二代目火影

it's been a strangely quiet day. a few of his closer subordinates had wished him a happy birthday as soon as tobirama crossed paths with them, early in the morning—and later during the day, saru had suggested he had dinner with him and the others. a prospect the lord hokage had naturally declined, not because he disliked the company so much as he didn't feel particularly festive. not in the middle of a war, with the amount of concerns weighing his mind down. only a couple of years prior there was no war, and the people were bubbly-drunk with the illusion that there would never been any other war. and hashirama was still alive. no one else could have convinced him to sit still through an awkward birthday party as hashirama always, somehow, managed. never had things changed as swiftly, as brutally, as in the last couple of years.

tobirama does not even notice the day edging toward nightfall. he's busy with diplomatic correspondence, sealed scrolls and papers marked with the highest level of secrecy he decided to examine himself, one by one. it has gotten progressively darker inside his office, but even that he does not notice through the cold focus of his activity. he sits by the suffused halo of a desk lamp, slightly hunched over the scroll unrolled across the table, when a light knocking sound rips through the veil of his attention. only then, running a handa through the mess of his moon-white hair, tobirama raises his head. " come in. " he says, and with that releases a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

he's only half-surprised to see dex step in, his face warm with the last amber-speckled flickers of dusk and the rest of him sinking in the shade of the unlit doorway. his chakra had faintly announced his arrival far before the knocking could forewarn it—tobirama focuses on the dark shape of a poorly wrapped package in his hands, instead. his blood-red eyes narrow as he stands up and, without a word, lights a second lamp on a shelf nearby. it doesn't matter. he knows it doesn't. he's not even sure whether he's doing it for dex or himself—for whom is even he lighting the way?

" good evening, dex. what— "

happy birthday, lord nidaime.

for a second, tobirama is speechless. the other hands him the package with steady hands, but something in his body language and the flush across his cheeks betrays nervousness. perhaps that's why he eventually chooses to set the gift on the desk before tobirama may reach for it. " i, uh... " the hokage is not so comfortable either. hesitantly, he opens the box and reaches for the scroll first. a faint sound of paper rustling to smoothness follows the undoing of the leather strings, and then silence. the reading sort. " so you finished it. " tobirama's voice is measured, flat—but there's something, a crease in the way he says it that tells he's smiling. " we shall see soon enough if it's any good. tomorrow morning, at the training grounds. don't be late. "

he sets the scroll aside with care, before reaching into the box again. before he may ask dex about it, his five fingers sink into what feels like a soft animal pelt. smooth as silk, freshly skinned. a hood lined with fur, similar to the fur-lined collar of his battle armor, though grey as lead and shorter. " keeping yourself busy, i see. " a sharp intake of breath from dex cuts through the evening silence. whether it's for a scolding or a praise, he braces himself for it. neither arrives.