Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soulmates. Such a curious concept.

The idea that there was a person somewhere in the world who could look at you—truly look—and not flinch from your flaws? Who might even care for you because they saw you?

Tobirama, at eight, didn’t quite trust the idea… but he wanted to.
He wanted it badly enough that it almost hurt.

Someone could love him?
Him, with his undesirable coloring and disagreeable personality?
Him, who made adults frown and children whisper?

(Was it really possible there was someone out there who wouldn’t mistake him for something cursed?)

It all seemed… improbable.
But also tempting.
Dangerously tempting.

Because if Mito—an Uzumaki princess, no less—could look at Hashirama and smile like she’d been waiting her whole life for him, then maybe Tobirama’s soulmate, whoever they were, wouldn’t recoil from him either.

(Even if Tobirama had nearly dropped the water bucket when his brother returned from Uzushio with two brown eyes instead of one brown and one violet. Once the shock settled, he’d been happy for him. Truly. Maybe even envious, in a quiet way he didn’t have words for yet.)

The idea that someone existed—someone he hadn’t met yet—who might someday choose him, and keep choosing him…

That fragile little hope was something he clung to.

He held onto it when Butsuma’s voice was too sharp, when clanmates whispered too loudly, when Hashirama was angry at him, over the Madara Debacle.

He held onto it when he was exhausted, hurt, or just so very tired of fighting.

(When the fighting just wouldn’t stop –)

The thought that there was a person he could love—and who might love him back—kept him moving forward.

Even if he didn’t entirely believe he deserved such a thing.

–

“A demon! A white demon – killed nine on his first day on the battlefield! A fucking monster – what do the Senju feed him and that mokuton-user of theirs, dammit?!?" 

–

Tobirama was ten when he realized he’d been wrong — his soulmate would never love him. Couldn't love him. Because Tobirama was a demon.

Forget the strange coloring;maybe his soulmate could have lived with that. It was the name he’d earned — White Demon — that ruined everything. And that, unlike the color of his hair or eyes, was something he’d carved into the world with his own hands.

(Was it really his fault, though? He followed orders. Everyone followed orders. Why was he being punished for it?)

He wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both.

Because the universe hadn’t doomed him — he himself had. He’d ruined things before they’d even begun.

Why couldn’t his soulmate have been anyone else?

Someone he hadn’t wronged.

Someone he hadn’t fought.

Someone whose clan didn’t bury their dead across the river from his – someone who was not from the enemy clan.

(Why couldn’t fate have picked another clan? Any other clan? Even a civilian? What had he done — in this life or the last — to deserve this?)

He stared at the mirror, at the eye (his soulmate's--) staring back: red, a few shades lighter than his own natural color, three tomoe spinning rabidly, mesmerizing. 

(Beautiful-)

For a heartbeat, he wondered if it was too late to ask to apprentice under the healers. Maybe, with time, people would forget the White Demon ever existed. Maybe then his soulmate wouldn’t run away from him in disgust or fear.

(The eye pulsed, hot and Tobirama could feel the softest of chakra buzzing from his eye, whispering a connection Tobirama didn’t quite want anymore –)

Too late. Butsuma’s voice — or the version of it Tobirama had engraved in his skull — answered immediately. You’re a soldier. My soldier.  Soldiers don’t abandon their duty for personal weakness. Especially not ones as effective as you.

Tobirama looked back at the eye — his soulmate’s eye — and felt something in his chest twist.
With his reputation, and the number of Uchiha he’d killed, and the unnatural coloring that made him too easy to recognize… it wasn’t difficult to guess the truth.

His soulmate would reject him.

He exhaled, slow and shaky, glancing up again.

The Sharingan didn’t seem like it was going anywhere. And the rumors were clear enough — if an Uchiha had a non-Uchiha soulmate, the Sharingan could not turn off – their chakra system nor body not adapted to it, so it was always on, draining chakra.

…The clan would riot if they learned one of their heirs was matched to an Uchiha.

(They’d probably kill Tobirama, because he was cursed, and the whole clan knew that. Having an Uchiha soulmate was just the last straw –)

He’d have to hide it. He’d have to hide everything.

Another sigh. Then he turned from the mirror and dug through his medical supplies to find a roll of bandages – slowly, he wrapped it around his head, making sure to cover the sharingan.

He couldn’t stop fighting the Uchiha — not as long as Izuna lived, not as long as the river ran red each season. His father wouldn’t allow it. His conscience wouldn’t either. 

Too many people depended on him.

But on the bright side…

Tobirama’s fingers brushed over the cloth, mind already shifting into problem-solving mode.

He had something new to study, aleast. Something interesting.

Not many non-Uchiha could get so close to a sharingan, to be able to research it, to learn from it.

(And, maybe, just maybe, Tobirama should look into his brother's dream of peace.)

–

That night, in the privacy of his room, Tobirama would stare at the rapidly spinning sharingan for hours on end, wondering who fate had matched him with. 

(Were they a girl? A boy? His own age? Younger? Older? What were they like? Were they very nice and kind? Or maybe grumpy? 

Were they smart? Tobirama was not quite sure he could ever live his life with someone who was not at least somewhat smart.)

