Chalk
By Gaarazlilmiss
A/N: Well, I haven't been here in awhile. I'm really tired of giving excuses, so lets just say I didn't have a computer for a very long time, and I was busy with life itself. Now the only time I can find solace with a computer is at night, usually past the midnight hours, and that's only because tada, I got a laptop for Christmas, otherwise, I would not be writing now. So sorry millions, and in advance for when I mysteriously disappear from the earth again. Anyway, here is a chapter of my newest thought until I can re-read everything I've written and begin to update for you all. Until then, here you go.
This is an AU deiHina one shot, so for all you DeiHina fans, enjoy.
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There was something about oil paints that he just didn't like…maybe it was the fact that it was so smooth and flowing, and the fact that it was so intense, even with it's pastel colors. Maybe he thought it was everything he wasn't. So while this artist painted, he grimaced at the creation unfolding before him. What again was so beautiful about this eyesore? Now, to other people, it would be one of the most beautiful pieces of work they'd ever seen, or maybe even the best thing they'd ever seen, but to him, he just wasn't satisfied, and so he threw the canvas over in a corner with all his other incomplete, unperfected creations. He sighed in agitation as he discovered that for months, he hadn't come up with a good enough work, or at least something that would satisfy his thirst for perfection.
The room was silent after the reverberating crash sounded off into nothingness. His head was held down low, and his eyebrows were furrowed in frustration as he looked at the oozing paint falling on the floor. In all it's color, it disgusted him. Maybe, just maybe he needed motivation. Surely there was something out there worth setting his eyes on, something had to give him an idea of what to do. With his canvas tucked underneath his arm, and a bag of various random artistic materials, he set out to find his next inspiration.
He walked the busy streets of the modern Tokyo scene and looked throughout the crowd at all the people. Dead, dead people all of them, just walking, living bland grey and white lives. He couldn't stand it, and he walked off down an off-road somewhere, a place that not many people were treading today. In all his stormy thoughts he'd found himself walking down a lane filled with wild cherry blossom trees, not the kind that people planted on the sides of streets for decoration that was no where near as good as the wild and unfolding beauty before him now. They were trimmed and teased, while these trees were free flowing, free growing. It put his raging mind to rest knowing that he was coming upon something, and then he realized that he was completely wrong. These cherry blossom trees were only the borders to what the real art was.
Sitting up on the railing to a bridge that seemed to be getting on in the years over a small stream was a girl, dressed in a traditional kimono the color of a pastel indigo. It had accents of a darker blue creating a flowered design coming up from the left corner of her kimono and wrapping around it. Her lashes were long, her eyes were unique and deep, matching the hue of her kimono entirely, and she had the face of a baby doll.
She stared on blankly at the sky, not noticing the man on the path before her. He wondered so deeply. Something so artistic was hidden from the world. Old Tokyo seemed to be before him. This scene was much too great to let pass by. He had not the slightest inkling of how long she'd been here, or if she'd leave soon, but whatever the case, he slunk behind some bushes nearby, and from his hiding area, he quickly drew out the canvas he'd carried, and opened his bag ever so slowly.
He couldn't take his eyes off of her for more than a second, he thought she might vanish if he kept his gaze astray for too long. The way her face looked told a story. She seemed to be pained, she seemed to be sad, but to the point of breaking, hence her blank stare. She looked like the pampered princess that wanted nothing more than to break free. She was not someone seen too often in these times.
For this reason, because of the emotion gently moving from her, he knew not just any materials would do. He had to use something that was beautiful, yet showed the emotion to it's fullest. A box of unopened chalks caught his cerulean eyes.
It had been a long time since he'd used chalks, and now seemed to be the time to use them. An array of colors, from black to forest green to auburn filled the box, brand new, not touched, and at this he gleamed. This was perfect.
He sat and began to sketch out her smooth flowing curves, and gentle exterior. Sometimes she moved to look down at her hand, but he didn't lose that image she held. Every so often, during his time drawing her, he would wonder what it was she was gazing at so intently. He was reading her like a book, and it was so entertaining. What was this girls story?
