A note from the author:
I'm very pleased to see people enjoying this. Though I strongly believe you should write for yourself, knowing others appreciate what you do is always nice. Even at this early stage I am thanking everyone, even if you've only skimmed.
Secondly I'm still putting in a warning(this will be the last) that there will be sex, drugs, and rock'n-course language, but I know you are all big scary Mature fanfic readers. I'll assume that you'll be fine.
Not to hold up the story anymore with my rapidly growing note, but for some great watching, I HIGHLY recommend the film Howl starring James Franco. It's full of obscenity and gay (or better yet read Howl and other Poemsby Allen Ginsberg).
Over the time of his suspension Deidara occupied most of his time living in a sort of teenage fantasy land. He stayed in bed well into the afternoon, awoke for just long enough to see his mother before she departed off for work, then did as he pleased the rest of the day. He worked mostly on sculptures and invited Hidan over, which always resulted in them getting into some mild trouble. Hidan preferred starting fights with strangers and under-aged drinking, while Deidara was much more likely to urge the older male to go out so he could put his rather sticky fingers in action. During those few days the young boy had watched a good portion of the discoloring underneath his eye disappear save for a tiny purple triangle underneath his left eye.
When the time came to return to school Deidara wasn't nearly as disappointed as one may presume. However, when he checked the school office for his backpack he found that Hidan wasn't as dense as he had initially figured. He was correct when he had said there was nothing even close to what he was looking for was stored in the closet which served as the "Lost and Found." The rest of the day consisted of late work drastically piling up and various teachers harassing him about his lack of textbooks and papers. By the time of his fourth hour two days after returning, Deidara was beyond frustrated by hearing this endless nagging for work that he had no way to complete. One particular teacher seemed to have him already pegged as a trouble maker and started prematurely threatening the young boy with book fines.
Now in the hour for 'Art Survey I,' he was ready for the only class he hadn't found beyond irritating. In front of him sat a simple still life of three different sized bottles. The goal of this exercise was for the class to master their speed and do a continuous line contour drawing of their bottles. Although, it didn't take long for Deidara's anger to transition into his artwork. What were meant to be delicate, precise lines came out harsh and dark, graphite layers rapidly building up on the edges. With the end of the hour rapidly approaching, Deidara, completely lost in his work, while he tried his best to make this rough style resemble the still life enough to get him a decent grade. While doing this, he was suddenly interrupted with something heavy being dropped on his table, the dust from the graphite spreading across the paper. Shortly after something much lighter was tossed in front of him, obscuring a great deal of his assignment.
Immediately the young boy recognized the object as his sketchbook. Deidara turned around, expecting to find one of the administrators looking mildly irritated, but instead saw an unfamiliar red haired boy. He looked older, he had to be at least a senior or one hell of a young looking student teacher. He was on the shorter end of a medium height with a slender build. However, what he lacked in physical structure, he compensated with appearance, looking better presented than most of his peers. He wore a muted burgundy sweater with well-fitted, dark denim and some darker colored dress shoes. His eyes were a grey color, which seemed lighter due his sclera's glassy and blood shot appearance. His eyelids fell heavily over those hazy orbs, making him look somewhat bored while his brow threatened to form a contradicting scowl. However, the corner of his lips were already pulled up in just the coyest of manner, forming an over all condescending smirk.
Confused as to how this person he would already characterize as an "arrogant bastard" got a hold of his belongings, Deidara put down his pencil. In a cool, smooth, voice this stranger spoke, "You. . .you would happen to be the owner of those." He rose a pale hand, first gesturing towards the bag, then to the sketchbook that was covering his still life. The red haired stranger left his hand there for a moment before reaching down and tapping the edge of the paper, "The terrible quality of your line. . .here. . .makes you the obvious owner of at least that sketchbook."
"Who the fuck do you think you are talking to me like that?" Deidara exploded, certainly not pleased to see the person who had caused him all this trouble stealing his things turn out to be nothing but a snobby, stoned, pretty boy. "And why would even have them in the first place?"
Refusing to answer, the stranger merely laughed and exited the room before the young blonde had time for his anger to get physical. For a few moments he sat there fuming, doing his best to ignore the others at his art table and how their eyes were wide with either shock or excitement. Then, as a small mercy the bell rang, signaling the class to go to lunch.
Orange tendrils greedily engulfed yet another piece of paper. The bleached edges curled under the insatiable flames, within moments turning them into nothing but ash and ember that had fallen on to the concrete. Deidara hit the nearly empty sketchbook against his thigh as he watched this scene in a subdued manner. It was quite a contrast from when he had frantically checked the contents of his sketchbook, nearly tearing out pages as he looked for anything that had been changed since getting it back. Although he found nothing but drawings he was beginning to become fond of, he decided the only proper action is to now destroy it.
The idea had first come to him after the lunch bell rang and he slowly walked to his locker. The hallways had been deserted when his shaking hands first opened the book, only to find his stacked anxiety had been for no reason. Perhaps more frustrated than he would have been with destroyed work, he had snatched his necessities and left. School would serve him nothing but added negative feelings and the make-shift fire pit in his backyard was looking lonely.
On the way home he had stopped by a convenience store, buying a simple bag of chips, but managing to lift three lighters in the process. With one of these lighters in hand, he lit a cigarette before feeding in another sheet of paper. Next to him his phone made a dull vibration in the grass. Regardless of whether it would be someone important or not, he ignored it. As an after thought he imagined his choice of ignoring it was the better than the strong urge to throw that in the fire as well. He considered how the plastic would melt, where it might burn, and all the lovely liquids inside which could be volatile enough in flame to give him a satisfying combustion.
Instead of acting on this urge that he was nurturing, Deidara opened up his sketchbook, taking out the only blank sheet left. Tracing the paper, he felt the slight grain against his finger tips. "Perhaps something will be saved." He thought to himself, though only audibly giving a grunt as he reached his hand in his pocket and grabbed a pen. Slowly he began to construct his fantasized scene, capturing every essence he wished to see. When the boy found himself satisfied with the product the fire had all but died. Tearing out the drawing, he sat it beside him, then proceeded in pitching in the rest of the sketchbook, "After all, this is completely new."
