A/N: Eyup. Not much to say about this story at all, except that I've never written for any of these characters before and I'm hoping you all can't tell that.

Deidara lives on the third floor of the victorian style house. He's lived there for five years already, and is the first child that Konan takes on. When the government issued worker comes to drop him off, Konan is waiting for him. She stands on the front porch with her blue hair tucked behind her ears and a slight smile on her face, and she seems welcoming, which is an odd thought for the young blond.

He isn't used to adults that are welcoming.

So he puts on the breaks just at the foot of the stone steps leading up to the porch, and the man beside him digs fingers into his shoulders trying to get him take another step.

"Come on, Deidara." he says, and his voice is harsh and impatient. "I told you that now is not the time to play around."

Deidara refuses to move, going so far as to take a hesitant step away from the porch. He glances around, and then his one good eye, the one that isn't covered by thick locks of blond hair, the one that is still blue, it spots the forest to his left. For a moment, he wonders whether or not he can make it there.

"Deidara?" questions Konan, and her voice suits her. Soft but firm. Pleasant, but not simpering.

It catches the blond's attention, and he tilts his head to look at her. She smiles and doesn't speak, just steps to the side and motions to the open doorway. The government man, who had never even bothered to introduce himself, is already in his sleek, shining car and driving away.

Defeated, Diedara lets out a soft sigh and gives in.

-x-x-x-

This isn't the first foster home that Deidara has been in. Far from it, actually. It's his seventh. Or maybe his eighth? Hell, at this point, he doesn't even remember. Just knows that this place is different.

Konan is the only other person who lives here, which is a change in and of itself. Deidara is used to screaming children, to having to push and shove and burn just to get a smidge of attention, to get his fair share of the food or be able to sleep in his own bed.

Here, all he has to do is ask.

It should be comforting. Finally having an adult to himself. Having the attention now, at fourteen, that he didn't have when he was younger, when he really needed it. But it isn't. It's so damn frustrating, because now Deidara doesn't know what to do with himself.

-x-x-x-

Deidara has thick, long blond hair. It reaches down to his hips, almost, and just sort of hangs there. Every morning, he brushes it out and arranges his bangs, moving the hair so it falls in front of his eyes and tries to keep his hands down, to avoid brushing it to the side. That's how he's worn his hair for years.

Since he was seven, actually.

Since the accident.

One day, he's downstairs, in the living room. Just sitting there, on the over-stuffed white couch that sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by potted plants and shelves stacked high with books he has never bothered to read. His light blue eye, the one with the least amount of hair hanging over it, is focused on the bizzarly patterend wallpaper, trying to find shapes in the dark green swirls.

Behind him, he can hear the front door open. The click-clack of his heels. Then a slight thunk, as it's closed once more.

"Deidara? I'm home." calls Konan, just as she always does, whether she gets an answer or not.

Today, her answer comes in the form of a grunt. Which is an improvement, because for the longest time her charge just ignored her.

Konan sets her purse down on the floor, then heads into the living room. Pauses behind the couch and watches for a moment, then she places a hand on the young mans shoulder. "Your hair is a mess."

Deidara wrinkles his nose, tilting his head back to look at the older woman. "What?"

"Your hair." repeats Konan, and this time she runs a few pale fingers through his golden tresses. "It needs to be cut."

"Hands off, yeah!" snaps Deidara, scooting forward and onto the edge of his seat. He shifts slightly, narrowing his eyes at the blue haired woman. "My hair's fine. I like it long!"

"There's a difference between being long and just being a mess." says Konan, but she doesn't move to touch it again. Instead, she turns and starts down the hall, towards the first floor bathroom. "If you want, I can see if I can do something with it."

-x-x-x-

He doesn't know why he follows her. Certainly not because he wants her to mess with his hair. No, he likes his hair. He likes the fact that it's long and decieving and it works well to hide his eye, anyway, so wasn't that a plus?

Yes, of course it was. No one wanted to stare at that mess, least of all Deidara.

Still, he finds himself getting to his feet and heading towards the bathroom. The house is quiet, like always, and the only sound he can hear is the flip-flop of bare feet hitting the cold floor.

It's nerve-wracking, because he's used to noise and bustle and heat and what kind of a home is this, anyway? Nothing like the ones that he's been in before - and that thought is re-enforced when he stops just outside of the bathroom and watches as Konan pulls things out of the medicine cabinet.

"Are you going to let me work with your hair?" she asks, not looking towards him.

Deidara pauses. Shuffles his feet. Then slowely moves in to join her.

"Depends on what you want to do with it." he answers, sideling over to the marble counter she's standing in front of. It's in front of a mirror; and suddenly he understands what she means, looking at the tangled mass of hair that hangs over his shoulders and in his face.

He looks homeless - and that's why Konan is doing this, he decides, because she doesn't want to be associated with him and school starts just a few weeks from then.

The thought of school and the problems that it brings distracts Deidara enough that he doesn't notice when she begins to snip off the dead-ends. Isn't paying attention until nimble fingers are sifting through his hair and drawing it back, and then he is tensing and debating on running and is it too late?

No, it isn't too late, but Konan isn't pulling the hair away from his left eye. Just rearranging it, sliding his bangs to one side and pulling what won't stay there back. Gathers some of the hair off of his back, and then pulling it up and up, taking the extra bang pieces with it, and securing it into a pony-tail on the top of his head.

Suddenly, he doesn't look like a lost child any more.