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Darkness was the last thing Obito expected Deidara to be surrounded by.
The cabin of his choosing, in the back of beyond, was painfully devoid of light. Not a candle burning by the bedside, not a ray of moonlight penetrating the blinds; they were filmily shut, symbolically uninviting. For a man who thrives in the light, where his unique spark can be beheld and evaluated, feet firm on the ground with gaze up to the sun, this was a drastic change – one that bespoke Obito’s deeply embedded fears. Even your soul has been befouled by me.
Or, perhaps not. Perhaps he ascribed himself too much importance. Perhaps Deidara is still the same at the core, untouched by his caprices, unmarred by his duplicity in a fundamentally changing manner. Perhaps he’s just another chapter in Deidara’s life, a page with faded text and too many blank spaces; an obstacle in the path towards the utmost freedom that will fade from memory as the days pass. That’d irk, too much.
Even so, the message couldn’t be more unequivocal. Don’t seek me out. Obito did. Despite the sound judgment and the lack of groundings, he did. Had to. Something in him was on the verge of breaking, the soul surfeited with hatred that came to know a touch of love. Once a ray of light shines on a barren patch of land and a plant sprouts, it’ll always beg for more. Darkness was all its ever known, yet now it bothers.
Sharingan started the lie and it unraveled it, to the last fib. He’d grant Deidara freedom to do anything – anything, but self-destruct. He was supposed to die that day, test whether Sasuke can be molded into a weapon or if he’s worthless. In spite of all rationales and meticulous schemes screeching he’s to stay out of it, Obito intervened. As cliché as it may be, body moved on its own. It was the beginning of the end.
He told Deidara everything. Had to, the flicker of red sent it all straight to hell. To say Deidara took it badly would be an understatement. Shock, strangely, had a paralyzing effect. Rather than fuming and thundering, instigating pointless fights, Deidara withdrew into a shell. He adopted the same dispassion and taciturnity every wounded soul fortifies themselves with. It was distasteful. Obito hated it.
Deidara has made it clear he wants nothing to do with him, or the Akatsuki. There was no way to tie that wild man to himself without destroying what scant trust remained and staining what made Deidara enthralling in the first place. Obito had no option but to let the bird soar, and hope it just needs time to cool off. That, eventually, it will succumb to the blind need for conformity, that deleterious yearning for companionship, and return. That they can start anew.
The bird was yet to be seen again. Since that day, he hasn’t heard its song. Nor deserved to be graced with a chirp, if he were being honest. Maybe one day, but he’s exhausted all his days. He’d give the bird all time of this earth, if only it stopped revolving around its axis.
Deidara hasn’t changed his mind. He rarely does, willful and unbending, fickle as a flame in the gust yet stubbornly confident in his judgment. Obito couldn’t have expect him to, not after everything. Still, he couldn’t lie there wasn’t holding out an infantilely naive hope that, maybe, just maybe, miracles do happen. That Deidara would be willing to abandon his every value, step over rigid principles and everything he believes in, and join him in misery. That he’d wake up to the cruelty of this world. That he’d realize there’s no beauty in death, just desolation.
It was a pipe dream. Deidara is untouchable in ways he never has been, and never will be. He’s free in his fearlessness, while his fears are the tautest irons. Deidara rejects the life in a cage, while the freedom frightens him. They can coexist only on the thresholds, where something is about to come apart, but not in harmony.
Obito didn’t bother with the door, he used Kamui to get inside. A step, then another, towards what he believed is the living room. There was hardly anything to tumble over, the cabin was empty, save for the essentials; a temporary location.
The faint whir of the familiar chakra gave Deidara’s presence away, fierce and cutting as always. That’s right, never change. Not for me, not for any force of this world. Deidara hasn’t tried to mask it, just like Obito hasn’t tried to mask his footsteps. Life in the shadows has never led him anywhere, just down the spiral; yes, he’s admitting it, at least inwardly. But he couldn't stray, refused to.
This suffocating tension between them is ripping for an overdue conclusion. It’s been driving him mad. He couldn't stay away any longer, not without losing his mind.
“I believe I’ve told you to stay away, hm.”
