It's me! :) Sorry, I'm in between computers again. Enjoy! :)
Deidara's drifting in colours, breathing anything but air when the music reaches him.
It's dark and almost cold; the window's half open, the door's half closed. Deidara feels the presence before he feels the touch; two fingers caressing his cheek, and then the weight of a light-heavy hand on his chest.
Deidara opens his eyes. He opens his eyes for the person he'd do anything for.
Sasori intertwines their fingers, and the dance begins.
It's not a routine, but Deidara knows it by heart, so it might as well be. The blankets fall away as he stands; the one on top slides off the mattress and the frayed, well-loved edge is noticeable again. The thin, navy blue, fleece blanket below that, Sasori's blanket, smooths itself to the sheets, pretends it's never been disturbed. Deidara presses his cheek to Sasori's and follows. Sasori presses his heart to Deidara's and leads.
They're poetry in motion. Sasori knows waltzes and tangoes, foxtrots and quicksteps, but what he chooses is everything in between, slow and fast and beautiful and wonderful.
There's simply not enough room in the world for them to be together. Sasori twirls them out into the hallway and they settle for swaying down the stairs, around the banisters, through the house, while the music climbs and falls, while eternity waxes and wanes, while art dies and is reborn. The kitten has been sleeping under the glass-top coffee table. She lifts her head, but they're something unextraordinary to watch, they're something that melds with the rest of the world so easily; she returns to her claimed patch of carpet, apathetic to them, indifferent to their synchronization and beauty.
Sasori catches his leg on the edge of the sofa as they pass, and only then does Deidara look in his eyes. He's pleading, begging not to let it end so soon. Sasori drags his feet, tries to make the music slow, tries to make a second last a year.
It hurts, but Deidara won't have it; he steals the lead for a moment, conducts the music with his soul as the baton. More energy, more emotion. We'll go out with a bang if we go out at all. Deidara's not as smart as Sasori, has not had a lifetime to perfect everything or to make it all his own, but he has all the energy, all the optimism, all the love to pull it off. The kitten stirs again, leaps to the couch, curls up against a navy blue pillow.
Deidara lets blue meet brown, lets all colours and emotions collide. Sasori's hand goes slack in Deidara's for one second, then he hardens his resolve. Deidara would love to kiss him now, and he knows Sasori would if they were in a position to; but they're not, so they keep dancing. They keep moving, and don't dwell on silly things like the past or the present or where do I go from here.
Deidara's heartbeat swallows up the sound of Sasori's footsteps as they climb the stairs and the music falls. It's already ending.
It was great while it lasted. Deidara's lips move but no sound comes out. Sasori senses him slowing, at the top of the stairs and marches them on, both of them, brave in the face of adversity, stubborn even to the point of death. "We'll make it," Sasori says, but neglects to say how or where or whySasoriwhy.
The door to Sasori's study is locked to keep memories from entering the house; yet, Sasori pushes it and it opens, knowing Sasori and the touch of his hand as well as Deidara does.
Half-packed boxes are strewn everywhere. Paintings are stacked haphazardly, against walls, on the floor. Some are trashed. A tiny one lacking shadows lays untouched on a desk while a desert landscape lacking a varnish has been torn, ruined. Sasori knocks it down, not caring for things that stress Deidara. Would not care for himself, if Deidara so desired. Would give up air and breathe water, if he was asked.
He twirls Deidara around the boxes. He won't stop here, not in a place with so many things terminated halfway through. So many things he will not return to finish. So he asks: "You'll finish this, right?" Asks for Deidara to put a stop to it, to close the book and start writing anew.
And Deidara's willing for it to end. He's ready to let go.
He'll end everything: the smiles, but also the tears.
When they reach the doorway and step away from everything, Deidara vows to return. "I will," he says.
Sasori kisses him, tries not to hold on as the music suddenly fades and they fall. Deidara falls, back into his bed and out of his dreams.
The dance is over.
Deidara blinks dry eyes into the darkness, shifts under his two layers of blankets, and goes back to sleep.
Sunday morning. Deidara closes the window when he wakes, opens the door and leaves it open.
He wraps twitchy fingers around his phone. Calls Tobi.
"Dei? It's been months. Everything okay?"
He shakes, but he speaks. He's not unafraid, but unfearful.
"I have some things I need help moving, un. You're free today, right, un?" he asks
There's a pause. Maybe Tobi's leafing through a calendar. Maybe he's checking his phone, his schedule- looking for a reason, any reason to say no.
(Deidara knows there isn't one.)
And finally: "I am."