Madara gave a greeting smirk at his ever-scowling Senju from his seat on an outdoors picnic blanket, patiently waiting for the sullen albino to cross over to the Uchiha's side of the creek.
The three, sharp and distinct red lines inked onto the Senju's alabaster complexion caught the sun's rays, contrasting beautifully against pale skin and drawing Madara's piercing eyes to them. A small burst of laughter bubbled up his throat at the memory of how the younger shinobi had acquired them.
It had been odd, seeing Tobirama without his trademark tattoos which made Tobirama Tobirama over the years. Now, he could not even picture the younger shinobi without them. After that memorable event, Madara felt that they had somehow grown even closer.
The Senju, after being acquainted with the devious hormones which made up puberty, had shot up like bamboo sprouts, easily overtaking Madara in height and muscle mass. The now sixteen-year-old impassive bastard had grown into a fine young man with broad shoulders, lithe body, and an almost unbreakable poker face.
It made the smartarse more than a little overbearing - until Madara literally tore him a new hole during a spar. That had taught the cheeky brat to never again tease Madara about his shorter stature. It wasn't his fault that the majority of the Uchiha were late bloomers and that the Senju practically have the blood of giants in them.
Furthermore, the younger shinobi has not only grown in body, but in mind as well. He had eased up considerably, was more confident, and self-assured. No more thinking himself an emotionless 'perfect soldier' for his father's use. Shinobi endure, yes, but they were only human no matter how hard they try to expunge their emotions.
Conceal? Yes. Erase? No. Even Madara could not completely remove his emotions, only compartmentalize.
Madara worked extra hard in making sure to beat those stupid ideals out of that pretty little white head of his. He didn't need Tobirama influencing such ideas into Danzo's demented and crooked head, which would then tempt his future student into creating Root; which would one day bring the end of the Uchiha clan.
Every action and decision he made, as of late, felt as if there was an ulterior motive behind of them - his mind always weighing the cost versus benefits, responsibilities versus feelings. And sometimes, those measures made him distrustful over his own accomplishments, but that was just how he was, he supposes.
It has always been easier for Madara to manipulate and strategize for an eventuality and plan for a contingency for his contingencies than to live life with irrational and reckless abandonment.
"You look perkier than usual," Madara stated as soon as the Senju reached his side. The other paused, eyes slightly wide when he looked at Madara's hands. That made him tilt his head in askance, which the Senju blatantly ignored as he made to remove his fur collar.
"Why hello, Uchiha. Good afternoon to you as well. How was your day? Mine was shit. Thank you for asking," Tobirama drawled sarcastically, causing Madara's lips to quirk upwards in mirth.
"Alright. I'll bite. What's got your panties in a twist? If there's a solution, I'll help straighten it out."
"For once in your life, Madara, could you not sound like such a juvenile scoundrel?" The albino scrunched up his nose before rubbing his temples tiredly, "Chichi-ue has fallen ill and the elders are pushing for me to lead the next raid. Anija is too soft - hence they are expecting that I be the one who assumed the mantle of general."
"Isn't that great news?" He patted the spot next to him as an invitation whilst rolling his eyes, "That Butsuma is bedridden, I mean."
"Despite his lack of involvement in our upbringing, I do not wish ill upon him. Stop bringing your daddy issues into my life," Tobirama bit back whilst he unstrapped his armor and settled next to Madara on the red outdoors blanket, their shoulders and knees pressed together due to the close proximity.
The sudden warmth made a shiver run down his spine, causing him to nestle closer to the albino with a satisfying sigh leaving his lips. The weather has been getting colder as of late. And as distracted as he was, it took several long moments for Tobirama's words to register.
When it did, however, Madara all but elbowed his friend in the ribs, a scowl on his features.
"I do not have daddy issues!" Madara all but shrieked, beyond offended.
"Spoken by someone who constantly plans patricide in his free time. Why am I not convinced?" The albino sneered, gaze once again flicking distractedly to Madara's hands before resuming eye contact.
"... Bastard," He murmured weakly, not able to deny those accurate accusations, "So? Is he dying?" He asked with zeal.
If Butsuma was on his last breath, he could finally off his own father and send one of his personally trained messenger hawks with a missive, offering a cease-fire between their clans - the first step to building Konohagakure. It would be years early, but he had planned to have it that way, anyway; before any of their brothers' lives could be jeopardized.
