NotaPunk; Awhile ago I wrote a Hinata/Haku story, at first no one would review, it got to the point that I even forgot about it. Until one day I got the most beautiful thing in my email, a notification that someone had reviewed. That wonderful person was deidaraxhinata, and the review gave me the confidence to keep writing! Sorry deidaraxhinata that it's little late or early, I just wanted to make it the best that I could! Also bold means memory lane.
Ages
Deidara; 19
Hinata; 17
That Night
Deidara's POV
It was raining, I hate the rain. It reminds me of the never ending suffering and tears that she went through daily. I sat next to my bedroom window, my head resting against the cool glass as the rain drops fell.
The way that she did everything and anything to impress him, even changing herself in the process, only for him to scoff and tell her how worthless she was. It disgusted me. How far she went to the edge and back for this prick, only for him to roll his eyes and ignore her. She did everything for him, her father, yet he didn't and wouldn't ever care. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see the girl I was thinking about sleeping on my bed.
It had been another night of tears and comfort between us again. Hinata and I only started dating a five months ago, and yet just three months ago I only started to learn of her loneliness, her pain. I cringed when she moved and her wrapped forearm was revealed. Sighing, I stood up and started getting ready for another day. As I put on my pants the memory of the first time we met struck me.
I had an assignment in my art class to sketch. I hated sketching along with many other art styles, but I hated sketching the most. Art was fleeting, just like time. Nothing ever lasts forever. That's what made youth and love so beautiful. What made life so tragic. I was boredly looking around for a subject, anything really that would catch my interest for more then a minute. Then I heard pounding. That caught my interest. When I found the source of the pounding I was quite surprised. It was a girl with dark blue hair, and pale skin. She was using her palms and hitting a large tree. The tree had stains of blood from where her hands struck it. What really caught my attention was her face. So child like, yet it seemed aged with years of pain. Soft, but hardened with sadness. Her small pink mouth was in a firm line, that only opened to breathe, Her lavender eyes, only focusing on the tree, but tears streamed from their corners. Mesmerized, I started sketching with out noticing it. She was the perfect example of true art. She had become my muse.
It had taken a month of pursuing her but I finally obtained my muse's name. Hinata, even her name symbolized art. Her name which meant a sun to most people, struck a chord within my very soul. It meant something much more then that. It meant fleeting joy.
At the time I didn't realize it, but after awhile, she would stop being my muse and become something much more important.
After two months of butterfly kisses and late night phone calls, I finally learned. One night I had to stay late at school, when I reached my apartment, Hinata was outside my door, sleeping. I smiled thinking how cute she was. I put my things down and got out my key, unlocking and opening the door. Putting my key away, I picked up Hinata bridal style, then walked in, placing her on my couch. I quickly left to retrieve my things. When I returned I heard moaning coming from the couch, I rushed over quickly and saw the tears running down her face.
Hinata was crying, I realized. Hinata was crying in her sleep. I placed my hand on her shoulder and shook lightly, effectively waking her from her slumber. Her eyes blinked open slowly, and the tears didn't stop.
She looked at me, and slowly wrapped her arms around my neck calling out my name in the process. For an hour she sobbed into my chest, never stopping. Finally when I had calmed her down enough to speak she told me of her pain.
She told me of her uncle's death, her cousin's hatred. She told me of her father's favoritism, her sister's spite. She told me of her mother's carelessness, of the glares and whispers she received at school. She told me of her thoughts and feelings. Her fear and depression. How her parents would tell her that she would be fine. She told me of the cuts and burns she inflicted on herself. How tonight she considered suicide and how she thought I was one of the few that actually cared. She cried again and this time there was no stopping her.
I told her, that this, that this night would be the last that she ever would be alone. The last night that she would cry herself asleep, that she would feel unloved. That night we cried together, and that night we felt the pain together.
That night, I learned that not everything ended, that some things continued for ever. That night I learned that art is not always beautiful.
That night Hinata and I decided that she would live with me, but before that, she would have to go into the hospital. Where she would receive all the care she needed. She stayed there for two weeks and continued talking to a therapist regularly. She took up poetry as an outlet.
That night I thought I learned something. That night I learned that some things would never end, that they would continue forever. Like, once someone was dead, they would not stop being dead, or how there would always be a bad guy. That night also reconfirmed my belief in art. That things don't last forever, like Hinata's tears or pain.
I walked over to the sleeping beauty that I called my own. How long she would love me, I wasn't sure. I guess that was also an art, uncertainty. It was confusing and beautiful, just like the sun, just like Hinata.
End
NotaPunk; I hope that it was acceptable, I've only read for this pairing, never written. I know that I kinda like it and I hope that you do. *bows* But I understand if you don't. Also I'm sorry that it's kinda short, whenever I tried writing this I would cry and people would tell me to get off.