This chapter, done.

I have now five weeks of high school left before I go to UNIVERSITY. I am excited. Alot of people are saying 'I am terribly scared' where as I am 'YES OUT OF THIS HELL HOLE!'.

As you can see I am excited.

I don't know what I'll do when this fanfiction is over. Any ideas?

I once again thank all reviews/alerts and favourites. They really do help me keep writing this. x

WARNING: This has a straight sexual scene and course language.

Enjoy. XXX

His reflection. It had always been attractive with natural blonde hair and a single blue eyes visible. Most woman loved his skin, brushed with a darker shade than his brother. He was always requested by people who wanted something exotic, exploring their homosexual curiousity with Deidara. His reflection was beautiful, thanks to Madara. He'd helped him grow from a rotting bulb into a blooming flower. Had he always had that scar on his arm? Deidara ran his fingers over it but couldn't remember where it had came from.

The blonde washed his face and dried his cheeks with a paper towel. The bathroom was deserted, and Deidara had become Narcissus as soon as he had spotted the mirror. He'd cleaned away the ash that had covered his cheeks and hoped to wipe away the swelling of the bruise but did not succeed. Soon enough due to the isolation he stripped off his shirt and washed the sweat and blood away from his body.

His nails were still sore from scrubbing them to the bone, removing Itachi's blood from were it crawled under his skin like a bad omen.

His chest was thin and his stomach was flat. He'd always been small as a child, the others used to to tease him about it. When they'd climb over the fences and steal the forbidden apples from the orchard, he would always be the closest to coming in contact one with the pitchfork the screaming farmer swung over his head. In a sketching pad tucked away somewhere, he still has pictures of that farmer. I wonder where it is, he thought briefly.

"Where has the time gone?" Deidara asked himself happily. He slid his shirt back on and looked in the mirror again.

The reflection was different than his own face, he suddenly realised. There were small things that simply didn't fit in. For one, he had more scars than the picture portrayed. As a child, his face had been covered in blemishes. Surely there had to be scars of them? What about when his friend had hit him between the eyes with a shovel? There should've been a deep line at the bridge of his nose, but all that lay there was unmarked skin. Was his mind playing tricks on him, or was it time?

Deidara filled his cupped hands with water, throwing it into his hair and shaking his mane. When he looked back at himself, his hair had taken a shade darker. Why had he decided to grow it so? New beginnings deserve new bodies to carry out the deeds.

The blonde with long flowing hair pulled a pocket knife from where he had forgotten it lived and flicked out the silver blade and held it at level with his ear and over his hair. Only when the first strand was cut did he flick the blade away quickly. The stray blond hairs in the sink made him cringe.

He was attached to it.

In apology, he stroked his locks back and tamed knots with clever fingers. He could still notice the cut strand, out of all the long pieces.

It was then that he discovered the mirror couldn't reflect his past without scars to assist, only the future. He smiled when he felt the paper plane tickets in his red jacket pocket, they made a small curve on his reflection's red jacket. There were his lips -red and full from constant attention- that symbolised that nothing between him and Itachi would be the same again. Deidara thought of heated summer nights, when they would make love on a single mattress they could barely afford. One of them would have forgotten to shut the window so the freezing wind would turn Itachi's white skin into a lighter shade with gooseflesh and moonlight. Outside there would be a riot between men and authorities in a game of cops and robbers. Even with such negative attributes, their love would be all they needed. And when Itachi took in a breath of air and let it back out in the shape of Deidara's name as he orgasmed, then the most beautiful art will be shown.

He felt himself stir from the thoughts and he muttered "That'll be true art, un"

Any other man in the toilets wouldn't have idea what Deidara was speaking of, or why he wore the grin that dropped so suddenly when he remembered where he gained that scar upon his arm.

xxx

Another strike of the clock, another hour it must've been. How many hours had he been slumped over the loveseat absent apart from himself and Kurotsuchi? How long had he been fingering her absent mindedly as if he simply completed a crossword? The laughing around him was absurd and beautiful, it was almost art. It only he could capture the sound, like a small child captures a butterfly in a jam jar, then he would have something nobody else had. It would be the gust of wind that pushes the feather and begins the reaction he desired.

"The bigger the reaction, the smaller the stimulus to start with"

"You'd have to smash the glass, you can't keep a butterfly or it'll lose its spark"

"Oh, Deidara! Faster, please!"

Had he been talking aloud? He'd been sure he had not, but his lips were misleading. They smothered Kurotsuchi at the moment. She moaned like she was in pain, and Deidara wondered if she was; maybe deep down she really was hurting. Her pain was art; everything was art! Every woman, man and child had an aspect that was art, all it needed was to be made. Then, after the crowd sees it, a split second and it's gone like the last rays of sun midst the blackened sky of night.

That was true beauty. A second of hysteria, like the orgasm she rode out upon his fingers. It was something that could be seen again, but never how it had been.

"Deidara. Do you love me?" she panted, and Deidara noticed that her eyes were like windows. The 'love' was holding each other in a room full of strangers, too scared to let go of each other in case they simply crumbled to dust outside their small world. She was the true definition of nothing and everything in the same sentence.

"Deidara?"

That word even, his name, would never be said with the same heartbroken tone. She had said his name a million times over, sometimes with a hiss and others with an arch of her back. Each was different and never to be seen again, taken by time and trapped in the jar the butterfly had escaped from.

