A/N:
Shoutout to the amazing hkandi for helping beta read my fic! This story wouldn't exist without you.
To give you a heads-up of what you're getting into, this story has three main themes running in parallel: romance, platonic relationships, and redemption, with a sprinkle of action thrown in there. It takes place in canon, during the time skip between the OG Naruto and Shippuden, about a year before the Akatsuki begin their Tailed Beasts hunt and derails heavily from there. Although I'd consider this an angsty fic with a happy ending, some character deaths are... sadly, to be expected.
Anyway, this fic is my desperate attempt to flesh out these two seemingly unredeemable assholes and give them the love they deserved yet rarely received. It's going to be a long and wild ride, so please sit back and enjoy (and leave feedback if you want, I'd really appreciate it)!
Chapter 1: Criminals with Hearts
When Deidara was young, Onoki used to tell him a story.
It was a tale that traveled across the Land of Earth, among whispers of old-timers and bedtime stories of parents to their puberty-stricken daughters. Their purpose: to warn against the dangers of unreciprocated feelings.
Its absurdity was so great; people would either dismiss it with creased brows or gasp in a combination of awe and grief.
It was the story of an assassin.
This assassin, armed with poise and full of tact, received a request to kill an important figure. Every day, from dawn to dusk, she would watch him from the darkness of an abandoned building, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, when he would be careless enough to turn his back against her and she could stab a kunai into his neck.
This assassin, armed with poise and full of tact, waited, and waited, and waited. Tree leaves changed colors, days turned into months. At last, she gave up the wait and charged at her target. When her blade was millimeters away from the man's flesh, her milliseconds away from escorting her victim to his long-awaited end, the assassin couldn't do it. Her hesitation spelled out her demise.
The man had plunged a sword through her chest.
This assassin, armed with poise and full of tact, died, not because of her incompetence, but because of the attachment she unknowingly formed with the man whom she watched for a long time.
It started out simple.
A game, you could say. Like the way kids challenged themselves to walk on only the black tiles of a checkerboard floor.
Deidara, too, had this habit of setting a challenge for himself whenever he met someone new: to expose their weak spot, their deep dark secrets, and how they contradicted themselves. All those intricacies that made up a human. All those layers that entailed a fascinating form of art, the human mind itself.
That was why, when his new partner declared himself a living walking puppet, it was natural for Deidara to want to crack that shell. He had wanted to pull down the facade of a being whose greatness exceeded a mortal lifespan, an egomaniac who claimed to have freed himself of human limitations. He wanted to prove Sasori wrong. Thus, he began his little game, a game that existed only inside his head.
Days and days after their partnership had bloomed, Deidara kept tabs on his partner. Annoyed him until he opened his mouth. Befriended him with art talk. Deidara watched him with hopeful eyes, longing after the tiny light that would one day shine through the crack on his puppet shell.
At first, it was a silly game, then a hobby, a job, a duty, a passion. Like the assassin, Deidara had abandoned his original purpose. He started to look forward to spending time with his target and wondered why, oh God, why, he couldn't look at him in the same wa—
A gentle wind pulled Deidara out of the haze. It slithered through the cracks of the window and breathed on his skin, painting his forehead with a sheen of sweat. Deidara stopped in his tracks. The drooping corners of his mouth lifted to form a straight line. His fingers, which had been grating his head with a force strong enough to cause tears, curled back into his palms.
Deidara reached into his pocket, fished out a handful of hair ties, and twirled them around his hair, styling a low ponytail. Non-public activities required minimal grooming.
From the cycle of pacing back and forth he had been submerged in for who-knew-how-long, Deidara emerged. His steps broke free from the pattern, making a swift turn towards the room's exit. When Deidara cast a glance at his hand, the veins on his wrist quivered and squirmed. They jabbed at the under-layer of his skin like a pack of blue and green worms craving escape. His muscles jerked. The ashy taste of this morning's explosion danced on his tongue.
Deidara blinked. Everything was normal again.
Today's mission left him with a lot of excess energy.
It was the usual mass-scale, destructive, homicidal, feel-good kind of mission. In other words, a guaranteed success. If only that success didn't double as a definite disappointment. Deidara was restless, and on restless nights like this, thoughts of him always crept in.
Deidara reached for the door's handle. He had decided to go out, blow up whatever blocking his way, and hope that the sight of his art would put his mind at peace.