It was in the early hours of dawn, when he teared his eyes away from the mirror, snarling at his reflection. 

Stop, he told himself, stop this. It’s of no use. They probably already hate you.

–

He’d taken a mission to the Land of Waves the very next day – when he came back, the lie slid off Tobirama’s tongue easier than it probably should have.

“Too deep a cut,” he told his father, head bowed just enough to suggest shame over being taken advantage of, “The sight won’t return.”

Butsuma didn’t even look up from the scroll he was parsing, grunting, “Then you’ll adapt. Be ready to battle at dawn – we will attack the Uchiha.”

The sharingan in his left eye pulsed, as if angry on his behalf. He swallowed, “Of course, Father.”

–

On the other side of the river, Madara, aged 12, stared at his left eye. It was red, like the sharingan, except it wasn’t really the sharingan, no tomoe spun rapidly around the irises, and the color was darker than the sharingan, but it was….

It’s such a pretty color, he thought to himself, smiling. Beautiful. My soulmate must be a beautiful person.

Someone knocked at his door – probably Izuna, with how relentless and loud it was. 

“What?” Madara called out, tearing his gaze from the mirror.

“Stop simping over someone you don’t even know, Madara!” Izuna shouted back, “And, anyway, the patrol said that the Senju are assembling near the Takoma – we need to meet them there! Gear up! You can flirt with your mirror afterwards!”

Madara sighed. Of course. War, war and war. Fight the Senju here, fight the Senju there. Senju this and Senju that. Bla bla bla. 

When will this eventhought stop?

And, Madra though, his mind wandering to Izuna's teasings, Little brothers are so annoying.

“I am not ‘simping’ over my soulmate, Izuna, fuck off!” Madara told Izuna through the door, already putting on armour. Izuna blew a raspberry, before running off – probably to gear up himself.

Hashirama better give him a good fight. And that damned brother of his better not hurt Izuna again, or Madara swears he’s gonna dice him to pieces, and feed him to the falcons.

Chapter Text

Tobirama was 15, when his eye changed again. He’d been spending the week at the capital, having been granted the leave by his father to go to a few lectures taking place at the university funded by the Daimyo. 

While the lecturer, Ishigami Ryoto, mixed different chemicals and herbs, talking about different reactions caused this reaction to the neat row of other students sitting around in a semi-circle in-front of him.

Tobirama – in a henge, brown hair, brown eyes and all – had been diligently taking notes when it happened – a sharp flash of pain, and his covered eye, his sharingan one, felt like it was burning. The only reason he didn’t make a sound was the pain-tolerance Tobirama had expertly built up since he was nine.

When the pain subsided, as quickly as it came, Tobirama stilled, blinking out black spots from his uncovered eye.

What…what was that?

A pit formed, at the bottom of Tobirama’s stomach – was…was his soulmate dead? Was that what the pain was signifying? Was his left eye grey now?

Tobirama hoped not. The scholar sitting beside him sent a questioning glance, most likely wondering why Tobirama had gone stiff. Tobirama nodded to him curtly, before going back to listen to the lecturer and taking notes.

Whatever it was, storming off from the lecture room was not the way to go – Tobirama had spent a very long time convincing his father that yes, it was necessary for him to come to the lecture from the Ishigami Ryoto, who’d revolutionised his field of study with his theories and formulas and No, Tobirama would not slack off in training, by spending a month in the capital, under the guise of a scholar taking classes.

–

When he returned to his quarters for the night, he finally unwound the cloth he now used to cover his left eye – while bandages had worked for a while, it was too wasteful, to have to throw them out after a couple of uses. The black cloth he used now, as a replacement, was far better.

Tobirama took it off slowly, letting his left eye flutter, before adjusting to the light. 

With a sharp intake of breath, Tobirama touched his face – the once red eye with the three rapidly spinning tomoe was gone. In its wake, a kaleidoscopic pinwheel pattern spun in his eye. It spun like it was trying to drag his attention inward

Beautiful, was Tobirama’s first thought – the second, and more important one, was: What is this? A sort of more evolved form of the sharingan?

Tobirama had never seen such a thing. However, he had heard of it. However, every few generations, some Uchiha popped up, with a more powerful sharingan than the rest. Huh – did this mean his soulmate was quite powerful?

Had Tobirama fought them, then? It was likely, with a sharingan like this. Now, Tobirama was no longer a pathetic child, hung up on fate giving such a cruel soulmate – he’d gotten used to it, but the idea of hurting his soulmate made something at the very back of his mind twist queasily. He ruthlessly shoved it back. 

–

When Tobirama got back to the Senju Compound, he learnt that Uchiha Tajima had died to the Shimura clan, and that Madara had gone mad with grief over his father’s death, and had obliterated most of the shinobi in the Shimura clan

He’d also, in his grief, unlocked a higher form of the Sharingan, as had Izuna.

….Shit.

(If it was Izuna, Tobirama was going to walk straight into the nearest river. Permanently.)

–

When they battled next, Tobirama, who was once again locked in battle with Izuna, got up pretty close to him. Making sure to not properly look the younger boy in the eye, he took note of the pattern. 

