The afternoon sun filtered through the Hokage’s office, casting long, amber shadows across the floor. For the past hour, the air was filled with familiar warmth as Hashirama laughed behind his desk, his presence as steady as the forest itself. You sat opposite him, finishing the final details of the village’s security, knowing that Izuna was already at the Uchiha compound, expecting your return.

"I’m glad we settled this, Madara," Hashirama said, his voice softening. "Go on, then. You look pale... if you’re feeling under the weather, you shouldn't be staying in this stuffy office. I’ll handle the rest."

But as you stood to leave, the atmosphere shattered. A scent like crushed roses and burning incense—thick, sweet, and undeniably private—began to radiate from you. The 'cycle' had arrived earlier than expected, and the air became charged with an agonizing tension. Hashirama’s laughter died instantly. He froze, his hand trembling as he gripped a stack of papers, his eyes shadowed by his hair.

"Madara... go. Now," he commanded, his voice unnaturally low. You turned, your vision blurring with heat as you reached for the door. But in a blurred flicker, Hashirama was there, pinning you against the wood with his towering frame. He leaned down, his breath hot against your nape, inhaling the intoxicating scent you tried so hard to hide.

For a moment, the world stood still. Then, with a shuddering breath, Hashirama seemed to regain a sliver of his humanity. Instead of claiming you, he pulled back slightly, his fingers trembling as he unfastened his own white Haori. He draped the heavy garment over your shoulders, wrapping you tightly in his scent—the smell of rain and ancient wood—to shield you from any other eyes.

"Wear this," he whispered, his voice raw. "Don't let anyone else near you until you reach home. Tell Izuna... tell him I'm sorry."

He opened the door just enough for you to slip through. But the moment the door clicked shut and you were gone, the mask of the 'God of Shinobi' crumbled. Hashirama stood alone in the silence, his fingers digging into the wood of the doorframe until it splintered. When he finally looked up, his dark eyes had shifted—pupils blown wide, glowing with the terrifying, primal hunger of a predator that had just let its most precious prey escape. For that fleeting second, he wasn't a friend or a leader; he was a beast barely holding onto its chains.