"Ahh!"
A scream surfaced the moment he opened the door. It was breathy and rough—a man's voice. Deidara reached for the explosive clay in his pouch. His mouth moved on its own, stretching sideways to reveal a smile.
At this point, it doesn't matter. An intruder, a hired assassin, the Tsuchikage, or Uchiha-fucking-Itachi. A good fight would definitely calm his bursting veins and lay the turbulent windstorm that was his thoughts to rest.
Before Deidara whipped out a bomb, the door next to his room sprang open, and with it, an alert Kakuzu rushed out. Deep lines etched on his forehead, adding a hint of indignation onto his face, the face of a man who defied time.
"What? What's wrong? A thief?" Kakuzu said. was in the same position as Deidara, weapon in hand and ready for combat.
"We are the fucking thieves, smartass!" The voice groaned. "We stole this goddamn house!"
A box of sweets came flying through the air and hit Kakuzu's face. From the corner of Deidara's eyes, a familiar bob of silver hair appeared.
Deidara tilted his head in confusion. "Hidan? What are you doing?"
The assumed intruder was a Hidan in his natural habitat: vulgar, shirtless, and a little drunk. He was crouching in front of the fridge, whose frosty air sprinkled fresh dew across his skin. Hidan slapped the fridge door closed and stood up, a sake bottle and several packs of snacks under his arms.
"Finding something to eat, genius."
Deidara grudgingly removed himself from his clay. "Right. Why the hell did you screa—"
"Whatever. Don't stay up too late," Kakuzu interrupted as he stretched his arms. "We have a target to go after tomorrow, at dawn."
"A thief, really?" Hidan rolled his eyes. "We're in the Akatsuki. We steal shit and ice people for money. And you're here worrying about a thief?"
"Hey, being the Akatsuki's treasurer is real pressure." Deidara grinned at Kakuzu. "Sometimes the stress makes you a little paranoid, yeah?"
"Speak for yourself," Hidan smirked. "I saw you reaching your little clay purse. You were pretty adamant about killing me too."
"Adamant? I didn't know your vocabulary's grown that extensive."
"You know what's more extensive? Your fucking guts when I rip them out of your stomach."
"Shut up, both of you." Kakuzu had this annoying habit of chiming in at the most inconvenient times. "You brats don't know how to be grateful. I'm paying for your food and keeping you alive."
"Listen, I don't give a fuck," Hidan said as he strolled towards the dining table, tossed away the table-cloth to project authority, and laid down his food. "Always money, money, money. Who cares about your fucking side missions?"
"I don't give a damn about your rituals either."
Deidara reveled in watching chaos unfold. Kakuzu's expression darkened. The kunai in his hand took off and landed on Hidan's neck with precision, drawing blood. Hidan cussed and held a hand over his wound.
Wasting no time, Kakuzu disappeared into his room and slammed the door shut. Deidara had taken a little too much interest; he was smiling all the way through the Zombie Duo's little scuffle. They bickered a lot, sure. Killed each other a lot, sure. But when teamed up, they proved themselves a significant threat. Compared to the Artist Duo, Deidara and Sasori, their pair work was far superior. Explosions and puppets never worked well.
"Wow, Kakuzu's ruthless," Deidara said.
Hidan rubbed his temples. "Fuck off. You're all fucking mental."
"I'm sure you're the first thing that pops up when people hear the word mental." Deidara wasn't going to let that embarrassing incident slide just yet, but sometimes the evilest of men had a change of heart, and that change of heart occurred to Deidara the moment he saw Hidan sulkily shoved a potato chip into his mouth. "I bet Kakuzu's beating himself up over it in that room."
"Over what?" said Hidan.
"Making a fuss over a thief, of course."
"Oh."
"That was embarrassing, yeah?"
"I don't need your pity words." Hidan sent him a glare. "I know Kakuzu. That wrinkly sack tries so hard to put up a cool image, I've-lived-longer-than-your-grandma, I've-fought-the-first-Hokage type of shit. He's having a mental breakdown right now if you ask me."
"Tell me that ain't Sasori. Right now."
"Oh, tell me that ain't everyone in this goddamn organization."