“What’re you doing?” Izuna hissed out, starting the handsigns of a fire-style jutsu. Tobirama jumped away. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, barely audible. “Nice eyes, ‘is all.” 

 Izuna snarled, and swung at him with his sword. “Stop staring at my eyes, you freak?!? Fight me, bastard!”

Tobirama matched his swing, blocking it, but didn’t attack back. 

The rest of the fight was fought on auto-pilot by Tobirama, but he also made sure to put extra attention to the fact that he didn’t severely injure Izuna. Wouldn’t do to hurt his soulmate’s brother badly, now will it?

(The fact that his soulmate was Uchiha freaking Madara was quietly stashed away to never be thought of again, after the night – which he mostly spent getting drunk with Touka, who while not what he was trying to forget by drinking, teased him for it mercilessly nonetheless.)

–

Three years later:

Madara stared at the piece of paper that the squirrel had bought him. 

We have Hikaku. We are currently holding him at the Senju Compound. His safety is assured, as long as we all act in good faith. 

Signed, 

Senju Clan Head, Senju Hashirama

“What’s it say?” Izuna said, his voice almost frantic.

Madara’s voice was tight – “They have Hikaku,”

Izuna stilled. “Senju? The Senju have Hikaku?!?”

Madara nodded, rubbing at his temple. What had he exactly expected? They had captured Senju Touka, who’d been found in their territory, probably taking a shortcut. The Elder’s had wanted to kill her at once, for encroaching but Madara had gotten them to see reason. Mostly – they still wanted to use her as a sort of leverage to the proposed ceasefire. 

They’d sent out a ceasefire notice, with proof of life, and terms. Hashirama had sent back the terms, arguing back and forth about it. He’d tried to just get Madara to let Touka go, but Madara could not do that – what would the clan think, to know he’d just let out a Senju kunoichi, and one of the damn best ones at that? The whole clan would riot. 

Not just killing her, or permanently disablingly her had taken a lot of arguing and convincing.

The fact that their next counter-argument would be to kidnap one of the Uchiha as a hostage, had not been on the bingo card – afterall, Hashirama always talked about peace and fairness.

This stunk of the Senju Demon.

Izuna snapped his fingers in his face, to get his attention: “We should kill the kunoichi. Show a sign.”

Madara looked up wearily, “No. You’re meant to be the one good at politics Izuna – we kill the kunoichi, they kill Hikaku, you fucking idiot.”

Izuna paled, going silent. Madara understood why – Hikaku wasn’t just any Uchiha – he was their cousin, and even brother, afterall, Tajima had adopted him, when they were younger. They had grown up together, had fought together. Just as Izuna was his right-hand man, Hikaku was his left-hand man, his spy master, his advisor.

Madara pressed a hand against his soulmate’s eye again – it pulsed comforting chakra.

This was all Senju Tobirama’s fault. Every last bit of it.

He’d even managed to corrupt Hashirama, who Madara had always thought of as the pinnacle of everything pure and innocent, sunshines and not-taking hostages!

(The eye pulsed again, warm beneath his fingers — an echo of someone’s fear, someone’s anger. Someone alive.)

…Damned Senju. Doing the impossible.

--

Chapter Text

Tobirama sighed, wanting to rub at his temple – which he couldn’t, as he was holding a tray of food. Tobirama had a migraine, the Sharingan in his left socket hurt, and now Hashirama was telling him to take food to their prisoner and break the news? 

Tobirama dearly wanted to call it stupid, but it made sense. Their prisoner could probably overpower most other shinobi – Uchiha Hikaku was one of the strongest in his clan, after all. So, it was just a precaution. Tobirama understood that. It was logical – but that did not change that Uchiha fucking Madara was throwing a tantrum on the other side of the river, and it was affecting Tobirama.

 Dammit, why was Touka so reckless?!?

Every Senju shinobi knew better than to take shortcuts from Uchiha territory – especially after a mission, when you’re exhausted. Tobirama sighed once again, before knocking on the door of Uchiha Hikaku’s “cell” – really, it was barely a cell, more like a very luxurious room, which had been made inescapable using seals, courtesy of Tobirama. 

…Hashirama felt bad about ordering the kidnapping of the boy as a counter-hostage, if you couldn’t tell. Tobirama rolled his eyes, but swiftly schooled his face when Uchiha Hikaku opened the door.

“What do you want?” Hikaku asked, eyebrows furrowed defensively. He made sure to keep the bracelets that had the seals engraved to stop him from accessing his chakra, and having a set radius of where he could move about, confining him to his room. 

“Food,” Tobirama pointed out, unnecessarily, making no real motion to point at the food tray in his hand. Then, after Hikaku had hesitantly taken the tray of food, he said, “The Uchiha have agreed to exchange prisoners. The exchange happens the day after tomorrow, at noon, by the river.”

Uchiha Hikaku nodded. Tobirama waited for him to close the door again before he turned his back to the door, walking away.

He still had a migraine, and the sharingan eye still hurt, and Uchiha Madara was still being a child, not done with his tantrum, and not for the first time since his soulmate had sent the letter of confirmation to Hashirama, Tobirama wondered how the exchange would go.

