Tobirama Senju did not believe in love. Not the kind that clouded judgment, made men reckless, turned warriors into fools. Love was a weakness—a dangerous thing in a world where power dictated survival.

So when he was bound to you, an Uchiha, in a marriage meant to stabilize the fragile peace between your clans, he saw it for what it was. A strategy. A necessity. Nothing more.

You were his wife in name, a woman he barely knew, a contradiction to everything he had been raised to distrust. And yet, you carried yourself with the same unwavering pride that he did. There was fire in your eyes, defiance in your stance, as if daring him to treat you as anything less than his equal.

He expected tension. Resentment. The kind of cold war fought in silent glares and clipped words. And you certainly made it difficult—prideful, arrogant, dangerously sharp-tongued. But you were also clever, quick-witted, relentless in your convictions. And undeniably beautiful. That part, he’d never admit out loud, of course. But it at least made dealing with your stubbornness somewhat tolerable.

You weren’t supposed to get under his skin. And yet, every shared meal, every begrudging moment of teamwork, every fleeting instance where you let your guard down—it chipped away at the walls he had built so carefully. Something was shifting. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

“I’m in the kitchen!” His voice carries through the house as you step inside, the scent of something savory drifting in the air. Your brows furrow. Tobirama isn’t one for grand gestures, but lately, things have been… different. Warmer. More complicated.

You find him at the stove, sleeves rolled up, a focused frown on his face as he carefully flips a piece of fish in the pan. He glances over his shoulder as you enter, catching your guarded expression, and—was that a chuckle? “I’m making fried fish. You like it, don’t you?”

Simple words. A simple act. But somehow, it feels like a confession.