DISCLAIMER: Naruto is a series originally created by Kishimoto Masashi. This is a work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement was intended.

A dream.

It must be a dream.

Or perhaps he is dying, and at his final breath, his endorphin-loaded neurons have decided to play tricks on him.

The man looks like Itachi.

"Nii-san?"

The man turns around, his tall frame supple, his movements deliberate, his long dark hair flying in the wind that is not real.

It cannot be real.

The man smiles.

Sasuke blinks.

"Do I really look like him?"

Sasuke nods, then frowns before nodding again.

The man is wearing a simple dark blue sweatshirt together with soft pants of the same color, and his feet are bare.

Sasuke feels like running over to him but manages to hold himself back while the man chooses to approach him instead.

"Your current form reminds me of someone I used to know, too."

"Madara?"

The man laughs shortly. "No, not Madara. His younger brother, Izuna."

"I see." Sasuke takes a quick look around. "Where are we?"

"I'm not entirely sure," the man says. There is fresh, barely knee-high grass as far as the eye can see, ragged mountains along the horizon, a bright hot sun high up in the sky.

Suddenly, Sasuke feels very, very small.

"I'm scared," he blurts before snapping his mouth shut again.

"It's alright," the man says. "I don't think you're here to stay."

The man comes to a halt. He is taller than Sasuke expected. Way taller.

It does not make any sense.

"That's because you are a child again," the man says. His smile is warm. His eyes are warm.

"You can read my thoughts?" Sasuke inquires, worried.

"Just this once," the man says, and Sasuke knows he is not telling the entire truth, but for some reason, he does not mind.

The man takes a seat on the ground, crossing his legs. "Do you at least still know who I am?"

Sasuke scratches his cheek. "Yes, I think so."

"Well?"

"Senju Hashirama."

"Good. Come here." The man reaches out his hand, and Sasuke obeys his request, his feet unsteady, his head swimming.

"I feel sick," he whispers before taking a hold of Hashirama's hand. The man pulls him in his lap, and Sasuke leans back against his chest.

"It's the air," Hashirama says kindly, his hand caressing Sasuke's sweaty forehead. "You're not used to it yet."

It is quiet: the only sound Sasuke can hear is the grass, lazily swaying and sighing in the wind. There are no birds, no hawks screeching in the pale blue sky.

He turns his head and presses his ear against Hashirama's pectoral. Now he can hear the man's heartbeats as well.

"I like you," Sasuke says, and Hashirama buries his fingers in the boy's hair.

"I like you, too."

Sasuke dozes off for a while, and when he wakes up, the sun has dipped a little lower, but Hashirama is still there, his arms wrapped around Sasuke's body.

"You sure grow up fast," the man says, laughter in his voice. And he is right - Sasuke is notably taller now, and even the clothes he wore before have magically changed.

"My mind feels different," Sasuke says, and it is an understatement.

He is embarrassed by the way Hashirama strokes his hair, and he wants to push the man's hand away, but at the same time, he feels like leaning into the touch.

"I wish I could be hungry," Sasuke mutters, and Hashirama raises an eyebrow but does not reply.

They help each other up and head towards what appears to be the nearest range of snowcapped mountains.

They walk for hours, and yet the landscape never changes around them. However, it does not matter because Sasuke is more occupied by Hashirama's low, steady voice that tells him stories about The Past.

In the following morning, Sasuke wakes up seventeen again.

And the very moment he opens his eyes, the whole nature of their situation dawns on him, too.

"But how did we end up here together, just you and me?" Sasuke asks, and Hashirama who is still lying on his back next to him knits his brow.

"Maybe that's because our chakras were connected when it happened. You were using your susanoo to protect me, remember?"

Sasuke does not.

"And why is it that you can recall it all but I can't?"

"Perhaps it has to do with the fact that you're an Uchiha. That you have an eternal mangekyou sharingan, which means that the moon may have a different impact on you than it has on me. Who knows."

Sasuke breathes a small sound, and the conversation is over.

For time being.

There may not be thirst or hunger, but there is definitely something else that keeps stealing Sasuke's attention.

After the massacre, he has never felt such a strong desire to touch someone before.

Perhaps it is the way Hashirama moves, perhaps it is the way the man's fingertips brush his hair, his shoulder, his knee whenever they sit down to rest in the grass.

So a couple of days later when they decide to take a short break next to a rather familiar-looking, leafless old tree, Sasuke reaches out his hand and combs his fingers through that shimmering dark brown hair.