–

Madara wondered how someone could look offended that they’d been kidnapped. Because that’s how Senju Touka looked – nose upturned, standing tall, looking graceful and brutish all at once.

The Uchiha had arrived early to the hostage exchange, as the Elders and Izuna were set on the idea that the Senju were going to arrive early, and trap the whole place or something.

They had not. Madara now had to wait for over two hours at the riverside because of Izuna and the damn Elders. He spent most of it glaring at Izuna, with an eye on their hostage.

She spent most of it whistling some tune or the other, smirking lewdly. Didn’t even try to escape, though Madara was sure that was because both he and Izuna were here, and there was no way she could overpower both of them.

So, when Madara picked up the warm, boundless chakra of Hashirama, he almost sighed in relief – yes! Madara could finally go back to the compound with Hikaku and finally get some sleep after this stressful week.

Sounds absolutely heavenly, if you ask Madara. 

When Hashirama appeared in front of the treeline, Madara was almost buzzing with anticipation to see Hikaku.

Hikaku stepped out next, and then behind was…Senju Tobirama. Of course, of course, dammit. Just what Madara needed right now. Senju fucking Tobirama, with his stupid-ass blindfold, and stupid-ass red eyes.

Madara quickly schooled his face. The younger Senju’s chakra reserves, were, truthfully speaking, below average, and must have been hidden by Hashirama's, whose reserves engulfed even Madara’s own, and he had a decent amount of chakra, if he said so himself.

The white-haired Senju annoyingly took a lot of his attention, after Madara had quickly done a quick once-over of Hikaku, to make sure that he wasn’t injured, before Senju Tobirama once again drew his attention.

(His soulmate’s eye sort of…hummed, and buzzed, as if pleased. Madara’s soulmate must be happy or excited or something, good for them.)

Hashirama, after a moment of awkward silence, spoke up: “Madara! Hi! And Touka! You’re fine! Good! I knew Madara wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.” 

Izuna made a face at Madara as if to say: You used to associate yourself with him?

Madara made a face back, as if to say: I was dumb, and a kid. Kids are dumb.

“Good to see you too, Hashirama.” Madara coughed. When Senju Touka didn’t speak up, “Um, Hikaku is well, I see,”

The Senju Demon stayed annoyingly emotionless. Hashirama, on the other hand, looked close to tears, going into one of his infamous depressive states: “I’m so sorry! It’s just, you had Touka! And, y’see, I really, really love Touka, yes? And, I really, really couldn’t let you hurt her. So, I got Tobi here to capture Hikaku! I’m sorry!”

Madara blinked at the word-spew. Wait, Hashirama was the one who ordered Hikaku’s kidnapping?!? What?!? Okay, maybe that Senju Demon manipulated him into thinking he made the decision himself…

 “Ahem, yeah…” He coughed out. Izuna and Tobirama both stayed unnervingly silent, both set to just glare across the river at each other. “So, we should start the exchange, shouldn’t we?”

Hashirama lit up, because he must have a personality disorder, or must have been dropped on the head as a kid, and no one will ever convince Madara otherwise: “Oh, yeah! Touka! Come on! We missed you! Come on –”

Senju Tobirama, at last, made some sort of action – he jabbed his older brother in the rib, and when Hashirama doubled over, wailing about how his “little brother was attacking him, and how unlucky" he must be!

Tobirama hissed something back, but Madara didn’t bother to use Chakra to enhance his hearing to listen to their conversation above the river’s crackling.

He motioned for Izuna to open the cuffs for their prisoner, while the Senju Demon did the same for Hikaku. Once they were both free, they crossed over to the other side of the river, channelling chakra to their feet. When they met in the middle, Madara was scared they were gonna start fighting, but both Shinobi crossed over to their side of the river, unharmed.

As everyone started to leave, Hashirama shouted something about peace, and how he’d sent a ceasefire treaty or something, and Madara smiled at that. Huh. The tree-brained idiot might just have a brain.

And, just like that, the Hostage Exchange came to a finish.

(Senju Tobirama stared at Madara’s retreating figure long after he’d turned his back, walking away from the river, on his way to the Uchiha Compound. If anyone had seen it, they would’ve called it curiosity. Quietly, Tobirama would admit that it was longing for something he could never have.)

–

They somehow ended up with a tentative peace after about two years of negotiations. The next thing that came was Konoha. It was beautiful, Tobirama would say, but he didn’t wish to jinx it – everything he liked always seemed to be just out of reach.

Tobirama had just been going back to his tent, after finalising out discussions with the lead architect, and Hashirama and Madara, over the village layout,  when a young boy barreled right into him.

The boy fell over, onto his bottom, pouting heavily, and Tobirama had to stop himself from smiling. The whole scene gave him a strange sense of deja vu over his own childhood, with Hashirama, Itama and Kawarma.

Well, that was a depressing thought. Tobirama ruthlessly pressed it down. Hashirama says no depressing thoughts.

“Hello.” He greeted the boy, clearly an Uchiha. He wondered if the boy would run away.

He didn’t. Instead – “What the hell, old man?!? Watch where you’re going! In the future, when I’m as strong as Uncle Madara, you’re gonna regret walking into me! ”

Now Tobirama really had to bite back a smile. Uncle Madara? Hmm, interesting. “Oh? Really? And how do you propose you’ll become as strong as Uchiha Madara, hmm? And, what’s your name?”

