Tobirama sighed and caved to his brother's impassioned wheedling - it was, in fact, this time, a reasonable measure - and extended his hand towards Uchiha Madara, trying not to show how much he did not wish to be doing so.

Madara wasn't so polite, glaring and huffing as he extended his own hand and clasped Tobirama's, almost surprisingly in a gentle grip, not painful, although as soon as the thought had occurred to Tobirama a stabbing, burning pain shot up from his hand and he gasped, nearly staggering.

Hashirama yelped, darting closer, and Izuna drew his sword, but he and Madara had stumbled closer together, and they simultaneously raised their eyes from their clasped hands, now displaying matched soulmarks to lock gazes. Tobirama was speechless from the force of emotion in the roiling chakra in the gathering, particularly Madara's own, which was fiery and powerful and too strong, too muddled, to make out specific feelings from.

"What cruel figure among the kami decided to make you my soulmate?" Madara growled, his lip curling and his eyes - Tobirama was meeting his eyes he realised belatedly, heart kicking into a panicked rhythm - actually shaded with something darker than repulsion, something more like . . . hurt.