Hashirama glances back over his shoulder, his expression questioning and somewhat amused.

Sasuke draws his hand away.

"It's alright," Hashirama says quietly. "I don't mind."

After a moment of hesitation, Sasuke twists a lock of hair around his finger.

It is not quite like Itachi's hair used to be. Hashirama's hair is heavier, thicker, like molten, colored glass stretched into countless fine threads.

Sasuke likes the way it feels against the palm of his hand.

Sasuke likes the way it feels against his cheek.

Hashirama does not move, or perhaps he just leans back a bit when Sasuke snakes his arms around his torso.

"Did you expect him to join you instead?" Sasuke asks, a vivid image of Madara before his eyes as he closes them briefly, and Hashirama looks thoughtful.

"No, not really. I was hoping my brothers would be here, though."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Not in the slightest. Are you?"

Sasuke appears puzzled, and Hashirama pulls a blade of grass from the ground, sticking it into his mouth. "Itachi."

"Would you believe me if I told you I'm relieved he's not here right now?" Sasuke mutters and looks away.

The ocean of green around them churns briefly in the breeze, then settles again.

Hashirama nods.

The nights are not cold, but Sasuke often ends up sleeping wrapped up around Hashirama.

He sometimes wakes up at the man caressing the stretch of his thigh, the slope of his bottom, the small of his back, and to his embarrassment, he finds it almost impossible not to groan at the pleasure seeping into his body from the touch.

No one has ever held him like that before.

He is painfully aware that Obito might be watching them, that he might actually be the one instigating those feelings within him, but eventually, he stops giving a damn.

Hashirama's breath hitches when Sasuke responds.

And just moments later they are already shedding their clothes in the grass, one by one, unhurried.

"I'm not Madara, you know," Sasuke snarls, but his hold does not waver.

"I never thought you were," Hashirama whispers, laughing softly in Sasuke's ear, and the young man shivers.

Hashirama is all smooth planes of lean muscle and strong limbs and that heavy, satiny hair that falls and moves like a cape over his broad shoulders.

Hashirama is patience.

Hashirama is.

And Sasuke breathes him in.

He is not very good at kissing (yet), but Hashirama does not seem to mind.

"This isn't real," Sasuke murmurs before tasting the man again. Hashirama chuckles against his lips and rolls over, pulling Sasuke on top.

"Does it matter?"

Sasuke does not know. Sasuke does not care.

He has never felt urgency like this before, but for his companion's sake, he does his best to suppress it.

Hashirama's cock is long and thick, but miraculously, there is no need for lubrication.

Sasuke sets the rhythm cautiously, Hashirama's intense gaze following his every move, his hands resting on the young man's hips, his own body echoing Sasuke's motions with practiced, experienced precision.

The full moon reaches its zenith, and Sasuke comes all over Hashirama's chest, his moans low and heady, and the older man is right behind him.

Sasuke's head falls back, and he can tell there is not a single familiar constellation in the sky.

Hashirama's eyes are closed, his hips thrusting upwards weakly a couple of more times before he stills, too.

Sasuke wakes up at sunrise only to discover that Hashirama has grown younger overnight.

"You're not attractive anymore," Sasuke grumbles, and the short-haired boy in hakama gasps in apparent shock, turning his back on him and sulking until Sasuke embraces him and pulls his lithe body to his chest.

Luckily, Hashirama's personality has not changed that much. He is telling stories about The Past again, but this time, they are notably more detailed than before.

Sasuke likes his unbroken voice as well.

When the night comes, they sit in the grass, face to face, just touching and pushing and poking each other. Hashirama's kisses are enthusiastic but sloppy, and Sasuke has no courage to ask him if he has forgotten about their lovemaking the night before.

At least the boy does not resist when he insists on listening to his heartbeats before they fall asleep together, curled up in each other's arms.

And by the following morning, Hashirama is definitely old enough for sex again. His hair reaches his shoulders now, and Sasuke buries his face in it when he takes him from behind.

"I'm glad I didn't forget," Hashirama pants afterwards, and Sasuke grins, relieved and knowing exactly what he means.

For some inexplicable reason, Hashirama never grows older than his thirties or forties. But he does keep getting younger from time to time.

A lot younger.

"You do have great-grandchildren, don't you?" Sasuke muses one evening at twilight.

"I do."

"And your wife, did she - ?"