Ah. There was that strident voice, always fluctuating with emotions, never uncertainty; that’s his vice, never a shackle around Deidara’s wrists. A ghost of a smile crept up Obito’s lips, fondness oozing out despite everything. Finally.
If only it wasn’t so distant. If only it wasn’t so artificially flat with dulled ire, the freshness of betrayal, then the darkness wouldn’t be inviting an escapism of a reverie. It couldn’t take hold, must not. Not here, not before this person.
“You did,” Obito forced himself to reply, sounding flat himself but choking on every unuttered, every second spent apart. “Yet, here I am.”
Here he is, without an answer or even a heartfelt apology, couldn’t muster another lie, just a heart full of regret and uncertainty. To add salt to the injury, even that regret was uncertain. Obito couldn’t claim he regrets it, it’d be another lie on the pile. He harbored deep, insufferable regret about how things have turned, yes, but about the mistakes that have led them here? Not an ounce. That’d insinuate he did know better.
Even so, one thing was certain. He yearned to see Deidara. Yearned, with unfamiliar, subjugating fervency, one that coiled barbed wire around heart and made its presence known with every twinged inhale. Months spent apart have undone more than Obito could have dreaded. A bout of longing came over him, an illness without a cure, occupied every conscious thought, cast shadow over every must. It got to the point where the obsession distracted, meddled with his plans, and rendered him dangerously useless; threatened to lull into the comfort of daydreams.
In the same breath, he was afraid, agonizingly and ridiculously so. He was afraid to face the music, to stand before the one who has power to make the hole in his chest clench and thunder. That damned naif child in him was shaking in his boots before the prospect of the indisputable rejection, like it should cut ice. It did, woefully, a whole block. He’s been conjuring excuses, both for approaching and keeping distance, stalling and fantasizing, waiting for a miracle that’ll never come.
He’s tried everything, but he couldn’t forget. If he could, fate would have led him back to his personal ruin. His last ordeal.
“Clearly,” Deidara puffed, snapping Obito out of his typical musing. “You’ve poked fun at my stubbornness, but you’re not any better, hm”, he tried to snicker but it was grating, made Obito wince behind the mask.
In other words, neither have changed their minds. Figured. A sour smile stretched lips, tinged with acerbic nostalgia that tore his insides. Old Deidara is still there. Under the pile of hurt and pain, hiding from him, but he’s somewhere in there. A bud of hope bloomed, its scent insidiously heady, petals drenched in poison. Time would mend. The first time around, they had it; limited, but did. Now, barely a measly day.
Deidara approached in long, decisive steps, moving fluidly in the dimness; each rang inside Obito’s skull, like the ticking of a clock, hand approaching the eleventh hour, the death knell. Deidara halted a few feet away, breath hitched and chin tipped in the faux confidence. You can’t part from your pride, can you?
Obito could make out Deidara’s silhouette, but not the expression, not the undertone of the tacit discontent. Dubiety twisted and turned his stomach, extracted insecurity out of bones, increased it tenfold and injected straight into the heart. After weaving a convoluted web of lies above Deidara’s head, this heaviness was rightfully vengeful.
He can do with burning hatred, his most loyal companion. But this paralyzing fear? Obito wished it was unfamiliar. He willed himself to forget the hollowness that belong to the previous life, where he had what to lose. He vowed he’d never retrace own blood-stained steps, but the traitorous heart beat to the rhythm of its choosing.
He wanted to see. Wanted to touch, feel Deidara’s skin under fingertips, no gloves or lies in the way. Just the rare, costly truth. He had to imprint this moment, dissolve the last bit of doubt that this is an illusion of his besotted mind’s conjuring – had to feel that this is all real.
The thickest tension wormed into cells, razzed from the inside. Obito rived it, lest it tries to drive any madder. “I’m here to warn you,” he heard himself, but didn’t register that the voice belonged to him; not this stiff, wistful. “As a member of the Akatsuki -”
“Ex member,” Deidara corrected tersely, bitterness seeping from spat syllables. So much for burying the hatchet, he’s no less resentful than the day they parted.
