Hashirama comes around, sliding his arms to encase the Uchiha's waist and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "You seem a bit down today, what's got you so sullen?" He hummed kindly and started playing with Madara's hair.
It’s with a laden sigh that Madara turns in Hashirama’s arms and nestles his face into the brunet’s neck, clinging to the man’s form that scented of sweet maple and pine, arms winding tightly around his rib cage and waist. If there was one advantage to being somewhat shorter, it was being able to burrow into Hashirama’s person totally and be enveloped by him. The foil to his person, the sole person who could reel him from even the deepest dregs of grief.
“Memories,” Madara answered alone, nuzzling Hashirama’s pulse. “They’re a crueler torturer than any genjutsu, aren’t they?”
