Twelfth Day: Fleeting

Written in 2015.

It took seven words to get a reaction out of Sasori. Out of everything Deidara had said to him, pleaded with him, it was those seven words strung together that got Sasori to act.

"Don't pretend that you care about me." It was bitter, nearly spat out over the breakfast table where Sasori usually worked on a new version of a puppet, a cup of coffee by his side.

The sentence got Sasori to freeze, and he looked at Deidara, confused and stricken with hurt.

"What are you saying, Deidara? I've always cared about you." But as he said it, he didn't put down the small bits of wood that he always seemed to be fiddling with. Deidara wished his stare could burn the thing.

What had they been talking about before? Deidara was upset to say he could hardly remember the specifics, but he knew it was the same spat every time. But this time, Deidara was done.

"Then why am I always second best to your," Deidara stopped, feeling frustrated enough that the word wouldn't come out. That his lover's obsession had gone so far. "Puppets," he breathed out gently. "It's always your puppets, Sasori, un."

Once hearing this, Sasori appeared annoyed, but indifferent in the end. He continued to work. Sasori just saw this as the same fit that Deidara always threw.

And it was the same fit because Deidara felt it so often, that he was in the way, or forgotten all together. That he was second best when it came to Sasori's heart, mind, and his puppets.

"You're even ignoring me now, un," Deidara said, voice firm, doing his best to not let wet anger take over, where he would start to cry hot tears that wouldn't stop.

"I'm listening," Sasori replied, but he didn't make any other indication of doing so.

Deidara got up with his plate, leaving Sasori at the table, and he half expected Sasori to look up, and at least ask what was wrong. Expectations hurt the most, thinking you know a person well enough, only to have it backfire. Deidara stopped expecting anything.

Once at the sink, Deidara looked over to see the blank face the puppet, yet unmarked. Was that where Sasori's apathy came from? Those bare slabs of wood that Sasori spent hours carving into? They gave no words, or feelings. No comfort. How could Sasori spend so much time with something that didn't respond, or love him back? Was that where Sasori learned it from? The insensitivity towards Deidara?

It wasn't always like that. Sasori did seem to care at first, when they met, spilling their views on the world like debaters who had the attention of all ears. Deidara admired Sasori's passion for his beliefs, what true art was in his eyes. He admired, but never believed it.

Eternity was what Sasori cared about the most, making things last, but now Deidara saw it as dragging things out. He saw it as framing the one important moment in a person's life and revisiting just that moment because it was perfect, never moving on.

Deidara loved the fleeting. He loved the reflection once past something, analyzing it in his mind to understand, to improve for the future. He wanted to transcend for those he would meet, because some of them only deserved the best, most upgraded version of him, and the others who couldn't appreciate, got scraps put together. And Sasori was nearing scraps.

Deidara couldn't look to the past anymore for help, because he was stuck in the never ending now. The now where Sasori dominated his thoughts, but Deidara was never on his mind. It was forever puppets.

Perhaps that's where their beliefs clashed horribly. Deidara was tired of Sasori's forever and he wished that Sasori would move on. Why couldn't Sasori move onto Deidara?

"How long are you going to keep the water running?"

Deidara hadn't even been washing the dishes, just letting his hands and forearms get wet under the water, sleeves soaked.

"I thought you liked things to go on for forever, un," Deidara said as he shut off the faucet.

"Hm?" Sasori questioned and Deidara knew he wasn't looking up.

"Nothing, un." Deidara reached for a dish towel on the counter and wiped up most of the mess before leaving the kitchen. Sundays were the worst. He was always alone with his thoughts.

–

"Get a lot done today, un?"

Deidara was applying the usual amount of lotion onto his hands before bed, the clay that he used that day drying out his skin.

Sasori hummed something and Deidara was unsure of what it meant. Sasori was currently drawing in a sketchbook, back against the headboard, and when Deidara looked over, he wasn't surprised to see puppets as the main theme.

"The gallery called, and they said that they can take three more puppets into their exhibit." Sasori sounded excited, far more excited than Deidara had heard him sound in a long time. But he still wasn't looking at Deidara.

"That's great, un," Deidara said, and even though Sasori never made any money on having puppets on display–unless someone wanted to purchase one in a blue moon– it seemed to give him great pride.

Deidara wasn't asked what he had done that day and he wasn't expecting that. He tried not to expect anything. Deidara simply got into bed and turned off his lamp while Sasori's kept his on and continued to draw.

–

It was Deidara's beliefs, wasn't it? He loved things that were short-lived. He loved Sasori, so did that mean that their relationship wouldn't last? Was it his fault that Sasori didn't care anymore?

Sasori had to care about something besides his puppets. What did Sasori even like about Deidara again?

Deidara had asked one night, when the both of them were in bed, not touching. "You care about me, right, Sasori?" His voice sounded like a boom to his own ears, and he wasn't able to cherish the feeling of sounding large.

There was a tired sigh from Sasori. "Yes, Deidara." It sounded like a chore for Sasori to say.

"What makes you care about me, un?"

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

Deidara wanted to say it again. Don't pretend that you care about me. Pretending hurt more than anything. Saying it outright, took guts and meaning. It meant that there was at least a bit of caring, enough to end what was broken.

But when Sasori pretended, it meant that Sasori couldn't even bother to end it. He couldn't give a flying fuck when it came to what caring was. Sasori didn't care about Deidara and it was strange to think that it had been going on like this for such a long time now. Deidara was so used to it, and he felt like an idiot for thinking Sasori would show any resemblance of caring for Deidara.

Deidara reached a hand out across the bed, shivering at the cold sheets he encountered. He tried to reach for Sasori's hand, arm, even a shirt sleeve, but Sasori moved away and sat up.

"I'm going to work some more. Don't wait up."

He left the room and it took all of Deidara's willpower to not leave without looking back. Because compared to Sasori, he cared too much.

The opposite of love's indifference lol

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