Suddenly, another scene before him occurred, making him rethink what he was already drawing. Tears rolled down her smooth cheeks, and her soft sobs filled the air, now emitting nothing but pure sorrow. Did he feel guilty for wanting her to stay this way so he could draw her for his pleasure? Well in a sense, maybe, but right now, he was looking at it as an art, and yet, something in his heart was tugging as he watched her hold her stomach and cry her eyes out as she slid something off her finger and flung it off the side of the bridge into the stream. She cried like this for a long time, and he found himself not drawing her so much, but just watching her, and wondering what he should do. Somehow, he felt as if he should comfort her, but he didn't know her story, so how could he? Soon, she walked off, still sobbing, but seeming to gather some self control. What was this he'd just witnessed? Could it be more than art? His mind rattled with insanely fast paced thoughts as he ran them over, gathering his things in a dream like manner, and slowly heading back to where he once was, in a crowded and cramp room, filled with nothing but himself, and his art.
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Days passed, and he was astounded at how little he'd been working on, or at least, how little of sellable creations he'd been working on. It was not only a passion of his to create art, but his job. He sold his art to rich buyers who wanted the unique, and because they wanted art that was not the norm, he worked day and night to create things to their appeal. If he slacked, or lost his touch, he lost his job. Most would say that they had something to fall back on, another talent or hobby that could also serve as a way of life, but he realized that art was his only forte, and because of this, he was just out of luck when it came to a disaster striking about money, or losing his job, or going bankrupt. He could fight, yes, but it wasn't so much of a joy to him that he'd make it a career, and besides, almost like art, it was a chance, one he didn't find appealing to take. He sometimes went to the gyms and practiced something close to karate or maybe even something he'd come up with on his own with people who shared the same interest in the field, but after a tragic accident with his red haired friend, it left him scared, and he didn't find fighting as much fun anymore. His friend also enjoyed art, and maybe was even a bit more artistic than himself. Why didn't he stop art? Because he couldn't, he was chained to it, and it was the only thing he could do. Why didn't he stop fighting? Yes, the accident with his friend involved fighting, and it was sad that it involved a girl. This girl killed his friend, how tragic… he guessed, however, the lifestyle in which he lived kept him from feeling too much sorrow. He was interested in the science of creating fireworks, but what could he do with that without some sort of degree from some college somewhere? He definitely didn't have the money to go to school, so that was out the window…
His sad life had been temporarily forgotten however, as he dwelled on the event that occurred days ago. He never thought he'd see the girl again, and that worried him slightly due to the fact that now he was beyond curious, it was an obsession. He found himself drawing her, working on that picture of her, painting her, and gazing at them constantly. He felt strange. What was this feeling?? What made him like this, made him neglect his work and focus only on a passion, obsession, and demise like what he'd seen. He didn't know if it was that he found her attractive, beautiful, artistic, phenomenal… It was a mystery to him.
His head began to hurt and he walked over to his window to soak in the dull light of the street lamps when he saw something that made him shudder slightly with excitement. How karma worked it's magic! It was her. She walked slowly, but with a timid stride, as if she were up to no good. She was wearing a jacket over another kimono she wore, one were the color was not easily detectable. Her eyes were wide and afraid looking.
He battled. Should he speak to her before she got away again?
He chose to go to her. He rushed from his upstairs art room, down into his den, which led into his shop or gallery. He Noticed that he was wearing a rather ragged cloth apron, covered in dried paints, oils, and the lot from painting over the years. His hair was ragged, his blond ponytail falling out of it's perch on the top of his head, and his jeans were torn and also covered in paint. He was not someone that someone as delicate and beautiful as her would feel comfortable talking to especially when he knew he'd sound sporadic and insane speaking to her because he was afraid she'd slip through his fingers and disappear. In his mind, third time wasn't the charm.
Either way, she was nearing the corner of the street, about to turn and never turn back after she'd been called, for some reason, he got that impression. So despite his haggard appearance, he dashed for his door, and subconsciously grabbed her arm.
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((Dialogue starts here, sorry for the long intro…))
She turned quickly, and gasped as a punch from nowhere landed him right on the cheek, knocking him to the ground and making him see stars. Yeah, she made the punch, but she wasn't even able to think about it before it happened. She bent down quickly to help the poor man up. His cheek was blotching red with irritation as he held it with a slight protective grip, as if she were going to do something else unpredictable. Her eyes narrowed in worry as she studied what she had done. "I'm so sorry! I-I didn't know who you were!" she said frantically as she helped him stand.
"So you punch perfect strangers? Seems you're up to something…un" he said with a bit of irritation as he glared at her. Most artists were serene beings, but this one had a short temper.