When Deidara thought about it, he and Hidan had a lot in common. They were among the youngest members and the latest recruits, both stuck with an annoying older partner. Hidan's devoutness and brash attitude smothered every hint of respect Deidara might have had for a senior, but that wasn't a bad thing. Rather, it sparked a sense of equality.
A sense of camaraderie.
"You should be thankful I got you a nice place to stay the night," Hidan said after a long rant about Kakuzu.
"It's a nice change of scenery," Deidara replied, recalling the softness of the mattress spreading under him and the lukewarm, bubbling water enveloping him as he dipped into the inn's bathtub. "Almost a luxury."
"If you and Sasori stop wasting every penny on clay and dolls." Hidan blew out an exasperated sigh. "guess what? You can afford this every night."
"I'm not lucky enough to be partnered with a master of finance, and a hella rich bastard at that."
"If you were me, you'd be fucking dead."
The dim, yellow light of the hallway spilled over Deidara as he stepped into the kitchen. He leaned against a counter, facing Hidan. "Why did you drag us—" Deidara scoffed. "—invited us here?"
"Because seeing you two cooped up in that dirty cave made my eyes bleed," Hidan said, opening another bag of chips. "And always spending time with that stingy old fuck makes me want to die."
Deidara's fingers idly traced the edge of the kitchen counter. "You don't understand, yeah. If an artist lives in luxury all the time, his creativity will dampen."
"All artists are pathetic, dirt-poor fuckers then?" Hidan's nose scrunched up. "Not beyond my expectation."
The disgust on his face evaporated as he smiled, putting his hands behind his head. The cut on his neck had healed itself.
Deidara stared at the man before him, then at the bloodstain on the wall behind his back. This morning, after finishing their mission, Deidara and Sasori had wandered to Kusagakure, the village hidden in the grass. It was a small and sparsely populated village to the south of Iwagakure, coiling out of sight among soaring bamboo forests. They were settling for the night in a cave until noticed by a pair of distinctive purple eyes.
Hidan had hauled Deidara and Sasori to his and Kakuzu's accommodation: an isolated inn on the village's border with death permeating every corner. Even now, it was full in presence.
It splattered on the floor and walls in red strokes. It bled out from the bathroom mirrors and leaked from running taps and crawled on onions on cutting boards, in the middle of being chopped. Life was here, life was vivid, but life was stopped, and the carriers of life could no longer be seen.
"Where did you put the bodies?" Deidara asked.
"Beats me." Hidan shrugged. "Kakuzu said he'll take care of them. Don't tell me you're scared."
"I'm more scared of what you did to them."
"Huh. You're picking up on Sasori's sarcasm."
"I'm sure Kakuzu has rubbed off on you in some way," Deidara said, scanning the room. "Is it just me or you've become smarter?"
"Shh, princess." Hidan set his jaw. "No more of this luxury. The next place you're putting your back on is Jashin's symbol. On this floor. Drawn with your blood."
Deidara pretended to scream in horror. Hidan didn't bring his scythe with him, so his attacks consisted of relentless verbal abuse and flying bags of chips. Deidara waited, patiently so, as Hidan went through every lexical variant of male and female reproductive organs known to man.
He received Hidan's serves of chips packages varyingly, with his hands, his feet, his chest and his head, before hurling them back in his opponent's direction. They went back and forth a few rounds until the bags ripped apart, causing a downpour of chips to cascade on the two Akatsuki-nin. Hidan and Deidara exchanged looks. Then they burst out laughing.
"There goes my fucking meal." Hidan caught a chip on his tongue and swallowed it with a grin. "Well, I still have some liquor left. Wanna join? I'll show you the ways of Jashin."
Knowing too well that would result in his death, Deidara excused himself and headed out the door. It was bright enough to navigate without a light source. The wooden floor creaked as he skipped down the stairs leading to the inn's front porch. Painted golden by the moonlight, the bamboo trees stood straight and tall, casting shadows on the inn's walls. Deidara closed his eyes and let his legs take him wherever they wished.
They took him to Sasori.
"Danna?" Deidara called out. In the murky darkness, he could barely make out the shape of Sasori, only the redness of his hair and the black silhouette of his cloak. He was walking along the road leading into the forest. "Hey, wait for me!"
The distance didn't enable Deidara to see Sasori's face, only catching him turning around for a moment to stare at him. Still, Deidara was sure he was wearing an expression of shock turned into hostility turned into utter despair when he picked up his pace. Sasori was running. Deidara charged at breakneck speed.