His friend, however, understood him well enough to look more exasperated than angered by his impolite question. Although that may be due to them being two peas in a pod. Misunderstandings between them were few and far between.
"You are utterly shameless in your joy, Uchiha. Please refrain from showing how pleased you are at my clan head's dwindling health," He stated drily, but Madara only continued to look eager.
Tobirama sighed, deeming the Uchiha a lost cause, "It's still too early to tell... And while I try not to get side-tracked too often, you are distracting me, Dara. By not wearing your gloves - Why are you not wearing gloves?! Are you doing this on purpose?"
"Why do you sound so scandalized?! Stop! They're just gloves, Tobira! It's hard to knit with them on, okay?!" Madara suddenly felt self-conscious, wishing he had not left his leather gloves back home. On the other hand, he made a mental note to always wear gloves whenever he plans to meet up with Tobirama.
"... We'll put the topic of you appearing highly indecent without them, for another day, because I am seriously befuddled by what you are actually doing right now. Just what in Sage's name are you doing?" He sounded disturbed, an odd expression flickering on his face.
Madara blinked uncomprehendingly.
As he followed Tobirama's gaze, his eyes landed on the two thick senbon needles in his hands and the yarn wrapped around said senbon needles and his left index finger, connected to a ball of pastel blue yarn.
"Use those organs in your sockets, Senju. Isn't it rather obvious? I'm knitting Yakumi a pair of woolen booties for the upcoming winter." And you a scarf for your birthday three months later.
Oddly enough, his answer only made the Senju more baffled, the confused expression making him look younger. Madara huffed, yet again offended.
Just because Madara only wore pre-owned clothing did not mean he would allow his younger brothers to do the same. What kind of neglectful older sibling did Tobirama think he to be? Who knows what sort of virus they could catch if they used clothing that was once worn by the dead?
Besides, he became extremely proficient at knitting when he had been training Obito. The idjit would constantly tear/burn all of Madara's mantles due to either a jutsu mishap or a training accident; he was, weirdly enough, incompetent in the art of shurikenjutsu and ninjutsu at the start of Madara's tutelage.
Furthermore, after having his home invaded by his legally wedded wife, tension ran high in their household. Madara couldn't bring himself to unwind by knitting back in his bedchambers, seeing that it wasn't solely his anymore (he has been sleeping with either the twins or Ryouta as of late). Even his siblings made themselves scarce by having daily outings to escape Hikari-san's presence.
"I can see that, Uchiha," The albino crossed his arms, "But I'm asking why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you - the heir - the one who knits their clothing? Do the Uchiha not have servants to do such chores for you? Or a tailor?"
"Aa," Madara deadpanned, annoyed at being asked something so obvious.
It should be evident by their lack of armor and scavenged weapons that the Uchiha were piss-poor. Butsuma had commented off-handedly as such a few years back, much to Tajima's fury and Madara's amusement. His father's pissed off purple-ish face had made his day.
Madara shrugged and went back to knitting.
"Technically no. Tajima is always too busy planning the next raid to build any form of rapport with our clients. Haven't been on any assassination missions as of late - they're my most profitable source of income. It's laughable, but the Uchiha are too poor to have servants. The civilians, however, help out in any way they can; simple chores such as community cooking, cleaning, and laundry. The services of tailors are too expensive for me to afford - and besides, I'd rather knit their clothes myself." That way, he could weave in a few protection seals with no one the wiser.
"I... I did not realize the difficult situation you are in. Madara, I apologize if I have offended you with such questions."
He waved the apology off without looking up from his work, a chuckle escaping his lips.
"You need not worry about offending me, snowflake. I know your curiosity all too well," he idly laid his head on Tobirama's shoulder as he continued to lean heavily against the Senju's side, dextrous fingers moving with fierce precision, "Being broke has its upsides. Knitting helps me to unwind.
"Izuna, too, enjoys going out on hunts. He would bring back his game and contribute them to our kin who are widowed or orphaned whilst leaving enough for our family. Ryouta loves experimenting and creating new recipes; especially whenever Izuna catches something... odd."
Madara made a complicated face at that, remembering those times when Izuna had brought back exotics animals for dinner.
