There is no normal love here. Tobirama keeps telling himself that, convincing himself, and inside, cursing himself and cringing at the l-word now forcefully worming its way inside his thoughts, nestling deep, like a termite finding that perfect spot in the trunk of an otherwise healthy tree. He knows this, is aware of this every waking moment, but he does not stop it, and even now he sees the ruin of the tree in the imminent future. Hollow. Hollowed out. All because it refused to rid itself of that one tiny termite.

They do not talk outside the needs of official business. It is common knowledge that the distrusts the Uchiha, and this particular Uchiha hates his guts because he'd killed the man's brother. That knowledge was common, and many take comfort in its familiarity.

Tobirama can still remember how the boundary was shattered.

Smoke, rising from the brazier. A sake bottle turned over to its side, the liquid spilled onto the tatami, seeping, seeping, creating a dark, dark patch. Under the dancing flames his eyes mirror, words escape his mouth, twisted and incomprehensible, his whole frame shivering.

Dark hair twists itself around his finger, and it seems, an eternity later, it finds itself plastered against his scarred skin. There is something mesmerizing with it, a trail of ink on paper - a strand of hair on his shoulder.

He feels the bruise forming around his neck, and the pain does not dissuade him; he is at once angry and vulnerable and furious and amorous; his mind is a jumble of his dead brothers and these Uchiha, and this, this particular Uchiha right here—-

There is the constricting of muscles, and his control stumbles and flutters and shatters, and his hands curl into fists around a handful of the sheets, and that black, black hair—-

They do not speak. They find that words do them disservice. If the other talks it's only to counter every proposal he or his brother makes, and if he talks, it's either to silence his brother or refute the other's argument. This is the familiar. The comfort zone. This is where Tobirama feels most grounded upon reality.

But he remembers the memory of his cheek pressed awkwardly against the wall; his face scrunched up in pain; he remembers lips caressing his ear curve, a taunting laugh, breathy, breathy like the north wind, words that are too filthy to be even compared to mud, and to his eternal shame he also remembers his heart pounding with every syllable, with every word, with every laugh, with—-

With—-

He remembers how he squashes his face against the wall to muffle his voice, and teeth sinks into his flesh, and there's pain, and there's also—

He feels alive.

Walking by the spiral steps of the Hokage Tower, carrying an armful of papers, he stops as his perception registers that one familiar signature. He looks down, meets charcoal eyes. There is a rude command telling him to step aside, but he does not, stays resolutely in the way, and he enjoys the powerplay of standing on the higher tiers of the stairs, towering above this man.

The tension is palpable. Neither want to relent, and the Uchiha makes the usual insulting remark he has grown used to. He smirks faintly, and finally steps aside.

He only catches the implications of the little thing much later, and he curses himself over it.

He asks a question, insignificant in itself, he supposes - why do you grow your hair this long?

He expects no answer, but the Uchiha turns to him, the end of a kiseru still stuck between his lips. He puffs out smoke. 'To protect my nape.' He lets the silence extend, asking for more details that way, but it isn't given. He supposes there was a bit of trust there, somehow, if it could exist in this relationship.

Stop smoking, he says.

The Uchiha simply puffs more smoke out, and this infuriates him. His hand flies before he can control it, and the pipe is discarded on the floor.

And there it is - there it always is, isn't it - those looks of fire and murder. He looks forward to it, and the two of them slip into this dance, this farce, and clothes are disregarded and pain is inflicted and received, and as they rock together in a feverish pitch, he thinks, no, I don't love— I have no need for love, I don't— I never—-

But if he didn't love, he asks himself when Hashirama gives him the news that the village finally has its first deserter. If he didn't love, if he didn't, why did it hurt? Nothing shows on his face, and his arms remain folded across his chest. He simply looks at his brother, gives him this 'I told you so' quirk of his eyebrow, before he turns heel and leaves.

He does not come with his brother on that final confrontation that created the Valley of the End, because even then he knew he would doubt himself; knew he would only burden Hashirama. It is in this he acknowledges that the heart he thought he's killed is still alive, alive, painfully so, and clinging to whatever scraps of life that could feed it.

When the aftermath of that battle dies down, he dares— he dares visit that abandoned house and sits on the dusty floor, and he lets his perception spread, and memories flood him - words, breath, the feel of long black hair twined around his fingers, of pleasure that he knows he would not derive from someone else and nobody else can give him.

And this, perhaps, is where his decision is made.

He never marries.
Never fathers children.

And he remembers, again.

He recalls it, the first night they spent together, lying down beside each other in the dark. The world silent, a mute witness to this sordid treachery. He does not reach for the other's hand, and the other makes no effort either.

"Do you not listen to your elders?" the Uchiha asks.

There is a shifting here, as blankets are moved, and he looks up at those red pinprincks for eyes as the other's weight settles on him. This close, this close, that heat still envelopes him.

"This is revenge," the Uchiha continues, lips hovering just a mere inch above his own. "I will get you where kunai doesn't reach. And when I'm done, you'll ask for death."

He dismisses the words with a laugh. He trails his thumb over a fine cheekbone.

"Let's see who destroys each other first, then."

Now he knows, he knows…
He lost.