One dream in Paris

24. Tobirama's decision (Madara)

Some things you just knew, without knowing how you'd ever come to know them.

You would just have these random pieces of information stored in your mind, discernible by their different amount of usefulness but all having in common that you had no idea how you'd learned them to begin with.

One of the things me and Hashirama had been fortunate, or unfortunate enough to know, was what had made him and me realise we needed to hurry.

If someone who was depressed suddenly seemed happier, out of the blue, you ought to tread very, very carefully as it might mean they had decided.

It was awful how those close to that person felt an ignition of hope, a spark of maybe; maybe, just maybe it would take a new turn from here, and the person might be able to fend off the depression and start living a normal life, a normal life that was so desirable to them, enough as opposed to the splendid lives healthy people dreamed of. It was so, so dangerous when those around that person relaxed into the happiness of their loved one while in reality, they had decided to end their lives, which was what brought them so much calmness.

Hashirama knew about this danger.

And I knew about this danger.

And we both realised the calmness Tobirama had displayed was very, very dangerous.

We had no idea how long ago it was. We had no idea how long time it could've taken. It could've been minutes. It could've been hours. He still looked awful.

I didn't want to describe it in my head; I didn't want to imagine him like that. I refused to imagine him like that. But I took everything in. It was impossible not to; he was right in front of me, a rope around his neck, my soul in his heart.

There was a scream. A scream so primitive it turned my blood to ice. No human could emit a sound like that, I was certain; this was an animal driven by its reptilian brain.

It took me too long to realise the scream was emitted from my own lips.

Hashirama had lost himself; he was on the floor next to me, his eyes staring, drooling. His brain had shut off.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!" I screamed at Tobirama who, of course, couldn't hear me. "HOW COULD YOU!!" My throat, still sore from the vomiting, opened up and I started coughing blood.

Never in my life had I been so angry. I was far, far angrier than I had ever been in my life.

Not you as well.

Then, I noticed something that made my heart stop.

"Hashirama", I wheezed. "Look at his feet."

"What?" Hashirama said, not entirely back to himself. It felt like having a stranger beside me; I had never seen him like that. Yet I knew I would die if he hadn't been beside me; he was tethering my soul to earth, preventing it from ascending and never coming down because I knew he needed me as I needed him, at least in that moment.

"His feet!!" I screamed. "He could reach the Goddamn floor!!"

And when Hashirama realised, he sat up, having clambered out of the deep hole of his trans, and burst out in tears.

We never had to worry about whether or not Tobirama had regretted it in the moment. We knew he hadn't. He had used a chair from the restaurant to get up, but once he'd hung himself, his feet had reached the floor; if he'd changed his mind, he could've easily stood up and stopped the whole thing.