"Deidara, answer me!"

There she went again, throwing art away as if it were a paper doll. He couldn't even remember the question, simply the inspiration he would forget when the smoke settled from the roof of the room. With her cheeks slowly going red and her frowning against eyes that crinkled with tears she looked utterly enraged, with the irony that he still had three fingers up inside her. Out of the growth of ego, Deidara began splitting his sides with laughter. Kurotsuchi's face fell. The tears she had been holding dripped shamelessly down her face.

She had had a feeling he was going say that. Not even saying, simply showing he didn't love her.

So many years, so many times, wasted on a man too warped by his own creations.

With an almighty shove Deidara was pushed off the loveseat, with his hand ripped away from under her skirt. He let out a confused laugh and held his arms up in confusion. She glared down at him and let her blunt nails dig into her skin, the pain almost absent from the rage she was experiencing.

Thinking of how stupid she'd been, wearing this blindfold she thought was truth.

"What the Hell, un?" Deidara cried out, advancing on Kurotsuchi again but her heeled foot slamming him down once more. He stood up and backed away, unable to see his flaw.

"GET OUT!" she shrieked, and pushed him towards the door "GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!"

As he was pushed out the door the archway's sharp edges sliced across Deidara's arm and blood began to roll.

In a party full of strangers nobody followed, simply laughed at the entertainment.

At midnight, Deidara fell on his own doormat in the central region of Japan with blood staining his shirt. He had thought that a place with such abstract ways could be his portal to expression, but had only been a dead end in which a flood followed his heels. Kurotsuchi stood over her ex lover, tears filled with cosmetics falling onto Deidara's face. Her dignity was lost along with her panties that were down to her ankles. The place she once lived was filled with faceless people that had raped her environment with something as simple as spilling wine on the carpet. Her short black hair was messed around and her light white eyes were now faced with too much truth.

"What the fuck, babe?" Deidara shouted, and shut his eyes and mouth when the contents of a wine glass wine was thrown in his face.

"Don't call me babe. Don't call me anything. You don't live here anymore" she spat, and Deidara felt his rage heighten to measure against hers.

"You can't just kick me out!" he screamed, and got onto two feet "You're nothing without me! I'm all the light and you're all the darkness, un! Without me, you're a husk"

She knew she would remember the last sentence for the rest of her life.

"You're just a man who thinks they have the gift of art. You don't love anymore"

Deidara spat at her feet, walking down the hallway and leaving only his blood trail, turning once more while grinning to add "I never did in the first place"

Kurotsuchi fell to her knees and began to cry.

xxx

Oh, that's were it came from. He thought and wondered how long thoughts of Kurotsuchi had been in exile. She hadn't entered his mind since Madara had found him, homeless on the street behind a brothel. Now, in a place where an empty spot was, something deeper grew: a thing called doubt.

"Itachi loves me" Deidara assured himself, and opened the bathroom door. He looked back at his reflection and muttered "He really does"

Itachi sat where he had been placed, staring at his feet now covered by shoes. He looked more like a child than he ever did when he was young. The emptiness inside him was present by the look in his eyes.

Deidara foolishly assumed it was sadness.

The suitcases Deidara had packed were pulled open, with objects tossed aside to seek out one object. A small jar was grasped between his fingers, loosely without a knowledge of what was really inside. The label was written in Japanese but Deidara instantly recognized it. Out of everything he'd packed in his rushed hysteria, it had been the first thing he'd grabbed.

"Itachi, un!" the blonde cried as he quickly gathered all the clothes littered around Itachi like an ocean of colour. He felt like he was taming a disobedient child. This wasn't how he imagined his Itachi to be. The Uchiha remained silent, almost unable to talk. Deidara placed a hand on his cheek; it felt cold. He pulled off his jacket and placed it around his brother's shoulders, rubbing his arms through the leather.

"Babydoll, you can't open our suitcases in the middle of the airport, un" Deidara said in a serious tone but couldn't resist to laugh at the end "Haven't you ever been traveling before?" Itachi looked up.

"You brought it"

Deidara instantly knew the connection and softly replied "Yer, un"

"Thank you" Itachi didn't mean it. The jar meant nothing to him anymore, even if his brother was in there. It was just a thing between his fingers, like his own life.

"Sorry about the clothes" he muttered. Deidara pulled him over into his arms, breathing in the scent of his air still present under the heavy stench of death. The airport was filled with people, saying goodbye and greeting hello. Some had tears of happiness while others of sadness. An old couple would see their daughter again in three days while a girlfriend would never see her boyfriend again. It was unusual but true the fact that the most love stored in a place was an airport.

Nobody cared that two boys that looked like girls embraced, covered in black and walking into the darkness with a single torch to guide them. Deidara held Itachi's hand to pull him closer. His words ignited when he muttered "I can't wait to get you alone" and began licking the skin he could reach. His hands fell by Itachi's hips and caressed the skin there while Itachi remained still.

"I love you too much" the lovesick boy whispered in his ear before kissing the lobe. He waited desperately for Itachi to reply.

"Yes, me too"

Deidara frowned and grasped his lover tighter, hanging onto the words for his life.

Reviews?

Thank you for being so patient with me. xxx

Happy days!