Oh ye of little faith

The interior of Grandma Chiyo's home was as familiar to her as yesterday's dream. Hatsue wandered through it in a daze. She touched various objects, sparking various memories, concrete connection to a friendship that has always been tried and tested.

It was everything to her.

She stood at the window, watching the sunset break through the skyline. The dark haired girl had planned this day differently being the usual hangout with Sasori and Komushi. Saying another farewell for another mission. But Komushi accidentally injected poison through his prosthetic arm, after an intense operation she had managed to save Komushi in the nick of time.

The horror descended on her, when she realized had she not been able to do so, Sasori would have blamed himself.

Or. . . would he?

Her steps slowed as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Lanterns flickered in the dark and Sasori's hair was more of a beacon down there than any source of light. The wooden limbs and torsos led her mind inexorably to the memory of Komushi, gasping in pain. Hatsue wished she would never have to see a friend like that, not after the skirmish with Iwa; never branded on her memory of Komushi's body violently shaking, skin burning, his screams, and his purple veins.

Even now she could see them, each branch of a poisoned vein seeping from his chopped limb.

She pictured how it could have spread to his torso: would she able to save his heart and use Sasori's prosthetic—

Something was wrong. Hatsue looked up on the puppet parts by the wall. She could feel the edges of her certainty fraying.

Sasori's puppets were never that small. Never that uninspired and human-like. They were not misshapen, not massive for concealed weaponry. It has been there for awhile as if it was saved for a time to use.

Which meant that Komushi's poisoning was no accident.

She let out a choked sob of horror.

The sequence of events had been engineered so perfectly to acquire Komushi's body.

"Sasori," she whispered.

"Hatsue," he answered, his back turning slowly.

"Yet here we are." He nods and turned, as though considering going back to his puppets to avoid being subjected to Hatsue's gaze. "I see this upsets you. I knew it would. I endeavored to keep you ignorant."

The brown eyed girl wanted to stagger back and run from him. From seeing more than the loneliness he embodied. "Sasori. . . you almost murdered our dearest friend."

His eyes flashed and all ease left his posture. "I am your dearest friend."

The enormity of her culpability threatened to overwhelm her. "Did he— Did you pick him because I like him?" A new realization stole her breath.

"Do not be petty," he clicked his tongue, his very denial was but a confirmation of his jealousy. "The creation of human puppets is complex. I needed to start with our age. Adults are afterall, troublesome."

"You would have taken a piece of me had Komushi died. War already takes chunks of me." She grabbed a random thing in the dark, and her easel and paints crashed on the floor. "You would have snuffed out the purest light in Suna just so you could make a copy of it."

His fists clenched, white skin pulled taut over the knuckles she had touched to remind him to release that tension. The hands she had held and looked for protection. "You overestimate his value. He was simple."

"He's almost like a brother to us! I don't understand, Sasori." Hatsue hesitated. "I don't understand you."

He frowned, tilting his head. "You understand me, Hatsue. You do. Don't tell me otherwise. You've seen me and my pursuit of eternity."

"What?"

"You understand me. You who can appreciate the beauty of the world so easily, you try to capture it for time immemorial— I have done all this for you. To save you."

"From what?"

He stood up, moving towards her in an explosive burst. Hatsue stood her ground even though his anger seemed mounting. She wanted to pretend she never discovered this side of him and pacify him.

She couldn't.

He grabbed her by the shoulders with the strength of his terrible grip. "You would die at anytime, and leave me here all alone."

How was it possible that in her attempts to rid him of his loneliness, it has twisted itself into a greater one? Loneliness tied to one's existence can only be called an obsession.

Hatsue looked at him. Really looked at him. This was worst of him yet. She doesn't want to run away. She owed him that much. She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

"You don't need to save me," she says finally.

There were books of fairytales that told her of jutsus to rid of curses. Of a princess who was punished because she desired. Of a princess who was shown mercy by taking away her ability to want.

When they were at the academy, she only wanted to be his friend.

And maybe get the bragging rights to be the first one.

She did this. Maybe because of her, he became twisted. Maybe if she was gone, he'd be fixed.

So Hatsue takes the first step closer, not just literally in making Sasori hate her.

Komushi surviving was a surprise. Hatsue's confrontation was a surprise. How the conversation ended was a surprise. Also, his heart did funny acrobatics that evening.

It leapt out of his throat when she asked him about Komushi.

It dropped to his stomach when he thought of losing her friendship.

It squeezed when she described Komushi's existence.

It drummed hard in between moments and then. . .

It stopped.

In the orange glow of the lamps, and some shadows.

In the heavy silence, save for their breaths.

A gentle tug on his poncho.

Something soft pressed against his lips.

The bitter taste of tea.

He forgot to breathe.

Sasori's first kiss went like this.

AN: It's taking everything in me to stop myself from axing this series and just post the ending so we could all have closure just in case I don't want to write anymore. I am as rusty as nails.