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hashiramashonkers · 2 days

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Pairing: TobiIzu

Notes: High school rivals lag into tired university acquaintances.

Getting into the same university as Senju Tobirama had not, actually, been Izuna’s plan. Worse, they share two classes: Statistics and Ancient History.

And Izuna doesn't really mind.

A lot can change with distance, he finds. They had managed to avoid each other for a full year, only occasionally attending the same events or crossing paths in the tiny on-campus café, but this year is different. Their very first day of the fresh term, an innocent Wednesday, Izuna had walked into Statistics and done a neat double take when he noticed a familiar someone sitting in the very front row, just off-centre.

It is rather like seeing your least favourite teacher at the grocery store.

They had never actually shared any classes in high school despite frequent run-ins. Tobirama had spent half his time in the disabled classroom reaping what little support their school offered for visually impaired students and the other half in electives like Advanced Mathematics, Politics and Accounting. (Swot.) Thus, it is a little odd having to stare at the back of his head for two hours every other day – odd enough that Izuna amuses himself with paper aeroplanes when class drags on, as it is wont to do.

Doodles, unkind words and false premonitions are hidden in the folds of the wings. Tobirama had dusted away the first plane without looking at it, possibly assuming it was supposed to reach someone else, but the second and third were received with suspicion, and flung back in a ball when the professor was slashing figures across the whiteboard. And so it went. Sometimes, when he is feeling philanthropic, Tobirama reads the hidden message and disposes of it himself on his way out of the lecture hall.

One very slow Friday, thanks to Izuna’s engineering genius and near infallible accuracy, it took Tobirama exactly twenty-six minutes to realise there was a tiny paper jet resting on his head. The look he had given Izuna was bewildered when he whirled around to search the upper tiers and so bloomed their very first civil conversation, excluding dispassionate nods hello and goodbye: How the hell had he managed to get such a flimsy projectile to not only cross the distance between them, but land so precisely on the target?

Izuna had been glad, in the end, that Tobirama never actually opened the jet to read the hidden message. The unflattering doodle of him being struck by lightning probably wouldn't have interested him half as much as projectile physics.

That doesn't mean he doesn't send more unflattering doodles.

Professor Taishō finally turns to write something on the whiteboard and Izuna snatches up the jumbo jet balanced solemnly on his textbook. He has approximately one minute to successfully aim and propel his magnum opus at the back of Tobirama’s head. Deep breath… Focus… Fire!

The jet glides down seven tiers of descending tables, bounces right off its target and tumbles sadly to the bench next to him.

Tobirama’s head whips around, then cranes down to search the floor for whatever collided with his coconut skull. He plucks the jet from the bench and flattens it on his table, leaning in close to parse the series of doodles helpfully lined and contrasted with black ink. To Izuna’s astonishment, Tobirama grins—and snorts. Snorts! Then he folds the paper neatly in half and slips it inside his notebook instead of hurling it back in a crumpled ball.

Tobirama does not look back for the rest of the lesson. Izuna cannot look away.

Class is dismissed a few minutes early on account of Professor Taishō shuffling off with a brusque “Dismissed!” to do who-knows-what. Izuna finishes copying down a few notes from the whiteboard and lingers a little longer than is strictly necessary to pack away his laptop and stationery. Tobirama always waits for the initial rush of students to dwindle before picking his way out of the precariously-designed lecture hall; Izuna too has fallen victim to the hostile architecture.

“Well?”

Tobirama lifts his head in surprise. “What?” he asks after a second, eyeing Izuna beneath the rim of his glasses as he zips up his laptop bag.

“My magnum opus. What did you think? It was you getting fatally beamed inside a particle accelerator,” Izuna adds helpfully.

“Yes, that's what I thought based on the fact that you titled it Senju Tobirama Dies in a Malfunctioning Particle Accelerator: A Comedy in Three Parts. I can only imagine that 1,000 Gy would immediately kill someone but I appreciate that you took the time to illustrate the days’ long ordeal of my skin falling off and, for some reason, my rudimentary skeleton combusting. Later.”

“Oi, give it back!” Izuna calls after him. “That’s some of my best work! It’ll get at least thirty likes on Instagram!”

Tobirama raises his hand in a half-hearted wave and strides off to his next lecture. Izuna sighs and scratches his cheek. How is he supposed to top this?

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hashiramashonkers · 2 days

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fanart for ChaiFighter’s highly anticipated!! fic what you take (what you're given) 👀❤️❤️‼️

as part of the banger @mdtb-bb event

#beautiful art!!! 💖💖💖#Senju Tobirama #Madatobi

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hashiramashonkers · 3 days