One fine example was the tarantula sliders. Ryouta had managed to trick them into eating those vile things without their knowledge up until the very end. Until now, the memory still brought a shudder of revulsion down his spine.
Tobirama made an amused sound at his visible reaction, pale and slender digits rubbing circles on Madara's thigh in a soothing rhythm. He huffed, playfully headbutting the albino's chin before settling back to continue his knitting.
"Yakumi adores the performing arts. Although his lessons do require finesse that I could only gain whenever I go out on missions and copy them with my Sharingan. I suspect that he'd rather be a civilian than a shinobi, to be honest. I mind not, but Tajima, on the other hand... Hmph!
"As for Takumi, he's still searching for his calling, but I reckon he's leaning towards being an artisan whenever he's not training. He enjoys painting and crafting far too much to find a new hobby - says its calming."
"They sound like nice kids," Tobirama says with rare softness.
"They are," A happy smile was playing on his lips when he readily agrees. His younger brothers were godsend. Without them, Madara wouldn't know what else he could have done but train and train and train; honing his already deadly set of skills for nothing but his ambition.
Madara suddenly recalls possessing a container full of blueberry tarts, the ones Ryouta had made just earlier today (sneakily, as Hikari-san had taken over their kitchen, much to the four brothers' misery. Ryouta's cooking was to die for). He deftly pulls it out and dangles it in front of the Senju's face.
"Blueberry tarts, Senju?" Tobirama had already snatched the container before Madara could finish asking.
"You should've offered sooner, Uchiha," The Senju grouched, already munching happily on the desserts, eyes squinted in pleasure.
What a child.
"Oh, right. I was going to ask but I got side-tracked. What happened to your hand?" Madara, with a distracted air, tucked the curtains he calls his fringe behind an ear and leaned closer to get a better look.
Three of Tobirama's right fingers were in splints and his wrist wrapped, obviously broken. He idly wondered if it was from a sparring accident or a mission gone wrong.
Tobirama gazed at him for a few long moments, obviously debating whether to answer truthfully or not. It made Madara unhappy, put-off that the albino would keep secrets from him (and yes, he knew he was being irrational and hypocritic. He, too, kept many secrets).
Thus he jeered, "What? Does the little baby Senju want this big bad Uchiha to heal his boo-boo for him or not?"
The teen huffed, turning away with lips pursed in displeasure, "Disciplinary measures, apparently."
"... What does that even mean?" He mused out loud, a bad feeling building up in his throat.
"It means shut up and let me eat in peace."
"Grumpy. Why hadn't you allowed Tama-chan to heal it?"
"He's currently out on a mission with Kawarama and Touka."
"Hn."
Rolling his eyes upwards, he snatched the stubborn idiot's injured hand and healed it within moments. Soon enough, they fell into a companionable silence, with Tobirama's munching heard once in a while.
Madara went back to his knitting whilst Tobirama simply laid next to him, head in Madara's lap and enjoying the snack. They were both content with sun-bathing in this cooling weather; perfect for people like them who have sensitive skin - who don't tan but scorch in the sun.
Afternoons like these was his favorite. It made Madara forget that he was a tool, a weapon bred for war.
Smiling with a mixture of pride and bitterness at the sudden reminder, his fingers paused as he spoke tentatively, "Perhaps a dance after your snack?"
"Hn," Tobitama grunted, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's.
"Excellent. We don't want you growing fat now, do we?" Madara teased, resulting in a deadly glare from the albino. If looks could kill, Madara would already be dead a thousand times over. Thank Sage Tobirama was not an Uchiha.
With a laugh, he used a finger to playfully poke at one bulging cheek.
It made a pinkish hue appear on the Senju's face - Madara assumes was due to embarrassment - and he patted his friend's snowy white hair in a mocking manner. Tobirama made an adorable whining sound (which would be later denied by the albino) whilst burrowing his heated face into Madara's stomach; as if that could hide him from any more of Madara's teasing.
What a cute brat, Madara inwardly cooed, his fingers not once stopping in their activity of caressing those soft, white locks.
A/N:
As requested from one loyal reader; I've made sure that this chapter is super fluffy to counteract the previous horrid one! Hopefully, you guys enjoyed this bit of light-hearted fluff ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ! Please tell me your thoughts!