“I’m Uchiha Kagami!” The boy said, energetically, “And, I’m his nephew, so, obviously, he’s gonna teach me everything! And, I’ll learn from other people too! I’m a great student!”

Tobirama laughed. “Okay then.”

Then, Kagami squinted up at him: “Hey, you’re the White Demon guy, aren’t you?”

Tobirama tensed; he couldn’t stop himself, “Ah, yes, but –”

“That’s so cool!” Kagami gushed out. “You’re, like, a genius, aren’t you? ‘Cos, you keep up with Uncle Izuna…”

Tobirama blinked, “Ah, that’s what others say, yes. Though, truthfully, I don’t think you need to be a genius to beat Izuna – he’s a bit slow, you see.”

Insulting a child’s uncle probably wasn’t proper social etiquette, but, really, there was a reason that the Daimyō did not see much of him, even though Tobirama is the Heir to a very powerful shinobi clan: Tobirama did not understand social etiquette, and he never wished to – it seemed like a waste of time, if you asked him. 

Kagami, instead of being put off, seemed to light up, giggling. “Uncle Madara says the same thing!” And then, after a pause, “Hey, Senju-sama, will you teach me?”

Tobirama raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Yes!” The child nodded enthusiastically, “I’m a fast learner! Please!”

Tobirama smiled, really smiled, before nodding, “Okay, then. Though, first you’ll have to tell me all you know about Chakra…”

Chapter Text

Hashirama’s wedding was fast approaching — two weeks and counting. A joyous occasion, for most. For Tobirama, however, it meant relocation.

Both Hashirama and Mito had insisted he remain at the compound. Tobirama declined. Newlyweds deserved privacy, and Tobirama had no intention of serving as a permanent… fixture in their marital household. The mere idea was mortifying.

(Also, hint: hurry the heck up and give him nieces and nephews to spoil.)

Unfortunately, moving revealed certain truths he would rather have ignored.

His room was a disaster.

Not disorganized — he knew precisely where everything belonged — but undeniably cluttered. An accumulation of ill-advised experiments, prototypes, and abandoned theories. 

Half-completed seals, cracked chakra blades, water-damaged texts bearing his own annotations, and artifacts he absolutely did not remember acquiring. A whole pile of different blindfolds, in many different colours, courtesy of Hashirama. 

Small drawings that Kagami had done, and then dumped onto him.

(They were actually not half-bad. The boy showed aptitude to one day become a capable sealsmaster. The only thing holding him back was his absolutely atrocious handwriting.)

Touka had looked inside only once into his room, before declaring, with unnecessary vigor, that the room was “a bird’s nest – actually, no, that’s insulting birds.”

Hashirama had simply sighed, and looked the other way.

Two days and very little sleep later, Tobirama stood amid rows of neatly sealed scrolls. His entire life, reduced to ink and paper. Efficient. He allowed himself one quiet exhale.

Time to transport his belongings. 

—

The new house was modest, the kitchen offensively small — though Tobirama was hardly a chef, so it was fine. Its saving grace: proximity to his lab, which was established near the outskirts of the village. That alone justified the upheaval, since the compound was almost an hour’s walk away.

It however, regrettably, left him vulnerable. It was a twenty minute walk from the Uchiha side of the village. And since he no longer lived with Hashirama, who Kagami was unexplainably nervous about, Kagami had taken to showing up unannounced. Daily. Annoyingly.

(Apparently, Hashirama was “too tall”. Tobirama would like to point out that Hashirama is only about two inches taller than him, so this was completely illogical.

“Too tall” apparently also meant “too legendary, too shiny, too overwhelming.”)

Just when Tobirama had thought he’d no longer have to worry about a cheerful idiot invading his personal territory, a new cheerful idiot sprang up!

Kagami was bright. Enthusiastic. Highly combustible — figuratively and occasionally literally. And far too quick to adopt the Uchiha brothers’... colourful vocabulary. Kagami’s rate of swearing suggested a direct mentorship under Izuna.

Tobirama had resorted to corrective measures — a firm tap to the back of the head whenever particular words surfaced. This yielded mixed results. Kagami had a thick skull in every possible sense.

He would never admit it aloud, but the house felt less… quiet since Kagami began appearing. Tobirama was not used to such quietness — he’s lived his whole life with Hashirama right down the hall, afterall. The silence was…jarring.

Speak of the devil, and he appeared — not that Kagami was a devil. Devils were far quieter.

“Tobirama-sensei!” Kagami skidded into the room, eyes bright. “I figured this shit out! The lightning technique — it’s incredible. You’re seriously a freaking genius—”

A hand descended upon his head – hard.

“No swearing,” Tobirama said mildly. “Demonstrate the technique outside. Preferably not near anything flammable.”

Kagami grinned as if praised, eyes bright. Tobirama followed despite himself — ignoring the fact that he looked somewhat like Madara now, grinning as he was, and the fact that the only reason he knew this being that he was Hashirama’s brother, and, as such, had seen them goofing off together more than once. 

