Madara:

2 years previously.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

My vision was blurred. My arms ached with so much lactic acid, I was sure they were going to have to amputate them. But I didn't care. I would gladly give both my arms. I just kept going.

... eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two...

Izuna was laying in a pool of his syringes and needles. His face was ashen white, as if he'd been dead for days. His skin was wet, clammy, cold, his eyes dead, unseeing. He had a tourniquet across his left, tiny bicep still.

... twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

I felt blood rush back into my arms as I paused to puff two breaths into his little mouth. His lips felt plush and cold agains mine, the taste of vomit tickled my taste buds. I still didn't care. I still kept going.

One, two, three, four...

Please, Izuna... Please.

... seven, eight, nine...

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better brother.

... twelve, thirteen, fourteen...

Please come back. Please come back. Please, take my life instead. Take me instead, but let Izuna live... I promised to look after him. I promised I would show him the world. Please...

... twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

Please...

Two breaths.

Please...

One, two, there, four... 

Present time

Madara:

When I woke up, the bed was empty beside me, but I heart rustling in the kitchen. I got out of bed, put on my sweater that was so long it covered my thighs, went out through the door, yawned and stretched.

I heard the clatter of a plate as Hashirama dropped it.

"Oh, my God, Madara!" he exclaimed.

"What?" I was worried.

"Your hair..."

"Oh!" I said and smiled. It was always wild in the morning. "Yeah, sorry, I need to brush it down."

"Please don't!" Hashirama said, a bit too quickly. "I mean, not that it turns me on or anything..." He came to me, put a sneaky arm around my waist, put his nose in my mane and breathed me in. "I've made omelette."

I smiled and blushed, looking down. "Thank you..."

He kissed the top of my head. "You really are a sweetheart."

A thousand butterflies took off in my stomach.

Hashirama:

We sat down at my little kitchen table and ate in amicable silence. Madara was adorable when he ate; while I sat with one leg casually slung over the other in my clean T-shirt and lounge trousers and ate with a fork and knife as in a fancy bloody restaurant; he sat with his knees to his chest, his bare feet on the edge of the chair, and had pulled his white sweater down to his ankles so it became a tent over his knees, and he ate with just his fork. I laughed a little when I imagined how we must look like from an outsider.

"What?" he said, mouth full.

"Nothing", I smiled.

"That reminds me... I told you a lot about Izuna yesterday."

"That's your little brother's name?"

"Yep. But you didn't tell me much about yourself. You only begun to explain... How you feel about law school."

I smiled, looked down a little. I collected my hair in a high ponytail and bound it with an elastic band I always carried around my wrist at home. And I began speaking.

"I was a model student, straight A's all the way through high school. But I was awkward. So when I applied to law school and got in, I switched my entire self. New wardrobe, new personality, new everything. Turns out, most others had done the same. But I saw through it, and now..." Madara was staring at me intently behind his curtain of black hair. "The parties, the alcohol, the girls... I don't think I can do it anymore, Madara."

"You don't have to", he said.

I smiled. "It's not that simple, Madara."

"I never said it was simple." He sounded offended that I would have assumed such a thing, as he should be. I felt stupid for assuming. "I just said you don't have to."

I looked at him, suddenly appreciating how straight to the point he was. And as he stared at me underneath his long side fringe, I saw a little of the man I believed he had been before his brother had died.

"Madara."

"Hmm?"

"I believe this is the real you."

He flinched.

"Please..." I reached my hand over to his and took it. "Don't take it the wrong way. I mean, this is the true Madara, what he would be if his little brother died. This you isn't a pretence; it's a reaction."

He looked down at our hands, started playing with my fingers and swallowed. "There might be something to that..."

We continued our breakfast in amicable silence before I decided to head home.

"When will I see you again?" I asked, holding his hand at my front door.

"Oh, soon, please!" he said, eyes glittering.

I hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

Two weeks passed, and I didn't see him once in university. My stupid ass hadn't dared to ask for his number, and he hadn't asked for mine. Oh, how I regretted not asking now.

A chill had developed between me and my group of friends. When I saw them on the Monday after I had fucked Madara, they stared at me.

"What the hell, man?" one of them exclaimed. I didn't even bother to answer.

Christopher was icy cold, not even speaking to me. I realised I didn't care. I realised I didn't need the acceptance of these men. I wanted acceptance of one man, and one man only. So I minded my own business these two weeks, sitting with my group in lectures but not interacting much, preferring to read during lunch break instead of gossiping or discussing with them. And I found I thrived.

But I missed Madara. I missed him terribly.

On the third week after that night, I had but given up on seeing him again, which I knew was ridiculous considering we would be in the same building for one year. But then I saw it. The unmistakable backside of his head with that wild cascade of hair. He wore baggy white trousers and a black sweater, and he'd braided his hair in a thick french braid. I went up and stood behind him, smiling, not saying anything until he felt my presence.

And soon he did, and turned round.

Whatever I had expected his reaction would be, it wasn't the following.

His eyes shot up, and he looked terrified. His lips parted a little, as if in a silent scream.

Then he hugged his laptop to his chest, cast his head down and walked away, leaving me frozen to the spot, dumbfounded.

I was at a loss the entire rest of the week, I couldn't stop thinking about his reaction. Was he afraid of me? Was he shy? Did he want to keep us a secret?

Did he regret it?

I saw him several times the coming week, but each time, he cast his head down and walked away.

I didn't think I was mistaken when I noticed an anger in his facial expression whenever he saw me. The shock he'd displayed the first time I'd seen him after that night wasn't there, but replaced with something I couldn't describe as anything else but revulsion. I was heartbroken. In the end, when I saw him walk towards me in the corridor, I stood in front of him, blocking his way, making sure he could not escape.

"Madara, please..."

He stopper in front of me, looking at me with viciousness in his dark eyes. Oh god, he is so beautiful, please...

"Stay away from me", he said in a low voice. "I don't want any part of what you're doing."

And I stood, dumbfounded, and looked at the man whom I had fallen for walk away without looking back.