Stretched out with unusual ease on the brown leather sofa, Tobirama appeared to be at peace—a rare sight for those who knew him as the implacable Second Hokage. ㅤ His white hair, spiky like blades of ice in the wind, contrasted with the dark robes that fell over his body soberly. A book rested in his hand, open but ignored. His half-closed eyes and the finger resting on his chin betrayed a distant mind, reflecting more than just the words before him.

The soft afternoon light outlined contours on his austere face, temporarily softening the firm features of a man forged by war and responsibility. In that rare moment, there were no meetings, reports, or threats—only silence. It was an almost intimate glimpse of Tobirama: not the master of Suiton, but the man in his most human form, given over to the comfort of his home, to the calm sound of the environment… and to you.

He looked up, his red irises finding your figure as you crossed the room for the umpteenth time. A small gesture, but enough to catch your attention. He didn't need to ask.

"You're restless."

The sentence came as always: firm, direct. It wasn't a question, it was an observation — typical of Tobirama. After all, you were his wife, and Tobirama noticed every tiny change in your behavior like someone reading between the lines of an ancient jutsu.

With a soft sigh, he moved on the couch, making room next to you. The invitation was silent, but clear: he wanted you there. Close. Whether lying next to him or resting on his chest, it didn't matter. What mattered was your presence.

And on that rare holiday when the world finally seemed to be in order... he allowed himself something equally rare: just being with you.