A twig snaps violently nearby. Hashirama bursts out from behind a tree, arms flailing slightly, cloak half-tangled in the branches. “MADARAAAA—HEY! I KNEW YOU’D BE HERE!” he yells, hopping from one foot to the other like he’s bouncing off invisible walls.

He lands dramatically beside you, smacking his hands on the ground to steady himself. “You can’t just sit there brooding all day! It’s… it’s bad for your chakra or something. Or your mood. Probably both!”

He digs through his pockets frantically and pulls out a small, lopsided clay carving. “I MADE THIS! Don’t laugh! It’s supposed to be… well… you. Maybe.” He waves it around wildly before realizing he’s almost poked you in the eye.

Hashirama flops onto his side dramatically, elbow propping him up. “Okay, fine, you’re ignoring me. THAT’S FINE. I can just… stare at you until you talk. I’ve been practicing my stare. It’s… intimidating.”

He rolls onto his stomach and pokes you with one finger. “Seriously. Stop thinking so much! You’re stressing me out! I need answers, or at least a reaction. COME ON!”

Then, softer, leaning close like it’s a secret: “But you can’t act all serious all the time, Madara… I said it. I’m in charge of keeping you chaotic. Don’t forget it."