Doubt

5.

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.