Madara always looked very happy when with Hashirama. Or, literally anyone but Tobirama. 

He would never smile at Tobirama like that.

–

Kagami’s chakra control was excellent, for his age, at least. 

It was the only reason Tobirama had given him a demonstration of the technique, knowing the boy would stubbornly not give up, until he figured it out. It was somewhat chakra-draining, especially to those with meager reserves, such as children. However, with proper chakra-control, it was quite easy to mitigate the effects.

So, when Kagami’s palm lit up with small sparks, which would’ve easily paralysed anyone he touched, Tobirama was not surprised. If anything, he’d expected this. The boy was good, very good. There was no doubt he’d figure it out.

However, Hashirama had once told him that you needed to reward good behaviour, and achievements. So, Tobirama ushered Kagami back to his house, and made him tea. The proper type, not the cheap stuff. 

Kagami seems to appreciate it, if his widening grin was anything to go by. 

He kept cupping the warm mug like it was the single greatest honor of his short life.
He even blew on it politely before drinking — which was absurdly unnecessary, because Tobirama brewed tea at exactly the temperature it should be consumed.

Still… the boy’s earnestness tugged somewhere under Tobirama’s ribs. Uncomfortable. Foreign.
Possibly indigestion. Or affection. Hard to tell.

Tobirama had been trying to decide whether telling Kagami of Izuna’s most embarrassing moments on the battlefield would be a good reward, when he noticed that the boy kept sneaking glances at his blindfold.

Kagami’s gaze would flicker around the room as he drank — the half-unpacked boxes, the scrolls sorted with obsessive precision, the way most of the furniture here was new and yet already unmistakably Tobirama.

Then his eyes kept drifting back to the blindfold.

Every. Ten. Seconds.

The hesitation was practically audible.

Tobirama set his cup down with a soft click.

He could feel the question vibrating in the air like stale chakra.

“Spit it out,” he sighed, stamping down the irrational need to adjust the cloth over his left eye. He’d always been somewhat self-conscious of it, but most people knew better than to keep staring at it.

Kagami paused, before saying, “How did you lose it? …Was it Uncle Izuna?”

Tobirama almost let the words slip — I wish it was Izuna.

But he swallowed them back down, sharp and bitter. Telling Kagami the truth would be… idiotic. He already had a perfectly serviceable cover story circulating, and announcing No, I’m actually hiding your uncle’s eye in my skull wasn’t exactly going to improve anyone’s day.

Still… he hesitated.

Tobirama didn’t like lying. Technically he could — he was very good at it — but it never sat right in his chest. And lying to Kagami?
That was worse. That scraped against something he didn’t have a name for.

Hashirama once rambled something about not lying to people you wanted in your life. Tobirama had ignored him at the time—he ignored most of Hashirama’s advice, on principle if nothing else. 

Wanting things wasn’t safe. Wanting people was worse. Hashirama got to want; Tobirama got to protect. That was the role assigned to him long ago.

And yet here he was.

Letting one overeager boy wander straight through walls Tobirama spent years mortaring shut, armed with nothing but bright eyes and far too many questions.

Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

Everyone liked to call him the “perfect shinobi,” and perfect shinobi didn’t spill truths like loose coins from a ripped coin purse.

But Kagami was looking at him like he expected honesty — trusted him enough to expect honesty.

And that was the real problem.

Tobirama wasn’t sure which truth was more dangerous: the one he was hiding…or the fact he actually wanted to tell Kagami the whole thing.

Tobirama watched the boy sip at his tea, tilting his head to the side. “I…Izuna didn’t do it. That would be embarrassing, don’t you think? …It’s to hide my soulmate's eye, I suppose.”

Kagami’s eyes widened. But when he didn’t interrupt, Tobirama continued on, “My…my soulmate wouldn’t want me, afterall. And the eye is…quite distinctive. And, well, I’m a coward, Kagami, I do not wish to be rejected.”

 Kagami made a sound, protesting, “That’s not true—”

Tobirama waved his hand to stop him. “Leave it be, Kagami. So, now you have your answer, don’t you?”

Kagami made a face, before asking, “So, you know who your soulmate is, then?”

Tobirama nodded, humming, “Yes. As I said, the eye is quite…distinctive.”

Kagami hesitated, then… “How are they like? How are you so sure they wouldn’t like you?”

Kagami leaned forward, practically perched on the edge of the chair, like Tobirama was telling a campfire story and not unraveling one of his deepest humiliations.

His eyes were wide. His chakra — bright, earnest, painfully sincere — pressed against Tobirama’s senses in a way that made it harder to lie.

Tobirama stared at the cup in his hands. “He’s…powerful, I guess. Famous, too. That’s how I know who he is. And, well…who would like me, after I killed many of their clan, Kagami?”

Kagami looked like someone had just slapped him with a fish.

Tobirama could see the math happening in his head.

Blindfold. Distinctive eye.

Famous. Powerful.

Uchiha.

He was going to reach the conclusion far too quickly for Tobirama’s comfort.

Time to abort the entire conversation with shinobi-grade efficiency.

Kagami froze. “Are you…is your soulmate an Uchiha, sensei?”