“ - as an ex member, this concerns you,” tongue stung as it rolled over what divided; unyoked.
Only the truth can hurt like this. That’s how Obito knew he made a right choice by opening the cage. Freedom suits Deidara’s tameless spirit, only a fool would deny that. To keep him chained is to snuff his flame, to essentially kill him.
Even so, Obito selfishly, arrogantly, wished Deidara has chosen differently – has chosen him, in the binds, rather than the freedom to destroy himself.
Obito bit inside of cheek, swallowed the frustration he had no right to feel but did, in abundance, and went on. “You deserve to know what my plan entails. What is to come,” a gulp, slow and ruinous, “you… deserve to know.”
“But not the truth,” Deidara snorted with a light head shake of incredulity; trust him to go for the jugular. “I can work for the cause that contradicts everything I believe in, for years, without a way out. That I, apparently, can do, hm.”
Burning twinges roved through the nerves, electric buzzes stirring to life and killing in one go. Insufferable tension gathered in chest, squeeze and suffocated hope that this dire endeavor at smoothing things out will deliver. Obito held his breath, afraid to let its telling heaviness out. He was afraid a flicker of light would sneak in and expose the hurt etched into his being. That it’d disclose that this is far from a whim, or a calculated move. That this matters, and how unhealthily much.
A snarl would have hurt less. A punch would have been more welcomed; to hell, he would have let Deidara land a couple blows, just to feel something tangible, so the pain grounds. Anger would have been easier. He’s used to the outbursts, endearing explosive temperament and barks without the real bite. This tense silence, controlled expressions and cherry-picked barbs? Obito wasn’t used to the plasticity, the artfulness the rest of the world wear as an armor – not from Deidara.
Pressure grew and grew, bubbled up throat, till he didn’t know what to do with himself. Obito wished he can fix this. That there is a remedy for the aftermath of a betrayal, a band-aid for the stab in the back. The more he ruminated, raked brains for the solution that kept on eluding him, the more Obito became assured in a belief that he’s to embrace the comforting illusion. Ironically, that very sentiment deepened the gap between him and Deidara – his inability to cope with the reality that doesn’t bend to his caprices, cobbles a path that skirts around his pain.
Obito clenched fists by sides, fighting back quivers and shuddering breaths that’d divulge more than dignity can allow. He was utterly and hopelessly lost, and such ruined man is the most irrational.
“Deidara… we’ve been through this.”
He can’t have this fight, not now. Not with the full awareness it won’t be resolved, just tangle what is already entangled, bury them deeper, without the hope of ever seeing the light. Not with the heart full of tender ache, not with an undoing yearning that dissipated the last vestiges of lucidity. Their goals aren’t aligned, but clash along all seams. They’re too different to hope to coexist without the facade. Tobi has brought them the stolen time, it’s apt that he does them part.
A tiny gasp rang akin to the blast in the dead silence. Obito noticed Deidara’s frame tense, a hail of chills driving down spine, but couldn’t tell if it’s the coldness of the brewing anger or Deidara is physically cold. Fingers flexed, begged for the touch he’d be a fool to allow. But he wanted. Hell knows how much he wanted.
Deidara petulantly clicked tongue, a quirk of his that painted a ghost of smile on Obito’s lips. “Yea, we’ve established you’re a delusional idiot. Tell me something new, hm.”
If anyone else dared to insult this brazenly, Obito would have ended them on spot; out of pride, if nothing else. With this one, he couldn’t summon the flame of exasperation. Jab stung like an arrow to the heart he swore is expunged. It deepened the carved void, sucked oxygen out of lungs and stuffed with a different type of emptiness, the chills of loneliness that exclusively follow the abrupt absence of heat.
Reticence coming from the embodiment of verbosity was telling. Normally, Deidara would be screaming bloody murder till the vocal cords give out. Ever since the truth came out, he, ostensibly, was at the lack of words; glued lips shut and refused to spare him a single. If it were either unadulterated anger or structured resentment meant to spite him, Obito would have pressed and pressed. He would have pulled out all the stops, just for a fugacious glare and a hiss.
