Someday soon, Deidara thinks, one of them is going to fall.
He would rather see Sasori going down first, but the thought is strangely unnerving, perhaps because he has often wanted to see the puppeteer die by his own hands and clay.
Despite their faulty teamwork, he holds no hate for Sasori. And yet, the image of him disappearing in one glorious explosion, one fleeting moment to resume perfection, makes Deidara smile and chuckle quietly to himself when the other is not looking.
He will find him without Hiruko, in time. Then, grinning in joy, he will ignite something deliciously destructive, and it will be the most beautiful thing in the world.
Sure, it is quite difficult for him to imagine his companion's exact reaction if he ever tells him; it would be something among the lines of an unreadable look, and murder. But Deidara will only do it when he is strong enough, and Sasori will not be able to stop him.
Besides, it will only hurt for a single second.
Sasori will only feel it for a second. Nonetheless, he would feel, and that's what makes Deidara so joyous. Because being so dead and inhuman and cold, he would still feel fear.
Sasori would loathe knowing such thought cross the other's head. He would not think much of it, but he would call it betrayal.
Deidara calls it art. Art in its most immaculate form.
But then there is the possibility of being the first one to fall, and that is ever more unnerving…
"Yes, un…" He says slowly, his eye unfocused, "What if I died…?"
The other grunts, annoyed, and wonders why he is not surprised; silence between the two never lasts too long, as much as he'd want it to.
He wonders where such a question came from, although not directed to him. He thinks he will decide Deidara is just trying to annoy him.
And still, after a moment he speaks, "I would rejoice."
"I know that, un." Deidara scoffs, too tempted by his fantasizing to become angered. "And I would probably do the same if you died."
Sasori turns Hiruko's head towards him very slightly, and Deidara can imagine him glaring inside the puppet. Instantly, he is reminded of the usual answer to comments like those, and rolls his eyes.
"…yes Sasori-danna. You're going to die someday."
"No."
"Yes, un. You'll die and I'll rejoice."
Sasori shakes his puppet's head at this, wondering when Deidara will understand that his art is not fleeting, unlike those fireworks that he has no taste for, but his so-called team-mate cherishes so greatly.
He isn't made of anything that will not rot, but it can always be replaced.
If Deidara survives long enough, he will understand. Upon seeing him untouched by age as his own body grows weaker, he will realize that true art is eternal.
"But if I die before you, am I going to become one of your puppets?"
This time Sasori suspects. He yet again wonders where such a question came from, but he is sure Deidara knows the answer, for which he suspects the true reason of his inquiries.
He decides to answer as briefly as possible, with one firm "No."
Both grow quiet, but this makes Sasori slightly confused. And so he adds: "You would hate that."
"True," the other replies, "just curious, un."
Deidara, indeed, does know he is not to become a battle toy. For all he knows, he is most probably not considered worthy of the puppet show Sasori calls art. But a mere sculptor could never comprehend how no musical masterpiece and no painting can capture the perfection of his explosions; it would be his loss only.
Someday and for the sake of his art, Deidara is now sure, he will have to kill Sasori.