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The Hitomi turns on, instead of breaking, when Deidara throws it against a tree. Maybe it didn't want to break. But it turns on and it lands and there's Deidara, back to the device, shaking with a desperate sort of fury. And he unleashes hell on the landscape around him
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Especially after what they'd been up to yesterday and earlier today, Sasori would have expected Deidara to be feeling quite worn out, so what in the world is his partner thinking?
He's irritated, but there was something...unsettling about Deidara's expression that makes him pause for a moment before he responds, and his tone is less sharp than it would normally be.]
Well, at least you didn't blow up a damned mountain again.
[He sighs.]
Did you hurt yourself again, you fool? Where are you?
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What the hell is wrong with you? You were fine when you left here a few hours ago, and now you're acting like...like...well I don't know what the hell you're acting like, but it certainly isn't normal, and you won't give a damned straight answer about it.
[He resists the urge to simply grab Deidara by the shoulders and shake him until the answers he wants come tumbling out.]
Stop screwing around and answer me properly, you damned idiot. What doesn't matter?
[He feels a sudden chill wash over him, as a new possibility for why Deidara refuses to answer enters his mind, and the anger drains out of him as quickly as it flared up, until all that's left is cold fear.
Before he was almost shouting, now he's barely whispering.]
Is it...is it because of what happened yesterday? [Because of me? Because of us?]
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[He's quick to answer that last part--it's not Sasori, because Sasori is all Deidara has left that's normal, and if Sasori abandons him then he doesn't know what he'll do. Maybe he'll just fade away.]
I--
Art.
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I was testing something. It didn't work. It'll never work anymore.
I didn't feel anything.The cornerstone of their relationship has always been their deep mutual understanding as fellow artists, as people who both are moved at their very deepest levels by the desire to create; they're both driven at their core by that irresistible need to express oneself, to reach for the sublime by drawing out something from so deep inside that it's beyond the capability of being expressed in words and pouring it out into the world, crystallizing it into a form that can be seen and experienced and, perhaps, understood ( ... )
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[He doesn't think rest will help. He can't imagine anything helping. It's like he's been scooped out of his body, he's gone and there's just a shell left, something useless and waiting to rot away. Or maybe he's rotting right now.]
If you want me to rest, I will.
[He has nothing left but what Sasori tells him to do. He sees no point in doing anything else.]
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I see. So it was a scroll that did this to you.
[He smooths his hands over Deidara's shoulders before giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. His voice is soft.]
It will be all right, I promise. [I'll find a way to fix it. To fix you. Trust me.]
[He then stands up.]
You haven't eaten anything since you left, have you? I'll make you something.
You'll feel better after you eat and get some rest.
[When he turns away and heads towards the kitchen, his expression turns absolutely murderous.
Those bastards, those fucking bastard gods. How dare they do this?Sasori is the one who refuses to bow to their whims, not Deidara. Sasori is the one who openly rejects their absurd, childish lessons, not Deidara ( ... )
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He stands, and follows Sasori into the kitchen. Deidara doesn't want to disappear. He knows he is there if Sasori is there.]
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Instead, he feels subdued, as he follows the train of though he'd started earlier to its natural conclusion.
The gods did this to Deidara, to get back at Sasori. This is his fault, because he'd acknowledged Deidara, because he'd reached out to him, and finally given in and accepted the connection he'd been resisting for two years ( ... )
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If he's nearer to Sasori, is he more sure he exists? Maybe. He'll stay close, then.]
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He is so used to the arguing, the bantering, the mockery, the teasing, that he doesn't know how to handle this.
His eyes keep flicking back and forth from Deidara, who's slicing a pickled radish so slowly and absently that Sasori is tempted to pull the knife out of his hands before his partner cuts himself, to where he's watching the rice simmer, and the only sounds breaking the awkward gulf of silence are the crackling of the fire and the soft bubbling of the rice simmering and the awkward thunk of the knife against the chopping board.
It's completely intolerable, and Sasori tries to break the silence as best he can.]
I-I'll reheat that leftover fish from lunch as well.
...Would you like to rest after you eat?
You can help me clean, if you aren't tired.
[He almost suggested that Deidara could help him with his puppets, but he doesn't want to go anywhere near the subject of art at all.]
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I'll help.
[He knows Sasori is worried, but he doesn't know what can be done about it.]
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I won't.
[He eats quietly--almost methodically, although it's not intentional so much as a result of hardly caring about the food. But Sasori told him to eat. So he finishes it and moves onto the cleaning.
It's easy to stop thinking when doing something like this. He falls into a pattern as he cleans, and his eyes dull even more as he falls into a thoughtless state of simply doing.
It's easier this way.]
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Even his puppets show more life than this, when he controls them. He sighs, and reaches for Deidara's hand to pull him towards the bedroom.]
I think you should get some rest now. Let's go.
[...There was a time, when he was young and still foolish, that Sasori would sleep nestled between them, those puppets that he'd made in the image of his parents. If he concentrated hard enough, he'd been able to pretend they were warm and soft, and it was comforting ( ... )
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He has not made a habit of seeking comfort in others--people whose comfort is as ephemeral as they themselves are, people who he doesn't care about anyway. But his hands find their way around Sasori anyway, and his arms tighten, and he's not sure what he's doing, but he supposes it doesn't matter anyway, so he simply lays still after that.
Sasori's body is not something he thinks many would look to for comfort, but Deidara is not one who often looks for comfort, and so he thinks it fits.
But he doesn't want to think--not about anything, not after what happened. So he closes his eyes and stops. It's easier this way.]
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