"I'd rather not talk about my family."

Sasuke's eyes narrow, and he keeps quiet for the rest of the night. He does not forget about the heartbeats, though, and Hashirama - who can hardly be more than ten years old now - caresses his back while Sasuke listens.

Secretly, Sasuke hopes his own age would change, too. But it never does. Not anymore.

He is stuck being seventeen, and he hates it.

"It must mean something," Hashirama says. "You and I are different. As I've said before, I don't think you're here to stay."

Meanwhile, the young Hashirama fascinates him to no end. The boy's mind is filled to the brim with wild ideas, and some of them involve Sasuke and his body.

He does not resist but keeps his participation to the minimum. "You're not cute," he says, and it is a crude lie, but watching Hashirama pout is strangely satisfying.

However, there is nothing better than leaning against his tall, grown-up frame when basking together in the warm sunlight, so Sasuke is grateful whenever Hashirama turns back to his older self again.

Naturally, it is Hashirama who first notices the subtle signs of change that ripple through the landscape one hazy afternoon.

The distorted, discolored mountains do not really bother them much.

But when the days and nights start getting shorter and shorter, the sheer inconvenience of the lack of consistent time soon begins to grate on their nerves.

Not to mention that the very thought of the genjutsu falling apart makes Sasuke's skin crawl.

And then, two nights later, the moon refuses to set anymore.

"It is time," Hashirama says, and their eyes meet. "I believe he's just about to give in."

Sasuke has never seen the man with such a grave expression on his face before.

The wind dies, and they both look up.

The stars are falling from the sky, one by one.

"I don't want to leave," Sasuke breathes. "I don't want to. Please don't make me. Please."

"It's not up to me to decide," Hashirama says.

The kiss is hasty, and the older man's grip is firm, but even he cannot hold on to Sasuke forever.

A dream.

It must've been a dream.

"...damn you bastard, don't you dare to pass out on me again," Naruto growls, shaking him violently, and Sasuke opens his eyes and grimaces before hitting his former teammate square in the chin.

Well, at least he's not dead or dying.

Not that it matters anymore.

"Be quiet and let me sleep," Sasuke croaks and squeezes his eyelids shut.

There's still a faint smell of fresh grass lingering in the air, and straining his ears, he can even make out the distant echo of a familiar heartbeat.

A rupture in space and time.

"Hashirama," he whispers. "Hashirama."

He reaches out his hand, and after what seems like an eternity, he can feel warm, strong fingers grab it in return. He's not sure who is doing the pulling, but he can tell that the man at the other end is both hesitant and reluctant to move either way.

And then, all of a sudden, Sasuke knows exactly what he must do. He yanks hard at the hand that nearly slips off his grasp, and he can feel the walls of reality cave in around him before his sharingan begins to whirl and everything starts to make sense again.

He can hear Naruto gasp.

He can hear the rustle of Sakura's clothes as she jumps back, surprised.

He can feel a familiar weight on top of him.

Sasuke grins like a madman.

And Hashirama begins to laugh.

They're standing on the top of the hokage building, just the two of them, together.

The silence that surrounds them is only broken by Naruto's loud, firm voice from the office below, as the window they've both sneaked through just minutes earlier has been left open wide to the cool, cloudy night.

"Frankly, I think it should've been you," Sasuke says, but Hashirama shakes his head.

"This world has no need for hokages anymore. This world craves for new kinds of leaders. Leaders like him."

Sasuke presses his shoulder against Hashirama's arm, and the man smiles.

The shodai hokage is the only edo tensei who has made it back to life after Naruto defeated Obito and broke the genjutsu.

No one is quite sure how it happened; however, both Naruto and Tsunade are convinced that it may have had something to do with white Zetsu's cells and Madara and the rinnegan Obito was missing when he died.

Whatever the reason, Hashirama is now a living, breathing man in his thirties or forties, his stature impressive, his chakra still immense.

And Sasuke shares a tiny apartment with a large bed with him.

Hashirama's lips are gentle and assuring, and from the corner of his eye Sasuke can see Naruto pull a face when he jumps up to the roof with the obvious intention to ask them to get back inside.

Sasuke doesn't care.

And, apparently, Hashirama doesn't care either because his lips brush briefly at his neck as well before he lets him go.

The streets of Konoha are pulsing like veins of light below, the hokage statues are no more, and the sense of peace and calm around them is more tangible than it has ever been before.

The dawn of a new era is finally near.