Croodle
(v.) to cuddle or nestle together, as from fear or cold.

The air is crisp yet heavy with an oncoming thunderstorm. The sky darkens much earlier than usual, and alerts everyone that the storm is approaching much earlier than predicted. Wind whips harshly outside, howling low and whistling high. Branches of trees slap against each other as the clouds slowly, ever so gently, grow heavier and heavier; until the first pitter patter of fat dew raindrops fall from the heavens and onto the soil on earth.

There are many things one may do on a day like this. Enjoy a small drink as they sit beside a window, listening to nature's lullaby as raindrops tap against any surfaces they might reach. Or snuggle up against themselves, wrapped in whatever they may find, whether or not it be their own tail, as the world outside gets cleansed from the dirt of everyday commotion.

The scent of petrichor fills the air, filtering through the gaps around nature and drifting over the area it can reach. Tobi struggles into the room, shouldering the cheap door open. His arms are full, and his limbs are beginning to grow tired and weary. But they can't be as tired and weary as Deidara's, seeing as the blonde artist had fallen asleep on the way back to the hideout. The man didn't even had time to enjoy the rain, the lifeblood of the main material of his artwork.

Tobi decides that he should reward himself a nice warm shower before going to sleep, after he's placed this overgrown baby to bed. It's quite funny to watch, when Deidara was drifting in and out of consciousness as he was sitting crossed legged on his clay bird, trying his best not to fall asleep after a long and dreary mission. The sky had been covered in an explosion of color when the sun was setting, and if Deidara was in the right mind, he would have commented on how beautiful it was, and how it was true art.

Tobi of course, would have nodded along with whatever his senpai was saying, pretending to wholly agree whenever Deidara spoke of his motto, that beauty is fleeting. "A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts," Deidara would say sometimes. "We think order and chaos are somehow opposites and try to control what won't be. But there is grace in our failings. It's a privilege to be among it."

The masked ninja places down the sleeping artist on his bed, his footsteps silent on the matted floor of their shared room. Out like a light, Tobi muses to himself, resting a gloved hand on the younger man's head for a quiet moment, just enjoying what might be between them and the sound of rain accompanying what's left.

He retracts his hand and kicks off his sandals, tugging at his gloves and shrugging off his black and red cloak. His shower is quick and satisfying, just enough to leave a comfortable feeling on his skin, washing away any dirt that might have stuck with him during the mission. His hair is reduced to dripping wet strands of black that hang on his head, and he shakes them repeatedly to get water droplets flinging about. It makes him happy doing that, a tiny action he found immense joy in ever since he was a kid.

Just when he retreats from the bathroom, he notices that Deidara had awoken briefly from his slumber, for his sandals are off and so is his cloak. All discarded on the floor like the unmannered child he is. Tobi would be scolded in the morning if he let Deidara's cloak sit on the floor for the entire night, right at the spot where Deidara would step on when he awakens the next day, because apparently it's Tobi's fault. Sighing at the not to distant memory of Deidara shouting at him for exactly that reason, Tobi walks over to his partner's bed and picks up the article, tossing it lightly in his hands as he tosses it at Deidara's table, the table the blonde artist works at to "perfect his art" or whatever mumbo jumbo he calls it.

Running a hand through his wet hair, he stares down at the man in the dimmed lighting of the room. The light isn't turned on, and the only source they have is the moon through the raincloud filled sky. His partner looks as windswept as the trees outside, and Tobi couldn't really blame the man. He reaches down to grab at the edge of the comforter, which is tossed to the edge of the bed. Deidara isn't much of a blanket hoarder, in fact, he's the opposite. He kicks off anything placed on him while he sleeps, and when he comes down with the flu during a particularly cold night, it isn't very much surprising.

He pulls the comforter over the blonde man and watches as he struggles beneath them, trying to figure out whether or not he wants to kick them off or snuggle in it so that he would be cocooned in its warmth. Chuckling inwardly, Tobi moves to turn and head to his own bed, so that he could get a good night's rest after their tiring mission. A tug at his shirt stops him in his steps and he turns to find Deidara staring at him through half-lidded blue eyes, the color of sapphires piercing through the darkened night and heavy storm.

"Sleep," Tobi tries to urge him, reaching behind and attempting to untangle Deidara's fingers from his shirt. The black painted nails almost blend into the lighting, and if it isn't for the reflective surface of the paint, he would have lost the border between himself and Deidara.

Deidara is having none of it, and tugs harder. By this time, Tobi is confused. He tries his best to attempt to understand what Deidara is thinking, but his blue eyes are unmoving like a wall of a sea's wave, threatening to consume everything if nothing goes his way. Tobi doesn't doubt the fact that Deidara would throw a tantrum even when half awake, probably blowing everything into smithereens.

Following the direction of Deidara's tug, he eventually finds himself nestling underneath the covers, which is already growing warm. Deidara closes his eyes, snuggling closer and resting his forehead on Tobi's chest, curling up with a content sigh. With his breathing heavier and steadier, it is evident that the artist has gone back to sleep.

Smiling lightly to himself, Tobi reaches over Deidara and tugs off his mask, which he finds obstructing when Deidara is physically cuddling him. It is simply adorable. He wants to rest a hand on Deidara's shoulder, but he hesitates. Eventually he settles with wrapping an arm around the smaller man, pulling him closer as he buries his nose into Deidara's unkempt hair. He smells of clay and ash, the scent of the mission, and an underlying tint of fire and burnt wood. One would come to appreciate such scents, when forced together for a long time.

If he had any trouble falling asleep, the warmth of Deidara and the lullaby of the raindrops pull him under. He wonders briefly why Deidara wants to do this. There was something else that sparkles beneath those pure blue optics, and perhaps it was fear. He couldn't possibly fathom what he could be afraid of, but he doesn't bother trying to confuse himself over such trivial things. Tripping himself now would only bring annoyance to him in the morning, so he allows things to simply be, slipping off into slumber.

There is, after all, grace in their failings, as they continue to try and control what won't be.