Ever since he was little, Madara would find odd bits and
bobs nudged amidst all of his things – crayons in his pocket, pacifiers in his
drawers, socks under couches, and even a tiny knitted beany in his little
brother’s house slippers once. It’s very annoying. It clutters his room and he’s
always being told off by his parents for it.
Then came the drawings. Sometimes crumpled, sometimes
not. Over the years, it grew from
illegible, grainy scrawling to clumsy shapes and bendy forms that took less,
and less stretching of his imagination to determine as hiragana characters.
My name is Senju
Tobirama, one of it reads.
Paranoia coils in him. Soulmate or not, the thought of a
stranger stumbling upon his belongings, his personal, informative, belongings is enough to make anyone holler out
stranger danger. This soulmate mumbo jumbo is weird.
Strangely enough, that’s how he meets his best friend,
through the strange mumbo jumbo.
“I’m supposed to be showing my little brother around school
today,” bawls the boy with the bowl cut while latching himself on Madara’s arm,
all big eyes brimming with tears, and snot running down his nose. “It’s his
first day and I can’t find him anywhere! He must be so scared! Will you help me
look for him?”
Considering it’s Madara’s first exposure to comforting a
fellow seven-year-old that’s crying his eyes out, Madara himself feels a little
lost. His panicking eyes flick around them for help, but all the other children
have quickly vanished into air as if they were the ninjas they routinely
pretend to be. Oddly, he feels betrayed.
Whenever Izuna cries, it’s because he either wants attention
or food. Ransacking through his lunchbox, Madara grabs one of his onigiri, and
shoves it into the crying boy’s hands. He takes a deep breath, and huffs out
his next statement with enough annoyance to drown out his panic, “Will you stop
There, food and attention. He should stop his crying any
But much to Madara’s despair, the boy threatens to swell up
with tears again. “But he’s alone,” the boy whines, “and he’s so small and
everything’s new to him and I need to find him because he could be getting
bullied right now–”
“I’ll help you look for him, okay?” Despite holding the
onigiri, the shrivelling boy still has one arm clinching Madara’s own. Madara
tries (and fails) to shake the crying limpet away. “I’ll help you look for your
baby brother. Stop crying already. He couldn’t have gone far, he’s like five.”
As if the magic words were a box of tissues, all tears dry
up, and the boy glows. “Okay then, let’s go!” He jumps up and drags Madara with
him, snacking on his onigiri in a way that makes Madara feel like he’s been
played. “Let’s go find Tobirama!”
Madara stumbles over his own foot. His lunchbox almost falls
out of his hands. “Tobirama,” Madara squeaks in a high voice.
His new friend, he finds out, is Senju Hashirama. Oldest of
four siblings, like him, and really likes to talk about everything and nothing
at once. Tobirama is the second oldest. He’s a bit of a smarty pants, according
to his brother, so the dangers of meeting someone who might bully him is
definitely a substantial one. Hashirama cheerfully informs him that he has to help
beat up the bullies, as part of the agreement of their newfound friendship.
It feels like getting carried away in a Hashirama-shaped
tidal wave. Madara ends up not minding it. There’s a tugging in his belly,
pulling him towards the library. Flutters of excitement are running up his arm at
the thought of meeting his soulmate.
When they do find him, his little body is curled up on one
of the beanbags, absorbed in book that’s got to be way too advanced for a five-year old to read. Tobirama peers up
from his book at Hashirama’s joyous exclamations. He eyes his older brother
like a particularly unpleasant fur ball he’d just hacked up, the expression as
prickly as his white hair, and dodges his older brother’s hug with an expert
shuffle off his bean bag.
Then and there, Madara knows that he’ll grow to like his
soulmate, just as he knows how Tobirama losing Hashirama on his first day of
school was definitely not an accident.
Could you write Eposette for the angst meme thing with "Don't listen to them. Don't you EVER listen to them" ? It would make me the happiest bean.
“Ponine, why are you laying on the floor?”
Eponine shifted the book off her face just enough to see the curtain of brown curls that meant Cosette had to be bending down quite low over her right now. How she could keep her balance while doing that was still beyond her, but Eponine had never once seen Cosette fall.
“Because I’m stupid,” she mumbled, but the pages muffled her words enough that Cosette couldn’t hear. Or, at least, faked not being able to hear.
“I said-” Eponine slides the book to her chest. “-because I’m stupid.”
Cosette shook her head and sat down beside her. “Nonsense, sweet pea. Why would you ever say that about yourself?”
“Because it’s true.” Eponine rolled over onto her side, facing away. “I have empirical proof that I’m an idiot because I failed another exam. Another one! It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I keep screwing up.”
She wanted to throw the books and papers and everything else in the garbage for all the good it had done her. That’s where it all belonged at this point anyway.
“I don’t know why I’m even trying. I didn’t go to university in the first place for a damn reason. Everyone knew, my parents knew, I knew- why am I here?”
“Hey.” Cosette laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and rolled Eponine over to look her in the eye. “All those voices telling you you aren’t good enough? Don’t listen to them. Don’t you ever listen to them. Especially not the ones that sound like your parents, you know they’re wrong.”
“Yeah, but what if-”
“No ‘buts.’ No ‘what ifs.’ You failed a test or two. So what? Enjolras and Combeferre have failed tests before, too, but that doesn’t make them stupid. You are my bright, brilliant, and beautiful sweet pea, and no test grade will ever change that.”
Eponine sighed and slowly started to prop the book up on her chest. She fidgeted with the corner a page for a long moment before she shuffled over enough to rest her head on Cosette’s lap. “Do you, um… Do you think you could help me study for the next one?”