Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Author's Note: I got the idea when I was watching a video on Youtube—Deidara and Sasori-Light Up the Sky made by YouGotItMemorized. It's an amazing video, and I'm glad I watched it because it gave me the inspiration (Randomly) for this.

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Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures. ~Henry Ward Beecher

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"Life's only beautiful because its' so fleeting, so transient."

That was his argument every time the topic came up between him and his danna, which was rather often. Sasori would scoff at him; tell him that he had the wrong idea.

But then…Sasori had been an only child.

As far as everyone was concerned, Deidara was an only child as well. He didn't think so. Because once upon a time, long before he'd had a love for explosives and art, Deidara had had a mother. He'd had a father too, but he couldn't remember his face other than a glimpse of hazel eyes as he left through the front door.

Deidara took after his mother, everyone used to say. He had her same blonde hair, and the resemblance only grew with his hair long, with her brilliantly bright shade of blue for eyes. His teachers would often comment that he was too slender to be a shinobi, that he would break under the strain. His mother never believed it, never believed that her strong, small son would or even could, break. Deidara was her little man.

And she'd gotten pregnant just before his father had left. Deidara had watched as her belly swelled and she'd smile at him. (That was something Deidara hadn't inherited was her smile. Hers was open and beautiful. Some described it as innocent, though Deidara had always known that that wasn't true. You couldn't be a shinobi for as long as she had been and still be innocent.) She'd smile at him and tell him that she hoped it would be a little girl, that she'd love to dote on a daughter. And then she'd assure him that he'd still always be her strong boy, her little man and that he'd be a big brother for the little person inside of her.

Deidara had found it difficult to believe that a person was actually living inside his mother. He'd press his ear to her stomach and his face would light up with a grin when he felt a gentle nudge in return to his little tidbits about his day.

His sister had been born too soon.

She couldn't breath, her heart wouldn't work. But Deidara had seen her face while the doctors tried to fix her. She had chubby, pink cheeks and a line of blonde hair that would never grow. When she opened her eyes, they weren't his mama's, but his father's, brilliantly beautiful and hazel. She smiled at him and it was mama's smile, the one that Deidara would always think was one of the most beautiful smiles in the world.

And she was dying. His beautiful sister was dying. Deidara was there when she died, holding the tiny little hand. Her shallow breathing slowed and those pretty eyes closed and they never opened back up. And she'd been gone, just a little while after she'd been born. No life should be that short, should be so fleeting.

Deidara was never sure why, but there was a meteor storm the night his sister died. He'd noticed the explosions of white and silver rain across the sky and he saw the beauty in it, just like in his sister. And the meteor storm was gone just as quickly as his sister. And Deidara saw the beauty in those small moments when things would last.

And so when Sasori would stubbornly tell him that art was beautiful because it was everlasting, he'd just shake his head and say, "It's because it's so short, Danna. That's why it's beautiful."

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A/N: So, how was my first Deidara fic? It was hard to write him and I don't think I totally had him in my head as a character, but I'll let you guys decide.