"I really am! I'm sorry!" she said again as she stuffed something in his arms and began to walk away.
He didn't quite understand her reaction, then he looked in his hands and saw a wad of cash that could buy a nice used car or something of comparison. His eyes grew wide, he could definitely use the money, but what was she doing with so much cash, and why was she so eager to get away from him? Maybe it was because she hurt him and was uneasy about the situation, so she decided to leave, or maybe something else was up.
"Hey!" he called as he began to follow her.
She looked over her shoulder and tried to keep walking, but she was soon stopped by the man that was so determined to keep her from doing what she needed to do.
"What now?" she asked. "I-I said I was sorry and paid you to get that fixed." she said.
"If you haven't realized by now, you didn't do enough damage to where I'd need to stay in the hospital for a few months. I can fix this at home. Look, I came out here for you anyway." he said.
The girl raised a thin, violet eyebrow. "Huh?" she asked cluelessly.
"I saw you one day in an old shrine garden. You looked so…so… different." he said.
The girl seemed to be growing steadily uneasy.
"I'm an artist you see, un…" he said with his usual strange force of habit. "I was looking for something new to draw, and you were-" he was cut short as he watched her turn heel and begin to walk quickly away.
"HEY!!! FUCKING WAIT A MINUTE!!!" he called as he grabbed her again with a bit more force than he intended.
Her eyes again grew to a deer like size, and he loved it. It was so beautiful in a strange way, her…she was…
"W-what do you want from me…?" she asked with worry in her voice. "I have to go…." she said more under toned than previously.
"I was only going to say that I drew you, and I wanted to draw you again, but I'm confused. What is your problem? I saw you that one day crying, and throwing things in the water, and looking detached from the world….Now tonight, you're being weird, or is this just you, un?" he asked curiously.
"You're the one grabbing perfect strangers, talking about seeing me somewhere else, drawing me, and now asking about my personal life!" she argued back with pure irritation.
He raised an eyebrow. "Look. I don't mean any harm, just-"
"Let me go!" she forced her arm away.
From a distance he could hear someone calling out, apparently for her. They were the only ones out, and she was the only female around, because the name they called out was perfectly feminine, and it was beautiful, a work of art itself. "HINATA!! HINATA!!"
Again she gasped.
"Is someone stalking you? Didn't pay your rent, what?" he asked her. "Do you need help?"
"No and no." she said her breath beginning to hitch in her throat constantly due to her nervousness.
"What about needing help?" he asked.
No response.
"Well, I guess I'll be on my way. I have plenty of pictures of you, un…" he said with a hopeless sigh. So there went an interesting inspiration. Just like all his other ideas, down the drain.
It took a few moments of him walking away, but she spoke to him. "Wait." she said.
He stopped and turned his head to look at her.
She sighed like she couldn't believe she was doing what she was doing. "I'm running away from home." she said.
He looked her over. "Doesn't look like an ordinary home. I've seen you in kimonos every time I've looked at you." he said. The voices were drawing closer.
Before he knew it, she had grabbed him and was dragging him away from their current area somewhere where not a soul was present. The voices of the people were distant now.
"I'm Hinata Hyuuga, heir to a clan that has been around for centuries. Our clan was once a clan that protected people for pay, and our bloodline limit was supposedly a powerful and unique asset of ours." she said.
He'd heard of them before. A bunch of filthy rich people living in the same lot of town. She was their heir?? It was like talking to the presidents' daughter or something!
"Let me get this straight, un. You're THE heir to that clan?" he asked.
She nodded vigorously.
His lips quirked slightly into a small mischievous smirk. "I see, so that explains the big cash." he said. "So then, why are you running away?" he asked.
"Why should I tell you?" she asked.
"Because, you dragged me into this place, and I could easily rat you out." he said.
"I'd take you down before that happened." she said.
"I'm a fighter myself, and I highly doubt you could take me on, and NOT get caught." he said.
Her silence waved the white flag.
"So then, what the hell is going on, un?" he asked.
"My family arranged a marriage between two clans. This clan, and the Uchiha clan." she said. "I am to marry the youngest of the two leader's children, Uchiha Sasuke, because of the absence of their oldest son Itachi Uchiha. The arrangement had been marked on for me to marry Itachi, but things changed when he left." she said. "The clan thinks I'm a weakness and will bring nothing but calamity to the tying of the Uchiha and Hyuuga clan, and constantly ridicule me. Then there's Sasuke…" she said.
