Its a warm comfort. He'd already shared a few drinks with the other man but being one to so rarely if ever let loose so to speak the tea furthered any sobering that the cold and time did not. A slight chill force the man's shoulders up and fingers to grasp that fur around him. Exhale.

For some time, Tobirama considers his words carefully. Even after all these years, over a hundred it's been now, he remembers them vividly. The ones who never made it past their youth. How dedicated Kawarama was; how soft and loyal Itama was. Useless deaths. His fingers tense around that thermos for but a second before calming it with another sip.

"They all were," he finally chooses to speak it.