prompt fill; can be read as a prequel to the ninth drabble in my other collection, a dance of flame and forest.


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home is behind.

hashirama didn't look back, didn't dare to, because if she looked back she would lost. the sight of her home–their home, dreamed and grown and built by the joining of their minds, no matter how far beyond the horizon would always, always tempt her. calling her with the voice of her brothers, both dead and alive.

"it's futile, sister," tobirama said days ago by the gates of konoha. "you could chase him to hell; madara will choose hell over you."

she merely smiled at her brother, thanking him for being worried about her before she departed.

the weight of her armor felt too much like home, and she let them fall.

"you're baring all your weaknesses," he pointed out.

"my armor is too heavy." dark hair fell around her face like a curtain.

"you think i can't wound you?"

the storm roared.

they sat apart, separated by embers between them, inside a small shelter she built. her own clothes drying, but he stubbornly clung to his soaked armor. they left the war outside, agreeing to a temporary truce as the heaven endlessly cried.

"you already do," she muttered, watching the sparks fly, fiddling with her necklace.

madara scoffed, his armor clattering. "you, wounded? you don't even bleed."

she stared ahead into the darkness. "there are wounds that don't bleed."

"can't you heal them?"

a set of dark clothes has joined hers on the drying rack. "no." hashirama felt another source of heat as he sat by her side, pulling her bare waist until she leaned on his chest.

madara was warm. warmer than the embers. hashirama didn't realize how badly she shivered until his arms wrapped around her body.

"you have enough chakra to build a hut," he said, pushing her damp hair past her shoulder and resting his chin on the other. "surely you have enough to make shackles."

"what's the point? you'll burn it again, leave me again, walking away from our dreams again…" she paused, feeling warmth spreading from the places where their skin met. "i don't want to put you in a prison."

"staying in konoha will just wound me again and again. izuna is gone, and the clan has forsaken me."

"bloodless wounds?"

"like yours."

"can i heal them?"

he said nothing, his hands squeezing her stomach.

impatient for an answer, she looked back, and hashirama was lost.

there was a strange hole in her house, the place meant to be filled by his presence. ever since he left to roam the wildlands, her home was never the same. her heart sank when she realized if he did stay, her home would never be his without izuna and the support of his clan.

madara was a lone wandering leaf, bonds and bridges burned to crisp behind him. no matter how long she chased him, fixing those bridges with her mokuton, he would burn them again and again.

her lips brushed against his, and she felt ashes fell to her shoulder.

"killing tobirama won't bring izuna back," madara whispered. "your wounds will fester and rot."

"let's not… talk about those." hashirama faced him, cupping his face. "just for tonight. we have a truce."

"it'll end by dawn."

"one night is enough."

"i'll disappear by then. when we meet again–"

"madara, please." she hugged him. "enough."

"hashirama–"

hashirama silenced him with another kiss. she dared to take the first step, and he reciprocated.

"i don't want to lose you."

no more words exchanged until they fell asleep much later, physically and emotionally exhausted, fingers intertwined in a tight grip.

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but i know i will.

as promised, madara was gone by dawn. his trail was concealed well.

hashirama wasted not time to leave the hut. she walked away briskly, not looking back even once. she was already lost, but the way to konoha is ahead.

home is behind.


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prompt is hold me tight now because i will be gone at the first light.