This way, his hands are tied. It was the deep hurt that kept Deidara distant, one only a genuine connection can elicit. Knowing he’s the cause… it was the worst type of punishment.
Yet, you didn’t ask me to leave. There’s still a part of you that wants something from me, whether you’re conscious of it or not.
Obito drew in another wobbling breath.
This hope will be the death of him.
The silence was oppressive, unbearable, thick with every inflammable unuttered. Obito found it that he couldn’t breathe, tension clawing up throat and reeling his head, eroding what little soundness was left. He had to do something, anything, to abate the pressure, to halt the decay. To salvage what little can be salvaged.
With a soft click, Obito took the mask off. Why so, he couldn’t tell. It simply felt right. He had to undo a scintilla of injustice inflicted upon Deidara, had to offer some form of truth, something tangible he can grasp and cling to. He had to do so much, too much, but couldn’t find a way to accomplish a fraction. For all his omnipotence and wits, he’s felt painfully powerless.
What exactly he intended to achieve… that Obito couldn’t tell either. Not merely by unmasking under the veil of the darkness, like a coward, but by being here in the first place, hoping Deidara had a change of heart. Even by adopting a role of a fool and stealing the days of unbecoming innocent joy. Equanimity has never been his forte. Susceptible to the storm of exhausting emotions writhing in chest, he’s always been destined to a spiral.
The absence of sight has honed other senses. Obito heard Deidara suck in breath, long and sharp; it spiked his in turn, frissons of anticipation tripping and fluttering his heart, overflowing with what he’s lost the ability to name.
Sharingan couldn’t see in the dark, a dying shame, but Obito didn’t need it. Curiosity exuded from Deidara in ripples, but pride called for the cold treatment. “Entertain me, Uchiha,” he bristled, sounding choked, raw with ache he wanted to conceal.
Not that name – the hounding shadow, shackles of the cursed lineage. It hurt to hear Deidara spit it like an epithet, impersonally, yet rich with belittlement. He was no longer the silly Tobi, a fool with peas for brains, but a cold, arrogant, too controlling Uchiha. Yet, it was the truth he couldn’t wriggle out of, regardless of the mask he puts on.
“I have no use of your warnings, spare me your concerns”, Deidara sizzled. “But do entertain me. What could have possibly summoned you here, hm?”
A need. “A war is brewing,” Obito sighed, breathing a little lighter. This is foreseeable, a scrip. He can handle this.
“All tailed beasts are in Akatsuki’s possession, save for the eight and nine tails. Konoha and Kumo are keeping them away at the moment, but they’d need them.”
His face contorted into something grotesque. Obito finished in a couple octaves lower, teeming with hatred this world has instilled. “They’d have no other choice.”
Deidara’s low-toned snicker sent thrills up Obito’s spine. “You mean, you won’t give them a choice, mm,” it was a barb, yes, but it was imbued with playfulness that reminded of the simpler times, the ones the hole in his chest ached for.
“Correct,” Obito confirmed in an echoing tone. “Tomorrow at noon, I’ll announce it at the five kage summit. The whole shinobi world will be dragged into it. When they experience loss on their own they will wake up to the hell that is this reality.”
He didn’t bother veiling the conceit seeping into voice, the rage and animosity bleeding through the cracks, poisoning the waters. He’s an Uchiha now. Besides, Deidara’s lust for mayhem has never been a secret. He thrived on the unbridled emotions, the madness they have a potential to incite.
These promises of destruction won’t put Deidara off, but lure in, like a moth to the flame. The opposite of what I want, but there’s no taming your chaos, is there?
“And?” Deidara tried to come off as disinterested, but his voice was raising towards the end, betraying everything his mouth refused to.
“And nothing,” Obito said curtly, with a half shrug. “I just wanted you to know.”
It was a lousy excuse. He didn’t need to pass this message in person, Zetsu could have done it in his stead; to hell, didn’t need to, at all. Deidara isn’t incompetent, he would have put two and two together.
The truth was, for once, far simpler. He just wanted to see Deidara. Everything else was secondary, unimportant.