A late-night run was more energizing than he thought. Deidara sprinted through the forest after his partner, the air suffocating him moments ago now refreshing as it brushed through his hair, the pounding of his shoes against the ground matching his heartbeat. It was a regular game of tag at first, but things escalated quickly. Sasori adhered his chakra strings on the trees to swing himself through long distances. Deidara fell behind, knowing he needed to use something other than mere strength, or else he would never catch up.
"You and your damn strings. We never agree to this!" Deidara shouted.
"We never disagree with it either." Sasori's voice was distant, muffled by the wind.
Deidara traced a few steps back to gather momentum. Three, four, five, then six big steps. He rushed forward and jumped. His body plunged into the depth of the forest, arms dangling behind his back.
In mid-air, Deidara's feet found the trunk of a bamboo tree. He channeled chakra down to his feet and lowered himself, his weight making the tree bent down halfway. When he dispersed his chakra back to where they belonged, all over his body, the tree sprung upright and heaved him forward.
Stepping on trees. Chakra down towards feet. Releasing. Repeat. Deidara sailed over the foliage by recycling the same moves. It was flawless to a fault.
Deidara had to remind himself that besides his callousness, Sasori was also a crafty bastard. He had turned the entire forest into his playground. Chakra strings hung from the trees, woven together in a spinning web, eager to welcome Deidara into their spirals of glinting silk.
It would be too slow to maneuver his way between them, so Deidara set off small clay spiders to force his way through.
"Katsu! Katsu! Katsu!" His voice rang at the top of his lungs.
This little session with Sasori made adrenaline pump in Deidara's veins more than this morning's mission ever could. His every muscle twitched with anticipation. He was smiling.
At some point during the game, Deidara didn't care about catching Sasori, and it seemed like his partner, too, had forgotten his purpose. The melody of the forest and the echo of their footsteps coalesced into music ringing in Deidara's ears. He soared across the sky, leapt through the trees, breathed in the fresh air, and felt the wind on his skin, rejoicing in the blasting sounds of his creations.
Having a crush was weird. Deidara could spend silly moments like this with Sasori and think it was enough, it was more than he ever needed; then a moment later, he found himself wishing for more.
The gap between the duo shortened with every leap Deidara made. By the time he ran out of clay, it was reduced to the length of an arm. Deidara extended his arm to grab Sasori by his cloak, but Sasori turned around in a swift movement. Surprised, Deidara staggered back, struggling to regain balance.
It's okay. There should be a tree below for me to land on. That was what he thought, but his mind raced when he felt nothing under his feet.
Nothing but a fine thread of chakra.
"No—" The wind interrupted his cry, rushing into his throat. His mouth was agape as he fell.
In a frantic attempt to catch Sasori, Deidara had tripped over a chakra string. It touched the top of his foot and sent him backward. There was no clay left for him to make something, and even if his hands managed to grab a trunk, the smooth surface of it wouldn't provide any friction to hold him back, any help but breaking his nails. The world around grew dim. A fall from such a height would crush half of his bones, to say the least.
Deidara shut his eyes and braced for months of hospitalization and Kakuzu fretting over the bills.
"Deidara!"
When Deidara opened his eyes, he was still suspended in mid-air; there were strings attached to his arms and legs. The source of those strings: Sasori's fingers. From above him, Sasori hopped between the trees and landed on the ground, making no sounds. After an array of twists and turns of his fingers, Deidara found himself standing on the ground with his bones intact, his body unharmed.
The chakra strings unraveled around his limbs and vanished.
"That fall… won't kill me, you know." Deidara scratched the nape of his neck.
"But it'll stop you from doing missions for quite a while." Sasori sighed. "Why did you even come here?"
"I saw you and thought you needed company."
"I don't like your company," Sasori said. "Spending time with you on missions was irritating enough."
"Ouch," Deidara clutched the fabric of his own shirt dramatically. "But hey, we should do this again sometime. We're both long-range fighters, so some endurance training will come in handy when we get cornered in battles, yeah?"
"I'm a puppet. I don't have stamina."
"Right. Now I feel stupid."
Sasori avoided his gaze. "I do need to find new material and make equipment to make myself more durable, though."
"If you ever need someone to test your durability, I'm always here."
"Anything, anything but your explosions."