Tobirama had said too much. Abort. “Probably not. …Anyways, is there anyone who you would like as your soulmate?”

Kagami choked on his tea, making a thumping sound on his chest. “WHAT—?! NO—”

Chapter Text

Kagami wasn’t an idiot. 

People said he was an idiot — loudly, frequently, and mostly Uncle Izuna — but Uncle Izuna also got lost in his own house last week, so Kagami was choosing not to take criticism from a man who could lose a fight with a sliding door.

Point being:

Kagami could put two and two together.

(Kagami sometimes put one and one together and got seven, but that was beside the point.)

Tobirama-sensei had talked to him. Actually talked. 

About himself. 

About his soulmate, of all things — which, wow, huge trust, extremely illegal privilege for someone Kagami had once accidentally set on fire.

So, Kagmi was gonna be a good student and show him that he wasn’t gonna be rejected by his soulmate! Like, why would anyone reject Tobirama-sensei? He’s cool! And strong! And terrifying in a way that Kagami some day hoped to achieve!

Why would anyone reject him? Crazy people, that’s who.

Only one problem: Kagami didn’t exactly know who Tobirama-sensei’s soulmate was, but he could make a list. Use his brain a bit. Do some maths.

…And, holy shit, the math was mathing.

–

Tobirama-sensei had said that his soulmate had “very distinctive eyes” — which probably, definitely, meant that the soulmate had a dōjutsu. Now, Kagami could guess that the soulmate was an Uchiha, because there were only two dōjutsu-wielding clans around. And, since Sensei had said that he’d killed people of his soulmate's clan, it was definitely an Uchiha.

Since it was well known that the Hyuga and Senju had not clashed in, like, a hundred years, way before Tobirama-sensi’s time, they also typically kept to different sides of the continent, and not getting in each other’s way. So, Tobirama-sensei has not killed a lot of Hyugas — barely any, honestly.

…Which leads to Kagami now needing to narrow down the list further.

Tobirama-sensei was twenty-four.

Soulmates under seventeen? Illegal. Weird. Uncomfortable.

Soulmates over forty? Also weird. Also uncomfortable. Also statistically unlikely.

Kagami eliminated both ends.

The list shrunk.
Not enough.

Apparently, there were too many Uchiha running around being “powerful” and “available.” Ugh. Also, Kagami had no clue if Tobirama-sensei liked boys or girls. Thanks a lot, Sensei. That would’ve made this math at least fifty percent easier.

Next, the soulmate had to be “famous” and “powerful.” Kagami liked to think power was just scaring people on the battlefield, but apparently that wasn’t it. Uncle Hikaku was “powerful” and nobody even saw him fight. What a cheat.

The tricky bit: how powerful was Tobirama-sensei’s soulmate, really? Probably scary-powerful, since the White Demon himself said so. Okay, so at least in the same ballpark as Uncle Izuna, maybe slightly lower. Fine, Kagami could work with that.

Now, being famous was very subjective — everyone was famous if you asked their grandma.

Ok, so, that was pretty much all the variables Kagami had figured out. And, the list is much shorter than he expected. Like, much shorter.

Like….only ten names long.

…It was, for sure, not Aunty Kaori. They’ll hate each other the moment they meet. He crossed the name out. Not Hikari-nee, either — Kagami just couldn’t see Tobirama-sensei with a guy who called everyone “bro”. Ew. Kagami went through the list, cutting off names that just….felt wrong, until he was left with about three.

–

And, of course there was the contact lenses thing. The trickiest part. If he’d just known what Tobirama-sensei’s natural eye colour was, everything would make sense.  

Maybe. Probably. Hopefully. Kagami was allowed to fantasize, okay?

Most just believed that this was one of those eccentricities, that Tobirama-sensei had a thing for red eyes. Maybe to match the tattoos on his face? 

Anyways, that should cut Uncle Madara. Except…Kagami didn’t quite believe the whole contact thing.

Ok, so the contact lenses thing: no one outside the Senju Clan – and even most on the inside – actually knew his actual eye colour. Sensei was…ecentric. 

Every couple of weeks, he would turn up with brown eyes. Would say that he’d lost his contact lenses, or that he’d forgotten them, or he’d not have time to put them on, or something.

Everyone seemed to believe him. Afterall, all powerful shinobi had their quirks— some went around obsessing over plants, some went around setting things on fire, some went around doing…stuff. The point was, all powerful shinobi were kinda eccentric. 

Most just believed that this was one of those eccentricities, that Tobirama-sensei had a thing for red eyes. Maybe to match the face-tattoos? 

Anyways, that should cut Uncle Madara. Except…Kagami didn’t quite believe the whole contact lenses thing. Actually, he found it bullshit.

It happened, almost like clockwork, every couple of weeks. Yes, yes, sometimes it skipped a turn, or it was earlier or later, but that didn’t change the fact: it was almost like a sort of...reminder, that Tobirama his “real” eyes were brown.

And, look, not a single brown soulmate-eyed candidate in sight.

Kagami circled a name, a grin forming. He was pretty sure who Tobirama-sensei’s soulmate was.

—

Madara heard a knock, and since he could sense that it was Kagami — small, insistent, practically vibrating with nervousness — he called him in. Anything to run away from the mountain of paperwork Senju Tobirama had dumped on him. Really nice of him, really. 

