I just wanted you to know that, baby, you're the best

Pinkies

Hi there everybody!

I'm back with my shit: another 30 drabbles about Hashi and Mads. I plan to post one each day for a month, so we'll be done on the 22nd of March! (I think.)

The shots are already written, all 30 of them (mind you!), just undergoing some form of fixing and minor editing; they are in no way – NO WAY – following Hashi and Mads's story in chronological order but they're simply snippets of their life together. However, it's safe to say that Hashi and Mads are around 32 years old in most of the snippets, unless explicitly specified.

This said, I hope you'll enjoy this fic as much as I did writing all those little moments.

I'm a little gremlin and I live for your comments so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts with me leaving a comment below!

Hope you're doing well all around the globe but please, still be careful! Wear your mask and, please, do social distancing, for your own safety and that of others'!

Until next time,

-Hh

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#NoBetaWeDieLikeShinobi

PS: I'll update the tags if necessary!

-Hh

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They didn't usually hold hands: when they went for a walk in the park or through the busy streets they simply stayed side by side, occasionally bumping shoulders, or Madara rested one arm on his waist to keep him flush by his side.

Hashirama liked it that way: he was happy and, truthfully, he preferred having his hands free because sometimes the sweat gathered on his palms gave him some trouble; he thought that the reason why Madara actually never held his hand was to avoid making him uncomfortable.

Recently, they had taken on the habit of sitting on a bench in the tree's shadow in one of the city parks with their pinkies intertwined: that was one of the smallest gesture, the smallest point of contact, but Hashirama found it utterly adorable.

Ways better than holding hands in his book.