“A total destruction, hm?” a titter caressed Obito’s bones, pumped blood through veins. “I’d love to behold it,” Deidara’s voice was fluctuating with budding mirth, a bitter reminder of the past without the bridge to return to.
Hope dashed before Obito could inhale its heady poison. “Too bad they’ll all be dying for your cowardice,” Deidara snickered, voice dipping to the sour lows.
It stang. It wrecked. Did things to him Obito was too broken for untangling and articulating. He tipped head and challenged lukewarmly, spinelessly. “Is that so?”
“It is,” Deidara fired back nonetheless, eclipsed spark in him rumbling, beams about to break through the cloud.
Before Obito had a chance to feel hopeful, he schooled himself into standoffishness. “You will too,” sneered with a ring of finality, and turned away. “You blind fool…”
Tacit rejection ruined something inside of him. Perhaps the last trace of hope that there is a way to make things right. That facing problems head-on delivers results. That the mistakes can be undone. That the light can shine again.
Obito has expected it, couldn’t deceive himself that heart hasn’t clenched at the possibility of Deidara giving him a cold shoulder. But to actually feel it, this vividly, strongly… it was a different story. One that smells of a tragedy, reeks of blood and ashes.
I won’t let you hide, not when I’ve crawled out of my carapace. Not on my watch. Not giving lucidity a second to creep in and dehort, Obito reached forward and grabbed Deidara’s shoulder. The moment they touched, he knew it in his gut their fates are decided, for the better or for the worse.
A gasp announced Deidara’s surprise, muscles stiffening under fingertips solidified the hunch. They didn’t dispirit. This startled breath and a husk of a flinch were the closest to the forthrightness he’s gotten tonight, tangible proofs of noxious hope in blood. Obito tugged him against his chest, embraced without a reservation, without a shadow of doubt, just regret that he hasn’t caved in to the heart’s demands sooner.
It swelled with tender ache, rue and fondness waring, chasing the scarce peace away. It’d be foolish to ruminate now, waste the tinges of the stolen bliss he put a lot on a dice for. Obito found willpower in himself to abide by Deidara’s philosophy of ephemerality and savor the moment. Just this once, in the shadows, for there won’t be another. Not in this world.
He was right. Deidara’s skin was ice cold. He’s shivering with more than bottled up rage. Night robe didn’t warm up sufficiently in the freezing temperatures. Obito couldn’t mend the pain. His hands know how to harm, not heal. But he could provide the superficiality of warmth. He used the chills as an excuse to pull closer and clasped tauter, to his sick heart’s content; like it’ll ever be content, like the hole therein can be filled.
For some reason, Deidara allowed the embrace. He allowed the faint pats up sides, warming rubs over arms, tender hair strokes, forward inhales of the scent that pledged to haunt – he allowed everything, like the dawn won’t come. Deep down, Obito knew what the insulting malleability meant. You no longer care, do you?
He made a throaty groan and touched like starved; was starved. It was the first time. At heart that refused to unclench and beat again, Obito knew it’s also the last.
Deidara kept on trembling, no longer out of coldness, but reasons far more intricate, heartfelt. He drew in a tattered breath. “Tobi…”
Gosh. How he missed hearing that name. Once a charade, a ridicule, now the last remnant of sincerity. Madara, the Uchiha, the Akatsuki, the Devil himself, or any epithet he goes by these days – he’s tired of the roles. Anything other than Obito. Anything was better than the reminder of the past he cannot elude. The mistakes he’s doomed to repeat, like a bullheaded child that’s never learned – refused to learn.
Obito exhaled, long and shaky, sounding vulnerable to own ears. He no longer cared for the bleeding dignity, what Deidara may puzzle out. The line has been crossed, there’s no retreating to the safety of the status quo. He may as well unburden his soul by unmasking more than face. When he parted lips nothing but choked sounds came out. Tongue couldn’t unsnarl, sun couldn’t break through the clouds saturated with blood.
Deidara was neither relaxed nor tense in his arms, just resigned. His silence screamed. It didn’t demand, but did beg, grudgingly. Deprived of excuses, suffering from the incurable heartsickness, Obito had to offer nothing short of truth.
“Just a little bit… I need it.”
