Work Text:
It was in his nature to be suspicious.
A quick flick of his eyes assured him he was alone, the room quiet, tinting on his office windows keeping the world he could see beyond from seeing him. Without anyone around to witness his suspicions Izuna felt no need to hide how cautiously he approached the wrapped gift sitting so innocently on his desk. The package was small but stood stark against the scrolls and paperwork he’d yet to bother glancing at (the more the white demon got on his ass about not completing it, the more Izuna hummed and hawed and ‘forgot’ about it).
He reached the end of his desk and paused, ponytail catching on his high collar as he tilted his head to inspect the red dotted wrapping with narrowed eyes. The red ribbon on top, tied into an excessive amount of loops in his opinion though he’s sure it would be called “stylish” in someone else’s incorrect tastes, certainly helped it look like, well. A gift.
But Izuna didn’t trust it.
Logically, as a shinobi, he knew poking the small parcel with a pen would not protect him from any unknown dangers or traps thereon. But his mother had always said that he loved getting himself into trouble, and considering many others in his life would agree with her on that the numbers were already stacked against him - and who was Izuna to prove the statistics wrong by not prodding it with the nib of his pen, staining one of the red dots with the excess ink that he’d neglected to clean off of it before breaking for lunch.
No explosions. No random summons. No weapons hurled at him either. Izuna moved only his eyes as he stayed partially bent over his desk, pen still touching the little wrapped present, ink slowly bleeding and staining the red dot further.
There was only one person in the lot of Konoha that he expected gifts from. Well, two if the small curly brat counted, but his ‘gifts’ were often croaky, slimy, and wrapped up in the blankets of his futon. The little shit aside, that left only his brother, who was more one to grunt and shove a gift in his hands than to leave it without notice, on his desk, without even an obvious note slapped on concerning who its from.
All of that said, Izuna most certainly could stare long enough at a person to unravel their secrets. But a small box sitting on his desk would not be bending to his whims without physical action from his part. With his curiosity getting the best of him (his brother would throw a fit if he knew he’d been so careless), Izuna went ahead and did what any normal, foolish civilian would have done right from the start: he picked up the gift and opened it.
Once the ribbon was gone, the box and wrapping tossed carelessly to the floor, he was left with nothing more than a small note and a handmade pendant attached to a thin chain. Something useless to him, really. He lifted the pendant carefully with his index finger and thumb, feeling the etching in the back (his clan symbol, carved into the metal with care), his mouth pulling down as he stared at the bright orange and red flames that had been painted in layers with the resin that gave them their more realistic shape.
Useless. His face was heated as he caught a peek at the sloopy and somehow far too happy handwriting, and Izuna dropped the note on his desk without bothering to read it yet. Izuna could handle a lot but the genuine and overwhelming emotions that particular Senju flung at everyone was often more than he knew how to process - it was like stepping out into broad daylight after being in the dark for hours. Too much, almost painful, so bright.
By evening, when the sun was setting and Izuna was finally headed home, he still didn’t know how to properly react to his gift. What he would say to the Senju, if he should tease him for it or perhaps blatantly flirt with him. Stir up trouble or play it safe or poke carefully to fully reveal the man’s motives.
The pendent felt warm, hidden and safe under his collar, close to his skin. And Izuna was glad he was better at keeping secrets from the world than everyone else was at keeping them from him.