Two Leaf Fires (MadaNaru)

To Experience: Rejected Trust

Tsunade had gifted him recreationally, one hour, though he had sat within the confines of the cellar for a length far extended. She had yet to make an appearance, though he made no particular complaint for her absence as his opinion of her had largely shifted unfavourably since the war's end. Though if truth sprung free from his lips, it was a different ire that had infracted his view of the woman; that was the continuous understanding that in impact it was her error that had caused Jiraiya's death- and though long past, the knowledge of his absence still stung at the back corners of his mind. It weren't what Madara spoke of, as the man had no knowledge of the dead sanin, still the weight of his words resonated with all of the deaths he had bore witness unto; it was a potential, intentioned, target. Although they were intended to be a harm onto his mentality, the words came to be self infestered- as if he were speaking of both their experiences, Madara spoke for them both in a conflicted tone of voice.

It was many years ago; sitting within a classroom at an abandoned desk, whispering gossip surrounding his head and his mind gone to dreams of acceptance. By bare coincidence he had chosen to pay attention to their classroom teacher that day; mainly in watching and witnessing the boy sat below him pay such critical attention; naturally, he had to be kept up to the same intelligence standards as Uchiha Sasuke. It had been a section of the founders of Konoha, thus Madara had been involved: however little that had been; in speaking, they had said nothing particularly emphasizing his contribution towards the village's making, merely outlying his attack as being most prevalent towards their generational understanding of history. Still, even in that false comprehension, they had mentioned a brother- Izuna who was the suspected reason for the patriarch's hatred towards the Senju; rather, his death was.

Naruto had only the knowledge that it had profoundly effected Madara's mentality, though he knew not the true extent. By his own empathy, he knew that by his own standard, he would be livid- depressed also, for any connection he had lost still did infract upon his mind; and thus the sun burnt at his skin upon their very consideration. To stare upon the man, a resonance stang at the pit of his chest as if uprising without his own consent in watching him strain against his restraints; he forced down the emote knowing it was improper in feeling and in presence. Yet, to come within the cellar possessing any fraction of ideal was a bad consideration, as one left a piece of their own morality without caution.

"Sasuke lost himself to his emotions-" He scoffed, a little sound unto himself for the strange sound of his own sentence "-not that he would admit to that." His eyes found the wall, a droplet that fell down the stone in the slowest manner. Before he returned himself to staring into the irises of an intimidating war veteran. "Are you saying I have the same problem?" There, he found himself smiling at the concept, for though bleak it was an odd comfort; thus, he was smiling towards Uchiha Madara, an action he had never thought he would find himself within, after words he had never predicted himself to speak in tandem. In response, he gained a confusion- a plain expression of twisted brows, and then lips which twisted to form a smirk; nye a smile upon the visage of a man in-trapped, all with shadowed eyelids of memory.

"Tis an insult?" Came his response, spoken plainly, and Naruto said nothing unto it; knowing that he found no disrest with the statement, yet, acknowledging that should he be a man of any other nature within Konoha- it would have been. He found himself to sigh at most to the question, and he leant his body against the opposing side of the corridor, listening only to the vast silence; whilst the occasional disruption of metal met his ears in a brief 'clinck' of sound. There was no worry to consider, no wonder on if his fellow shinobi would escape and kill him while his eyes slipped closed; for even if there were, it was no less dangerous then the life he always bore within the village itself, less so; as far as Naruto was concerned. His arms remained wrapped around his knees in a weakened cuddle unto himself which held no resemblance to any relationship he knew. His head against the wall, he saw the weakly alit water droplets upon the ceiling awaiting gravity to take them, the wetted stone in a closer bond to the water then he had ever known, and though he could feel the warmth of his own arms around his legs, a cold uprose within his abdomen as tears split from his own eyelids: There was little else to be done, for any road he could walk within his own village was surrounded by bile spoken to his name, and glares burning upon his body. His mouth moved not from the frown it fell into as fatigue collapsed his muscles to inaction.