A/N: hey guys, quick question: did you see my new note in 'Prologue'? If not yet, then please read it. I just thought you should know 😊

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It’s a ridiculous idea, there’s no other word for it.

Hashirama could only imagine what he’d looked like when he slipped in the flower pots in his house. Mito is in the same house, and Hashirama is relieved that it’s now late in the night and that she’s already asleep in her room. No one saw him carrying the three flower pots inside the house and bringing them inside his own room.

When he placed the pots on the windowsill, he immediately brought the wilted Sakurasou flowers back to life. There’s a wave of soothing bliss that washed over him afterwards, although it didn’t last long, for he spent the following hours staring at the now-in-full-bloom flowers, questioning what he’d just did.

The next very early morning finds him curled up in his futon, still in his haori and kimono shirt and pants that he wore the day before, and feeling like an absolute idiot because apparently, he’d fallen asleep last night staring at the stupid flowers and thus, he unintentionally left the windows open. He also finds out that what had waken him up was the cold—it’s only two weeks away from winter.

With a loud groan, he gets up to close the windows. Dumb move, because the moment his body left the warmth of his futon, the crisp cool air welcomed him. He quickly grabs his blanket and wraps it around his body.

On second thought, he doesn’t feel like closing the windows anymore. He’s already awake, and weeks of waking up at an ungodly hour such as now have taught him that he won’t be able to get back to sleep.

It’s still dark outside when he goes to the Hokage Tower. He doesn’t have any unfinished work left from yesterday, but he thinks he can find something to do in his office before he goes back to his house to have breakfast with Mito approximately two hours from now.

He’s in the middle of scribbling on a scroll when Tobirama surprisingly arrives to his office and breaks a disturbing news.

They don’t have to think about it further: the Mizukage being dead means that the chance that they’ll seal an alliance with Kirigakure is close to impossible. Still, Hashirama hopes that they can do something about it, although he doesn’t know how yet at this point.

“Then I suppose we have to call an emergency meeting with the other clan heads?” he asks needlessly. He already knows that Tobirama will agree, the said meeting must be their next step.

However, Tobirama stays silent instead of giving any response. He stays motionless in front of his desk, his eyes glued to the floor. Hashirama thought something’s wrong with his brother and that he might have overlooked a wound or injury earlier. But after visually examining him one more time, he’s a hundred percent sure that nothing is wrong with him, physiologically speaking that is, except for the apparent fatigue and mild dehydration (and of course he needs to eat, too).

It’s only after looking closely that Hashirama finally realizes, “Hey, Tobi, it’s not your fault,” he comforts him, knowing that Tobirama must have been taking it all upon himself. What happened in Kirigakure, they didn’t see it coming. “We’ll come up with a solution sooner or later. Don’t blame yourself,” he adds, voice soft and full of reassurance.

Tobirama’s jaw tenses, a clear confirmation that what Hashirama assumes he’s thinking about is true. “I’m sorry, anija.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he repeats, giving him a small smile. He walks closer and gently pats his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

He checks the time. They should hold the meeting first thing in the morning but it will take time to gather the other clan heads and for the meantime, they should prepare. However, seeing Tobirama’s current state… “You should go home, Tobirama. Eat and get some rest,” he considers, already going back to his seat to write the summons.

The younger doesn’t refuse, but he doesn’t leave either. “We investigated the incident, anija,” he says finally.

Hashirama pauses in the middle of writing and looks up at him in anticipation. This next one wouldn’t be as bad as the first two, would it?

A pair of tired eyes look at him intently and their owner deeply sighs. “We found out that the Mizukage was assassinated by a rouge shinobi, the very night before our supposed meeting with him,” he starts, seemingly dreading each word.

If Hashirama thought that the news about the Mizukage is shocking enough as it is, it turns out that he’s completely and utterly wrong.

“Witnesses say that the culprit is a Sharingan-user. Sound familiar?”

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Winter comes without Madara noticing it until one morning when he wakes up and finds that there’s a small pile of snow on the windowsill of his rented room.

‘Ah, so that’s why the nights are especially colder these past weeks,’ he mutters to himself.

(To be fair, he’d just spent an entire month in the Land of Water where an outsider like him couldn’t distinguish the seasons from one another.)

It’s a good decision—probably one of the best he did ever—that he stopped by this non-shinobi village instead of proceeding on his tracks through the night. He hasn’t had a proper rest since he left Kirigakure and he started to feel the fatigue last night.

He used to like the cold when he was young. Everything seems to slow down when it’s winter, and for a child like him then, there’s nothing more wonderful than just staying home with his family, with his brothers.

Times like that were rare, cherished ones. He remembers there’s that one time when they’re really complete—his dear mother cooking a hearty meal in the kitchen, he and his brothers (there were still five of them back then) making a ruckus and noisily goofing around in the common room next to their father’s chamber. Tajima was in the same room as where they were—a rare occurrence that he’s not slumped in work and clan head duties.

As the eldest, Madara would scold his younger brothers when their noise reaches its peak, they’re having too much fun and if not for the fear that their father would scold them, Madara would let his younger brothers enjoy the moment. Izuna, their youngest, was not even two years old by then, and Madara almost flew across the room to catch him in time when he stumbled due to a failed attempt to join the rest in a rather physical (but playful) brawl. Once he had Izuna in his arms, he turned to his other brothers and was about to reprimand them when their father spoke: “Let them be,” he’d said, and Madara wasn’t sure if what he saw back then was real, because Tajima was…smiling, silently sitting by the kotatsu on the other side of the room, having tea and just, just watching his sons fondly.

So Madara had let them be, and then later he joined them, carrying little Izuna in his arms and letting the youngest one participate, too. His overly energetic brothers were already exhausted when their mother came in the room. She didn’t have to ask Madara to come and help her set the table—Madara was already putting Izuna down and walking towards the kitchen, still unaware that Izuna was trailing behind him.

That happy, peaceful winter only happened once. That meal was the last one they had when they’re together and complete. Madara wished he’s already activated his Sharingan then, just so he could have immortalized that literally once in a lifetime moment.

Three winters later and only him, Izuna, and their father were left of their family…

…and it was one somber winter night when Izuna died.

So over the years, Madara grew to hate this particular season. He hated the cold, hated the snow, hated everything there is that comes with winter.

Madara grunts lowly, gripping his blanket tightly with one hand and pressing the other on his eyes—Izuna’s eyes. They still hurt, even when it’s been almost a year since the transplant and even when he minimizes using them as much as possible. They still hurt, he feels like they’re burning in his eye sockets, and this always happens when he remembers the person to whom these eyes once belonged.

Maybe this is Izuna’s own way of reminding him of his dying will. The alliance with the Senju shouldn’t have happened, Konoha should never have been founded, and Madara shouldn’t have listened to Hashirama and his promises...but he did, willingly so.

He blinks the pain away, once, twice, and then finally slams them shut when the effort is futile. The right eye, the one which he always keeps covered with his hair, had already worsened and could only barely see anything now.

‘I’ve failed you again, Izuna.’

Outside the room, snow starts to fall.

-End of Chapter 13-

Comments are always welcome ^^

-Cee