"What about him?" he asked.
"…must I tell you this much? We don't know each other, and you could still rat me out." she said.
"True. I guess I can deal with that. So what do you propose I do? Just walk away from you now, or help you out?" he asked with a grin.
"…I guess I could use somewhere to hide out for now." she said.
"Settled. Come with me." he said.
"Why should I trust you though?" she asked.
As he helped her stand, he chuckled a bit. "Because I wouldn't have helped you up just now, not to mention the fact that I could have done anything to you if I wanted to in the time frame I've been around you, un. Even days ago." he said.
She nodded in understanding and he led her up a back way towards his little hole in the wall shop.
"So, you haven't told me your name." she asked him.
"Nothing to jump about like yours, but I'm Deidara."
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When they got back to the shop, he didn't flip on any lights, and then he led her up to his art room and turned on a dim lamp. "It's late, so it looks pretty normal for my light to be on like this on the second floor. Plus, who would want to come in this old shack at this time, or suspect you of being here, un?" he asked.
Hinata was quiet, he noticed as she looked around at all his various works of art. "You do nice work…" she said to him, her eyes looking directly into his.
He swore her eyes could pierce the very soul they stared into. So deep, no pupil, so it was like a pool of endless sea. "…Thank you." he finally said. "Not all of it is good, that's why most of the works are still up here." he explained.
She touched one picture that seemed to be abstract, then headed for another picture of a woman that was holding a flower, and smiling at it. She looked and saw he had many sculptures just sitting around. "So this is what you do…" she said.
"Yeah, artist. Don't make money and are bound their deepest passions." he said.
"Sounds less complicated than my life." she explained.
"You're one crazy girl, un. Didn't you ever hear that money makes the world go round? You should be thankful you don't have to stay up hours on end, painting a portrait just perfectly so you can make fifty bucks tomorrow, and then if you do even one thing they don't like, you're out of your money. And just multiply that by 5, so think about painting five different portraits in a week, and perfecting them all the time. Business is bad." he said.
"But I enjoy, painting…" she said thoughtfully.
He looked shocked. "You like to paint?" he asked. He wondered if she was a real artist, or if she just played around in the paint and called her picture something to be proud of just because she could make a stroke.
"Yes. All the time. I use to do it a lot when I was younger and didn't have to worry about betrothals and clans and all that stuff. Seems I've lost a lot of time." she said.
The girl grew more interesting by the second.
"You should be making a lot more, if it's for people who can afford to buy things as trivial as art to go on their walls." she explained.
"Yeah, well, you can only ask for so much when you're not a mainstream artist like some of the lucky famous ones. So then, Hinata was it? I just have to ask, do you honestly think they won't find you? I mean, you're the heir to the clan, and with all the money they have, I'm sure they'll be able to throw some pennies to scrounge you up, un." he explained.
"I'm not staying here. I'm going to go away, somewhere they won't look." she said. "Somewhere away from here." she said.
"Well, I hope you're plans work out, can't really say much, I don't know whose side to be on, I just hope you don't get me caught up with them, un." Deidara explained.
"I don't blame you for not really caring too much." she said.
"It's not that I don't care, it's just I don't know." he said.
Hinata nodded slowly.
"Look, it's late. You need some rest, and then you can get up tomorrow, and figure out what you need to do, okay, un?" he said pointing towards a small cot near a corner.
She looked at it questioningly, then back to him.
"I told you I stay up late a lot trying to meet deadlines. Can't I have a little nap in between, un?" he asked with a grin.
"I suppose." she said as she removed her jacket, revealing delicate arms. She placed her jacket on his coat rack, and laid out on the cot, covering herself up in the warm covers that seemed to soak in the scents of the paints, but it didn't matter and she began to drift off to sleep in no time, no more worries about not trusting him.
He had just turned around to begin working on something else before he turned in himself, but he couldn't help himself as he turned around to see her sleeping soundly, and a grin graced his face as he removed the canvas he was working on to reveal a blank one, one reserved for her, and he began to use the chalk again to etch out her sleeping form.
Beautiful even in sleep.
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A/N: Hope it was decent. If it's good enough, I'll update again. Please don't hold your breath though, but you can keep a look out for updates on this one, and I promise I'll get around to it again.
Thankies for reading my random idea!! ^^