Kagami shuffled into the room, clutching what looked like a tiny, tattered notepad. His shoulders were tense, his small hands gripping the edges like they might snap under pressure. “Hi,” he said, voice quiet at first, but rising just enough that Madara could feel the unspent energy in it.

Madara raised an eyebrow. “Hello.”

Kagami took a very deep breath, chest puffing, shoulders rolling back, and exhaled with the sort of exaggerated drama usually reserved for staged plays. “If…if your soulmate is from another clan, what do you do?”

Madara’s eyebrow arched even higher. He had anticipated some sort of question— questions about missions, training, or chakra control — but this? This was a bit of a curveball. “Well…it depends on the situation, the clan in question. Why do you ask?”

Kagami scrunched his face like he was balancing several conflicting emotions at once — curiosity, worry, and the unmistakable spark of mischief. “And if the situation is…I dunno…from an enemy clan?”

Madara leaned back, arms crossed, tapping a finger against his forearm. “Kagami. You don’t need to stress about your soulmate eye manifesting.”

A barely perceptible grumble slid from Kagami’s lips. His gaze flicked down at his notepad, then back to Madara, chin tilted like a miniature general planning a full-scale operation. Was this…a problem? Should Madara intervene? Should he drag the kid to someone responsible, like Aida-san? Get him to talk? Something? Madara wasn’t entirely sure. 

“No, I mean, like, what if…hypothetically, hypothetically, your soulmate is a Senju. What would you do?” The words tumbled out, quick and hesitant, each one weighted with a strange kind of courage.

Madara blinked, momentarily taken aback. Fingers twitched, itching to rub at his soulmate’s eye. “Well…we are at peace right now, Kagami, I guess I would take them to dinner.”

Kagami’s eyes narrowed into the most intense scowl Madara had seen from someone twice his size. “No! I mean, like, a shinobi. Who’s killed a lot of our clansmen. Would you…would you reject them?”

Madara paused, the words lingering in the air, heavy with implications. He considered it carefully. “It depends, really. Did they enjoy killing Uchiha? Or was it something they just…had to do? To protect themselves? …Anyways, Kagami, stop stressing about your soulmate. I’m sure they’ll love you, and you’ll love them.”

Kagami’s jaw set. He let out a long, exaggerated “urgh,” like he was physically pushing the words away, and turned on his heel. Feet pattered against the floor as he ran off.

Madara leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. His fingers brushed unconsciously against his own eye again. The faint buzz of chakra was still there. He let the feeling wash over him for a moment.

Weird kid, Kagami. Or, well, a weird generation, really — all of Kagami’s generation were weird. Energetic, curious, annoyingly persistent, and entirely too clever for their own good. Madara smiled faintly. He wouldn’t trade that chaos for the world.

–

Madara found that he had a problem. He was starting to…like Senju Tobirama. 

At first, at the very start, Madara had wanted to pummel him. That man had hurt his brother, left him bleeding, so, so many times. 

But then, inexplainably, Izuna had started to just go…spar with him. Apparently, Izuna had been itching for a fight, which he was no longer getting in peace-time, and just dragged Tobirama to the training grounds. When Madara had seen him come back, bruised all over, with a black eye, he’d been ready to march over to Hashirama’s house and demand answers.

But then Izuna stopped him, smiling. Said that it’d been “just a spar”, and “felt normal”, and it was “fucking fun!”

Madara had decided to fret over him for the rest of the night. 

The next day, Senju Tobirama came up to him and dropped off a bucket-load of paperwork. As you can tell, Madara was pissed. However, when he was gonna try and get the man too…lessen the paperwork, somehow, he found something that pissed him off more.

It turned out that Senju Tobirama was now his nephew’s sensei. Which…okay, but also bad.

And Kagami wouldn’t even listen to him, and stubbornly kept going back to the damned man’s house!

Madara had hesitantly decided to leave them be, on the condition that Kagami would tell him everything Tobirama was taught him.

He’d been expecting complaints of a strict man. Or maybe some embarrassing mishaps about the White Demon.

What he got was a very detailed report of everything “Tobirama-sensei” likes. Apparently, the man really liked blueberries. Who knew? Not Madara, until Kagami told him.

And it was all the weirdest thing to report about, too. Like, “Tobirama-sensei hates sushi for dinner”, and “He hates a lot of fabrics, ‘cos he has sensitive skin,” and “He’s very reckless — skips meals and forgets to sleep!”

Madara ....did not need to know this much about Senju Tobirama, the White Demon, ghost of the battlefield. It humanized him in a way Madara didn’t quite like.

Back to the present: Uchiha Madara was starting to like Senju Tobirama. He was starting to look forward to Kagami’s reports about the man. 

They made Tobirama feel like a person, a normal person, with terrible self-care, rather than an emotionless-killer.

–

Kagami crackled, rubbing his hands together.

Heh! This was the best idea ever. He was gonna get Uncle Madara and Tobirama-sensei together. They would be really cute together. Maybe.

Also, then he can get spoiled twice, because he has two dads, who will fight to be the Best Dad!