They took a second break when the sun dipped lower, when dusky violets and muted orange replaced blue. Spring creeped forward with every day as night came later and later. She stood next to Hashirama on a sloped hill, marveling at the new buildings dotting her village.
"It's a town," Yui corrected out loud. "It's a town now, and it might be a city one day."
"It will," said Hashirama. "It's beautiful." He sounded weary, almost sad.
A group of children took advantage of Hashirama's break and, though cautious at first, approached him and began to stumble over themselves asking questions about his magic. The exhaustion melted away as he listened to their questions, intently, seriously, and then he broke into a huge grin.
"Let me show you," he said instead.
Hashirama lightly gestured with one hand, and the air thrummed with chakra, as it had every time before. Instead of the heavy, deep regard of the forest, the chakra felt different—fragile and quick, like the brisk wind and warm sunlight on the first day of spring.
The grass around them erupted with wildflowers. Daisies and hardy dogstooth violets mingled with pink anemone blooms and dozens of others, painting a brighter sunset than the sky. The children shrieked and dove into the pile of flowers, and several began to pick handfuls of daisies for an already-growing chain.
Yui bent down and picked a purple flower, rubbing her fingers against the velvet petals that prickled with chakra.
"I will never get tired of seeing you do that," she murmured.
He smiled, and it almost reached his eyes. "I'm just glad to use it outside of battle."
"I've never seen you use it in battle." She gave him a faint smile too.
Hashirama blinked at her. "You haven't. No… you haven't."
She nodded. Yui wondered how that would work. Barricades, perhaps? Or perhaps stakes. The wounds from wood could be nasty, especially if splinters and debris were left in the wound. Strange. She'd never thought of his ability as a tool for violence. But almost anything could be twisted into a weapon: her own knowledge could poison or cure, and all it took was a moment of inattention for chakra healing to twist flesh.
"I would rather be an architect," Hashirama said suddenly. "I would rather use these powers for anything but—" He stopped. "For anything else." Softer, so soft that she might have imagined it, he murmured, "I'm tired."
Before she could ask, the children crowded around them again. He turned bright and cheerful as if someone had flicked a switch, matching their exuberance. They'd turned their newfound bounties into crowns for everyone—even Hashirama, her, and Sato, who accepted it with bemusement.
Hashirama wore his daisy crown proudly, and he watched the children play with a wistful smile. "If every child could be so free..."
She adjusted her own crown as the kids harruanged Sato into putting his on. "We're getting there."
"We are?"
Yui gave him an exasperated look. "Hashirama, you've only been telling me about your dreams for years. Are you really saying that nothing's changed since you've become clan head?"
He opened and closed his mouth. "I… I guess you're right."
They sat among the flowers in silence, enjoying the light breeze. And, Yui realized, she was genuinely happy. Content, even, if bittersweet—and she couldn't remember the last time she'd consciously felt that way.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Hashirama didn't ask any questions. Instead, he smiled, and this time, it did reach his eyes.
