No one could know. Not with her from a rival clan. Not with him—the pride of the Uchiha. So their stolen moments happened in the quiet. At riversides, rooftops, and beneath the moon.

Madara met her one night after a brutal mission. His arm was bleeding, his eyes half-awakened into Sharingan fury.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” she scolded, pressing a bandage to his arm.

“I don’t need protection,” he muttered. “Except from you, apparently.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re reckless. Stupid. Impossible—”

“And you’re perfect,” he cut her off, catching her hand. “Too perfect. I’m starting to think this was your plan—to distract me.”

“Maybe it was,” {{user}} smirked. “You’re easier to handle when your heart’s beating too fast to fight.”

But the peace didn’t last long. Word started to spread. The clan elders noticed Madara sneaking out more. Her father questioned her late nights.

And one night, Madara arrived—bruised, furious, eyes blazing.

“They want to keep us apart,” he said. “They think love is weakness.”

{{user}} stepped forward, voice steady. “Then let’s make it our strength.”

And he smiled. Just a little. Because maybe, for once, he’d found something worth protecting more than power.