Deidara responded with a slight scowl. He scrutinized the area, eyes going wide as the path leading into the forest was now buried behind rows of bamboo trees. Treetops that punctured the clouds stared down at him and Sasori, belittling the trespassers who tainted their beauty.
Stretching before them was the heart of the forest—a river. The stream flowed onward, carrying fragments of the broken moon and the greens of tree leaves reflected in its body. The smell of damp soil pervaded the place. Deidara's palms grew sweaty; the scenery was almost… romantic.
"Do you want to sit down for a bit?" he said.
Sasori gave a silent nod. He took a seat by the river, and Deidara followed, making sure not to sit too close. They must have been deep into the night since the air had turned somewhat crisp. The thrill of competing with Sasori had blinded all Deidara's senses, and it was only until now, when he was inert, that fatigue caught up with Deidara, seeping into his bones and manifesting itself in waves of shudders.
"Here."
Deidara turned to the source of the voice. Sasori wasn't looking at him, but he was reaching out to offer his Akatsuki cloak. Deidara raised an eyebrow. How Sasori handled personal hygiene as a human puppet was a mystery to him—a mystery he didn't want to solve, that was.
"Thanks?" After a few blinks, Deidara grabbed the item from Sasori. He fumbled with it, then put it over his shoulders.
Sasori's cloak smelled nothing like he imagined, exuding musky oud and notes of amber rather than a soggy stench of wet wood. It offered little comfort against the cold, yet Deidara's face turned warm. He pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile that threatened to break out.
"You are strangely quiet these days. Not that I'm complaining."
Sasori's sudden initiation crushed his attempt to stay calm to pieces. Deidara breathed out a laugh. He dipped a hand into the river. Like a whirlwind of sand sweeping through Sunagakure in its seasonal sandstorm, the cold water whisked away clutters of emotions swirling inside his head.
Deidara snatched a glance at Sasori's face, which was reflected in the water below. He always looked the most peaceful when they were outside, enjoying nature.
"I heard forests and rivers are very important to the villagers here," Deidara said.
Sasori's voice was silky-smooth. "People say these forests are alive, having a soul of their own. They even make offerings every year or so."
"They would be fucking pissed at us then," Deidara commented. "You know a lot, huh? Is it a spy?"
Sasori made a low, guttural sound to signify a yes. "I have spies all over the continents."
"Of course."
Conversations between Deidara and Sasori flowed in a lyrical cadence, their words notes in a symphony. It started slow, even dull, dying down into a stretch of silence, then reaching the climax in a high and blaring note.
Today, Deidara delivered that note.
"This is weird to ask, but do you think criminals like us deserve happiness?"
"There must be something wrong with you today."
"I have feelings, you know. Being a criminal doesn't equal being heartless."
Sasori frowned. "No, not that. Since when did you consider yourself a criminal?"
"I—"
"Criminal is a social term," Sasori added, his voice gaining more depth. "It's a title the good guys gave us."
"In that sense, you can say that laws are made up too."
"Well, yes," Sasori replied. "You and I, we are not bound by the laws, the rules, the restraints society forced on its people. We do whatever the hell we want.
"Call yourself one, but I'm not a criminal. I don't want the word some goody-two-shoes made up to define me. I choose what I want to be called."
Deidara bit his lower lip. "You have a point."
"Hey," Sasori called out, but his words were not in the usual grumble when they argued. The way he spoke was soft and peaceful, almost reassuring; it made heat rise in Deidara's chest. "Why did you become a missing-nin?"
"I just want people to appreciate my art." Deidara crossed his arms. "How many times do I have to repeat that?"
"Well, did people in Iwa not respect your art?"
"I wish that's the case," Deidara said. "They straight-up despised it. Made fun of it. I was in the Explosion Corps, but they never let me use my explosions freely. I never felt like a part of that village."
"Can you blame them though?"
"Danna."
Sasori chuckled. Deidara saw that light again, shining through the crack. "To be honest, I never liked being called Akasuna. Don't let those meaningless terms get into your head. Once you regard yourself as the bad guy, you're done."
"Yeah, who cares if you're legal or not?" Deidara lit up. "I'm just an artist!"
"Art is enough, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Deidara said.
