64 days. Just take a look (Madara/Hashirama)
Internal frames. Barriers.
Clamps.
We hurt ourselves, restricting ourselves and our desires.
"Look at me," whispers a crazy thought, poisoning the brain and mind with its poison. It can't be banished, it can't be brought together, it continues to sound, even if you start thinking about something else. Like the noise on the outskirts - annoying, cutting the hearing, but from which not to wave away.
My head hurts from this annoying, as itchy as scabies, thought, which increasingly declares its rights.
"Look now! - Madara growls deaf to herself, looking at the wide back of Hashirama, which is covered with an unusual white fabric with bright letters on its back. His eyes are on the long-awaited favorite village and its inhabitants, full of hopes and dreams, all thoughts about the future.
Madara will knit in the past, not wanting to let go of those moments when he was with Hashirama alone, when the whole world belonged to them. When they belonged only to each other.
The teacher stretches his hands to his light but immediately stops, not daring to go further. He is constrained by the restrictions he has built for himself. His throat is pressed by a steel clamp, blocking the oxygen supply and the exit of words.
"You can't," Madara thinks doomed, lowering her arms, even preventing herself from clenching her fists. This is too bright a gesture and a clear sign - a sign of despair and internal struggle. Everything is smooth and calm. Everything superfluous is just covered up. Even the sprawling black spot of selfish cruel love it blocks, not allowing to spread far.
However, the infection has been passed. Poisonous spots blossom here and there on the body. No matter how much Madara wants to stop everything, there is something that cannot be prevented.
"Look at me," the proud Uchikha almost whines to himself, feeling like a beaten puppy who has been thrown out by his beloved masters, but he continues to love them, so he scrapes quietly through the door. Madara stands next to Khashirama, lets him barely touch his hand with her fingers and lets her look at his sunny smile. But his gaze is directed somewhere farther away. He looks beyond this time, seeing in his future built only shining joy.
"Why don't you look at me as well? - Uchika thinks desperately, not letting this sad thought go on. He puts another limiter in his mind, although there are so many that, surprisingly, Madara is allowing herself something.
He allows himself to burn with this hatred. Lutos and bright as fiery dawn.
Nothing can stop this feeling anymore, because Madara is saving it so that it will help to tear down everything else and take control over it.
"You'll see me again," Madara decides, painting a black iris in blood red, applying a pattern of cursed eyes with his love mixed with hatred. He goes away, leaving the village that has become superfluous and useless behind, putting another ban on himself - do not regret anything and do not dare to cry.
Madara made her choice. He will color the future reflected in Hashirama's eyes in a bright scarlet, so that he can only see it - Uchikha Madaru.
65 days. We will meet again (Rufus/Break)
Spring was surprisingly mild. It's been a long time since Rufus couldn't remember such a warm and gentle spring since that tragedy. The trees stood in all their colors, occasionally losing their petals, and the smell in the air was delightful, bringing to mind pleasant thoughts of all kinds. This aroma is better than any perfume - sweet, with any flow of wind, it changed but always gave freshness and hope.
The cemetery met with calmness and silence, a pleasant pacification that envelops tired and exhausted people. Duke Barma feels that his hour will soon come to plunge into him. And there is no fear or doubt - just the acceptance of reality, which was not so frightening. Rufus lived a long time and had seen many things that not everyone could stand. But he is worthy of a long-awaited rest but does not want to rush things. When it is necessary, then he will retire.
At the right grave, he meets her again, the unhappy one, who cannot calm down after losing a loved one, and still does not remove the mourning, although time has passed a lot.
- Lady Rainsworth," Rufus greeted the young lady and drew her attention.
- The Duke of Barma," Sharon said with a little surprise, but she nodded as a sign of greeting to an old acquaintance. Her face was particularly pale, her eyes darkened by grief, and her eyes blushed by tears that were often shed. She remained beautiful, but her beauty became sad.
- Are you with him? - She smiled, afraid to say the name of the man she had to bury.
- To him," Rufus answered. It was hard for him to say that name, too, which had become something forbidden for those who loved him. Sharon saw in strangers' eyes a deep emptiness and despair mixed with loneliness - a mixture that killed and defiled.
Sharon smiled understandably and walked away from the grave, giving Barma a chance to stay alone with her tragedy.
- Hello, Break," Rufus whispered desperately, squeezing out a tortured, painful smile. He pulled out a small bottle of firewater and two glasses. The man filled them harshly and clearly and placed one right on the pedestal. The Barma drained his salvo, wavering with a burning sentiment that pierced his throat and esophagus. His eyes were in pain, and he hurried to wipe them off. Rufus covered the second shot with a small piece of bread.
- I'm sorry, the sweets aren't supposed to be sweet," Barma said with a mockery, recalling Zarxis' love for confectionery. He remembers a lot of things. Not only here, in the place where the memory of the Hatter is concentrated. Breika was too much in his life. In the library Rufus saw his favorite books and remembered how thin his fingers were turning over the pages, in the hall he got a vision of the snarky giggling Zarkis, who again put another pin in his direction. Even in the bedroom, Barma saw a pale man stretched out on his sheets, slightly smiling in embarrassment and waiting for Break to come to him. The Duke's thin hands still remembered the feeling of strange skin, the softness of white hair, the warmth of a narrow palm.
- I miss you," Rufus barely heard him sitting in front of the grave. - But I believe that this is not the end. We'll meet again one day.
A smile was easier on his lips, shining with sincerity and warmth. The wind picked up the fallen pink and white petals, which were blown in the air by a colored whirlwind.
- We will meet when our century-old cycle passes," Rufus said happily, raising his head to the sky and still allowing a few tears to roll down his face. - Break. And everything will be different.