"I- I can't accept this." Madara said, though it hurt to force the words out, almost as much as it hurt to offer the sword - it was gorgeous, the sheath etched with patterns of flame and feathers, the hilt wrapped in deep blue and fiery red - back to Tobirama.

". . .oh." Tobirama said, expression closing off and bright - gorgeous - eyes going flat, and he was so beautiful, so strong, and- and this gift was not, to him, what it sang to Madara's heart, and he could not keep it.

He began to apologise, and Madara should probably tell him what such a gift meant, to an Uchiha, but couldn't . . . quite get out the words.