His gaze wandered downstream, following the diagonal line of the river growing thinner and thinner in the distance. At the end of its treacherous journey, the river was fated to meet the ocean. Deidara could thrust his hands into the water over and over again, trying to disrupt the flow; still, it would find a way to trickle between his fingers and persevere onward.
How unchanging time was. There were lines once crossed, you'd better never look back and keep moving on.
Deidara splashed water onto his face, rendering the voice in his head silent. "Art is the thing I live and die for. That's why I'm here. But I've been thinking, you know, maybe I can add something else into the formula. Something like… companionship?"
Deidara cringed.
"Having someone to discuss art with is fine," replied Sasori. "But I would like someone with more taste."
"Turn away from the truth as much as you want. Art is an explosion." Deidara reached towards the sky, his blank canvas, and scrawled indistinguishable shapes between the stars with his fingertip. Then he imagined how they burned and warped and wilted, ablaze in a glorious yet fleeting moment before succumbing to the tearing force of a formidable BANG!
"One day, you'll see," Deidara added, his voice tinged with delight. "And they'll see too. I'll become one with my art."
"You're going to blow yourself up?"
"Oh, it won't be like any other explosion," Deidara said. "I will kiss goodbye to this world in the most epic way humanity has ever seen."
Sasori scoffed. "Ridiculous."
"When that time comes, will you be there?"
There was a long pause before Sasori opened his mouth. "I doubt you can survive that long, but sure, how can I miss it? I look forward to it very much."
Deidara gathered his legs in front of his chest. "But what will you do? Do you ever consider death?"
"Not at all," Sasori said. "I will live on forever with my creations. When it's due that my body is no longer in condition, I'll replace it with another vessel."
"In that case, why not make changes to your appearance?" Deidara tilted his head. "You can do whatever you want with your looks as a puppet, right? Why not a new face, or try adding some inches to that 15-year-old body of yours?"
"Please tell me you're referring to my height. Exclusively."
"Of course—wait, what?" said Deidara, mouth half-open. "Did you—just—why? God, why are you being like this?"
Hilarity raised the volume of Deidara's voice, and by the end of his sentence, his confused stammers had erupted into hearty laughter. He slapped Sasori's shoulder. Sasori shrank from the touch, but his breaths told Deidara he was equally amused. That was because Sasori didn't breathe; air came out of his mouth as a grunt, a sigh, or a laugh. In this situation, it was safe to assume the last option was right.
Yet happiness always comes with a price. As the hysteria ebbed into silence, Deidara looked down and felt his stomach clenching. He tried to hold on to something, to stop himself from drowning in a surge of paradoxical feelings—of peace and longing, of happiness and emptiness, of being content and being greedy.
No one had explained to him how caring for someone could be this aggravating. How one could doubt and fear in the time for celebration. Deidara was exhausted, and bored, really fucking bored. So, he thought, why not end everything here? The setting and timing were perfect for a confession. If he got these emotions out somehow, he could maybe move on from this stupid game. He could slaughter the butterflies and continue a life of pleasure, art and malice.
Deidara gulped. He leaned closer to Sasori.
Look him in the eyes, Deidara. You can do this.
Sasori looked as mesmerizing as always. Watching him brought back memories Deidara wanted to forget, he fooled himself to forget.
The best perk of being a puppet was that you didn't need sleep. On nights without assigned missions like this, Sasori usually went out for a walk, but sometimes he would begrudgingly let Deidara tag along, and the moon would lend a glow to his mousy red hair, some warmth to his eyes and some humanity to his non-human face. His gaze would be directed heavenward, perhaps reminiscing, perhaps envisioning, but never at present. Never at Deidara.
Sasori lived in his own world. He was near, but never truly near. His coat turned cold as it hung from Deidara's shoulders. Deidara took it off and handed it over.
"Sorry for interfering with your walk. I'm sleepy, so I'll head back now."
Sasori retrieved his cloak with slight hesitation. "You don't remember the way back."
"I'll try."
"Stop acting so sullen." Sasori's expression softened. "I was joking, okay? I don't mind spending time with you once in a while."
Damn it. Damn it.
A genuine smile was tugged at the corners of his lips. The stars scattered across the black sky above Deidara's head, sparkling like the embers of a dying fire. Those mystical planets, whose existence was billions of miles out of human reach—they couldn't outshine that smile.
"Danna," he said.
"Yes?"
"Me too. I like spending time with you too."
