“Izuna!” Madara yells as he sees his brother almost slinking out of the Hokage’s office.
Immediately his relief to see Izuna again is gone, wiped away by Izuna’s terrible grief-stricken plea.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Damn that stupid rat bastard! And Hashirama! Especially Hashirama! I knew Hashirama shouldn’t have sent just the two of you—”
Madara pauses in his fretting and checking over as he notices that Izuna’s shirt is . . . decidedly not his.
“Izuna, where’d you get this shirt?”
Izuna can’t meet his gaze and he’s looking like a petulant little child, and the only other time that’s ever truly happened was when—
“You caught your robe on fire, didn’t you.” It’s not a question, not really, and Madara drops his arms and sighs. “And to think, I was actually worried for you! YOU IDIOT! WHAT ARE YOU, THREE?!”
“Hey! It’s not my fault the enemy knew some futon and put a lot of oomph behind his attack!”
“I CAN’T TELL WHETHER I SHOULD BE IMPRESSED OR NOT, SO I’M GOING WITH NOT.”
“Hold on a second. Whose shirt is this?”
Izuna clams up faster than Madara’s ever seen him do, which is certainly saying a lot. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like the answer, which pretty much tells him exactly whose shirt his little brother is wearing. But Madara needs to teach Izuna a lesson, so he persists.
“Izuna. Whose. Shirt. Is. This?”
“It’s Tobirama’s.” Izuna sounds so terribly defeated as he mutters it. Really, it’s half a whine.
Madara opens his mouth to tell Izuna that he’s a good little brother, when an errant thought worms its way into his brain.
“If you’re wearing Tobirama’s shirt, then what’s Tobirama wearing?” While Madara knows the man to be prepared nearly to a fault, they purposefully packed light for their mission.
“Aniki!” Now Izuna really is whining and it’s annoying.
“Izuna, really—guh.” Madara gapes as his face flushes horribly.
Tobirama, the bastard, simply raises an eyebrow at the two of them before walking past them. Madara tracks him with his eyes, and then turns back towards Izuna once Tobirama turned the corner. Madara’s not sure whether it’s the fact that Tobirama’s blatantly ignoring every social convention to cover up or whether it’s—no! No, it’s most definitely that the rat bastard has no shirt on and is being very, very rude by not wearing one! No other reason!
“The entire way back, Aniki.”
Madara grimaces in sympathy.
“Ow! What was that for?!”
Izuna tsks at him, like he should know what he just got smacked for. “I saw that, Madara, and you know he’s mine.”
And then Izuna trots off, probably following that wall of pale flesh he calls a boyfriend and flashing everyone that smug face of his while he does.
Madara grumbles and walks into the office, wondering, yet again, what the fuck is wrong with the Senju.