He’s who Tobirama married after all, never mind the fact that it was arranged for peace. It’s not a secret that someone supplies him with food, and yet it feels a shame. He does his best not to look at the tray. “I’m surprised you’re still here, Madara-sama.” Tobirama clears his throat, taking care with his words. Their marriage had been surprisingly quiet with less quarrels than Tobirama had expected. Madara is kind, has been more than so in welcoming Tobirama into his home and life.
#Nourish move love how to#
He wavers for a moment on how to proceed. He is warm, friendly, even open, but none of that catches Tobirama’s interest. “Good morning,” Madara says, voice still smooth and low. Only in his thoughts had he been contemplating the way his heart beat for another person. His cheeks heat, a rush of color that is too telling on his face. His husband is home, haven’t left yet for the day, and Tobirama drops his arm awkwardly. “Oh, you’re awake,” a low voice says, almost amused. Tobirama reaches out to see the dishes of the day and. Nor how his heart quickens at the sight or how sudden warmth floods him, chasing away the morning cold. Tobirama can’t help the smile that touches his lips then. An accompanying bento wrapped in a purple furoshiki patterned with red cranes sits next to the tray, ready for the office. One that suited his taste and gave him energy for the day. Cannot lie to himself how his breath is already caught at what he might find, and it’s there-Ī pot of tea richly brewed, the scent rising into the air, and a tray for breakfast. Still, Tobirama cannot help the excitement as he crosses the hall to reach the kitchen. He pretends the deliberateness in his slow actions isn’t a cover for his eagerness. Tobirama doesn’t think about his husband as he goes through his morning ablutions, takes his time to wake, and pushes away the last dregs of sleep. Not when he looks forward to the warmth that someone else brings to him every morning. Not when there was already someone else to make his heart stutter and jump. He brushes the hairs away to toss, smooths out the indentation on the pillow and sheets, and Tobirama doesn’t think his heart would ever beat so for Madara. It doesn’t beat for Madara, and Tobirama gets up. His heart should beat fast to a rhythm of longing for his missing bed partner. Tobirama wonders at the dent in the pillow, at the impression Madara left behind, and at the few stray strands of long black hair curled upon the sheets. The bed is devoid of all that should make this a marriage bed, and it’s almost as if the bed knew. There’s no lingering warmth, none for what Tobirama would expect with an Uchiha for a spouse. His actions are not enough, and the bed remains vastly cold and empty. It doesn’t even matter when Tobirama manages to catch Madara’s moving out of bed, chasing after that warmth. It doesn’t matter how Tobirama stretches, takes up the space, and fills it with his length. When the man leaves, the warmth instantly vanishes. It always is because Madara Uchiha is an early riser, and Tobirama isn’t.
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