I don't," Mito cut in, her voice breaking as she said, "I don't love him."

"So why are you marrying him?" When she did not answer, Madara said bitingly, "Are you that desperate to find a fine, handsome, and powerful husband? I guess you are just that shallow."

He tried not to notice the unshed tears that filled her eyes as her voice rose, "Don't you dare! You don't understand; I have to do this – for my family, my clan, for my village. I can't afford to be selfish, my feelings don't matter!" Clutching her hands to her chest, Madara saw the effort she was putting into holding back her tears as she calmed, "That's why I need you to tell me that this is nothing to you. If I can just believe that…" she left her hope unsaid.

"So what exactly do you want, Mito?! Am I supposed to care or not? Make up your mind!" His hands came up to grip her shoulders in a bruising hold.

"Lie!" she all-but screamed, a tear finally escaping the prison of her lashes. "I want you to lie, I want you to say that there is nothing between us, that the attraction is one-sided, that I am letting my feelings run away with me; that you don't look at me and see a woman, that you don't want me–"

"If you know it's a lie, what good will it do for me to say it!" he shouted, more an exclamation than a question. Mito just stared at him, and he pulled her closer as he barreled on, eyes ablaze, "You want me to lie, fine! I can say that I don't wish I had been the favorite for Hokage – not just because I want the approval, but also because it would have meant you would be marrying me! I can tell you that I haven't kissed another woman – almost taking her to my bed – because she reminded me of you, that I don't dream of you at night, that I don't hate imagining you with him, that I don't long to have to you, to hold you, to make you mine! I can tell you that I don't hate myself for the way I feel, that I don't find myself inexplicably drawn to you no matter how many times I have tried to fight it."

Mito's eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted as she absorbed the information, and his voice finally lowered to a soft rumble when he spoke again, "And I am so tired of fighting. But if you want me to lie, there you have it. Are you satisfied now?" His face had fallen, defeated, exhausted. When she did not break her silence, he let go and turned away, "I think I've adequately proven that I am not the "good man" you so earnestly believe me to be, and I haven't even told you the half of it. So just leave me alone. It's better for the both of us."

Staring at his back, Mito could not form coherent thoughts, let alone words. So she did not rely on her thoughts, on logic, on rationality. Her bare feet padded across the few feet that separated them until she was next to him again, but still he did not look at her. "Madara," she murmured, forcefully tugging at him until they were face-to-face. "I'm sorry," she said softly, eyes brimming with sympathy and concern. Her fingers slid to rest on his biceps, and he did not pull away, though his face was twisted in something close to agony.

"You don't have to lie to me," she told him. "I was wrong. Please, don't lie to me anymore."

Their faces drew closer, and he said in a pained whisper, "Mito… This is wrong."

Sighing, her charcoal eyes glittered like dark crystals as she breathed the phrase that would seal their fate – "I don't care."

And then all thoughts of propriety, of duty, of anything other than each other fell away as their lips met.

A/N: Hi there! Please don't kill me for cutting it off here; don't worry, there will be more description next chapter :D

So anyway! The big 1-0! The long-awaited first kiss in progress! Mito's resolve has crumbled to a critical point! Madara has been honest-ish about his feelings! Cameo from baby!Biwako! :O

This chapter was a big deal for me, so please drop a review if you have a few seconds; I would really appreciate it!

Also, I feel like "Hand of Sorrow" by Within Temptation is TOTALLY Madara's theme song. Give it a listen and let me know if you agree (which you should, because it definitely is!)

(Lyrics for this chapter belong to "Staplegunned" by The Spill Canvas.)