A sweet oneshot...I didn't want to do anything TOO extreme XD First time at trying to write a SasoDei fic o.o Dedicated to SasoDei-iz-awesome. -Smortex

Warning: Shonen ai. Boy x Boy, Don't like? Don't read.

Bold- English/expressive

Italics- Flashback/thoughts

"Dialogue"- Spoken Dialogue

Underlined italics- Flashback thinking

Complete Summary: {Oneshot} AU. Everything can just fall apart. SasoDei. {Dedicated to SasoDei-iz-Awesome}

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Sasori Akatsuki. The name carried a lot of weight, and someday it would carry even more. Someday they wouldn't even call him that; it would just be Akatsuki. If his father's plans went accordingly, in five years the world would call him the Master of Paradise. There would no one who called him Sasori besides Deidara.

Deidara had come up with that name, but only his youngest brother had picked it up. He held it precious, a name used by the two people he cared most about in the world. Just yesterday all three of them had gone out for the day, a rare chance to have fun, be normal, act their ages. He'd been happy.

Now? He felt…numb. No, that wasn't quite right.

Sasori stared at the mass of paper on his desk. Colorful brochures, bright pamphlets, picture-perfect postcards and at least a rainforest's worth of applications, explanations, and course books.

So many colleges and universities, all of them selected by his father.

Because Hikaru Akatsuki did not waste time with sentiment. No, he would not be sending his son to his Alma Mater. That school was not quite as reputable as it had been, and anyway Sasori needed to be closer to get (more) hands on work with the actual business.

He was the spitting image of his father, the ruthless Hikaru Akatsuki. Dark brown hair, with shades of what his mother called 'wine-red' when the light hit it. Girls cooed over it all the time, always touching and combing, driving him insane.

Eyes a sort of dark gold – amber is what people usually said, always pointing it out like he didn't know the color of his own eyes. Gangly, but he'd fill out, acquire his father's tall, lithe frame and look just as good in suit and tie. He knew it; it was what he'd been told. What he was meant to be. He was ever being shaped and molded to be perfect in everything. A Lord fit to rule Paradise; only his father would ever be his better.

So Sasori poured over the schools his father had approved of and passed on to him. Business schools of the highest caliber and with his grade school records and extracurricular activities, combined with a name that very few could equal for power and prestige, Sasori would not even really have to try to gain admittance. It would be handed to him.

None of them appealed.

From a desk drawer, Sasori pulled out a brochure that was less showy than the ones on his desk, but no less classy. It was for a smaller college, one of brick buildings and cobblestone paths, electric lights that mimicked their retired gaslight brothers. An arts school, one that was famous for its architectural courses.

Sasori could still feel his father's glare, the disappointment, the impatience. The ruthless refusal to let Sasori do any such thing, unless he could find time to dabble between his real studies.

Not that choosing which school to attend was really the source of his solemn mood. But he'd succeeded in distracting himself for a bit at least. Sasori looked up from the mess on his desk to stare out the window off the right. Wasn't really much to see at this angle, just a dark sky. A starless night, or at least it seemed. More than likely, they were simply drowned out by the city lights.

He felt…not numb. Hollow, that was it. Like something had been taken out of him.

Something. Sasori laughed at himself. Not thing. One. Someone. That someone was currently on a plane, though by this point he'd probably landed.

Sasori closed his eyes and relived that moment in the airport, right before Deidara had gone through security. He'd never forget those dark blue eyes, and how badly it had shaken him to realize Deidara had been close to tears.

They'd met on the second day of classes, sneaking up to the roof to hide. They'd been best friends ever since; a boy from nowhere who didn't care that 'Sasori' was Akatsuki. At times, it almost seemed as if it amused Deidara more than anything.

Then yesterday, out of nowhere, Deidara had declared he had to leave. He wouldn't be coming back. He couldn't leave any contact info, not even a phone number.

He'd hugged Deidara goodbye in front of security, holding tight to that too-skinny frame, smelling cinnamon gum and the woodsy shampoo he'd always teased Deidara for using. Deidara had hugged him tightly back and as they'd pulled apart, and for a moment it had seemed as if Deidara was about to do something else. What, Sasori didn't know, but he'd seen the moment in those green eyes…and watched it pass. Letting go had been the hardest thing he'd ever done, and he'd felt hollow ever since.

Did Deidara miss him? Had their friendship meant anything, that he could just say goodbye like that? Would he ever see Deidara again?

Sasori felt his eyes burn, and shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. From the hallway, the clock chimed once, twice, thrice, and he realized it was three in the morning. He should go to bed. Father would expect him up early to go to the office.

Friday night was another of mother's parties, and he would be expected to mingle and charm and begin to make the connections that would 'prove to be invaluable later in life' because his father 'would not do all the work for him, a real man does the work himself.' Except the only real work he was allowed to do was the work his father ordered.

Saturday he would be going to Paradise, an island to which some of the most powerful people in the world escaped. A place which he would someday control. Already he understood it as well as his father, and by the time he took it over he would know it better. Hikaru Akatsuki had ordered it be so, and Sasori would obey. His dreams of doing anything else had vanished along with Deidara.

In the hallway the soft, echoing chimes of the clock faded away, leaving only a stark silence. Sasori looked at his bed, then returned to gazing out the window, glanced at his desk, then repeated everything over again. Finally he gave up, and buried his head in his arms, folded on top of the desk.

If he made any sound, it was lost in the folds of his silk dinner shirt and piles of glossy campus pictures.