He couldn’t say more, physically couldn’t. You can’t imagine how much this means to me. A weary sigh indicated Deidara got the message anyways.
However, laconicism wasn’t their thing. Never has been, never should be. This silence was all wrong. Obito didn’t need a source of light to see that the path before him leads downhill.
Chills abated, cheated out of excuses. There wasn’t a squirm, not an attempt to break free, not a shot at reciprocation. Passive acceptance spoke volumes. Deidara isn’t the one to bow, accept the fate of other’s molding. That would violate the laws of nature, bring the reality of this moment into question. If he didn’t want to be held, he would have made it explicit by now, most likely via violent means.
The implication… ah, it was too much. Nocuous lightness tickled the insides of Obito’s lungs. Virulent warmth pulled his lips up by the hooks, morphed into a mangled smile that reeked of self-hatred, bleeding at the corners.
This hope was the cruelest. Want itself wasn’t enough, not in this world. Fate doesn’t care for one’s desperation, it takes and takes, pitilessly, incessantly.
A potent surge of urgency fueled. He squeezed ridiculously tight, overtaken by an absurd fear that Deidara will vanish if the hold falters. His palms roamed with betraying frenzy, mapping out the chills and tension, soaking in the wasted dream. Obito pressed the scarred cheek into the crook of Deidara’s neck, let his breath hover over the gradually warming skin, and prayed the illusion feels this real.
Deidara made a tiny noise in the back of throat. His frame went rigid under the flimsy cloth, chest heaved with shallow breaths. Good. He’s affected. Obito wanted to feel this, to imprint every detail into memory. But, more than anything, he wanted Deidara to feel it – welcome doubt into heart, and reconsider.
Obito knew it’s in vain, that he’s just wasting his breath, but will suffocate if he doesn't get a word out. Battling the insoluble lunacy inside, he willed himself to speak. “I know you live for fighting. I know your wild soul needs an outlet.”
A pause, to gulp the bile shooting up throat and unclench the jaw, to see if that’s the spark Deidara needed to combust. It wasn’t. Obito swallowed the unease, and added graver, rawer. “I know it’s useless to tell you to stay away.”
It is. He can’t tame this man. Can’t maneuver him like the rest, strings would break, can’t tell him what to do. It’d backfire miserably. If Deidara wakes up with his fingers itching and blood raring for a good clash, he’d fling himself into the storm, uncaring if it results in his demise.
With gnawing desperation, Obito wished he can ask him to try to not die, for his sake if nothing else. The answer would arrive in a long jarring belly laugh. Deidara gave a snort anyways; it ached like a knife plunged straight into the heart.
Clasp grew tauter, more fearful. “But this is different,” in accordance, Obito’s voice shook. “The Akatsuki has left a stain on your name. You’d be hunted down on sign.”
He wanted to believe Deidara knows what he’d be getting himself into, but that may not be the case. He hasn’t experienced war firsthand, hasn’t seen the armies of shinobis. Taking his rashness and over-confidence into the consideration… it’s not far-fetched to assume that Deidara didn’t quite understand what that means. Nor cared to be corrected, on an endless rave how art is all about the bang. All he wanted is to experience the peak of the thrill a moment has to offer.
Pads of fingers tapped his wrist, superfluously gently, bolting tinges up Obito’s skin. “So?” Deidara droned. “Are you implying I can’t handle an army of trained shinobi? That I’m weak?” his tone was even, but biting. So biting.
Obito supposed he’s seen it coming. “No, not that,” he grunted, fingers lacing with Deidara’s surprisingly shaky. A taste of his incertitude was the drop that overflowed.
“It’s me who’s weak,” he conceded, without meaning to; words have found a way out on their own, and he didn't feel an iota of remorse about it. Obito pressed his chest flush against Deidara’s back, so he could feel the pounding of his stricken heart, the depth of the longing only a cursed Uchiha can come to know.
Deidara’s flinch encouraged. “I…” Obito stopped to draw breath, lungs burning with every ounce of barbing honesty that fought to tear out.
“I can’t lose you too.”
“You already have.”
I know. That was the worst of all – the hapless inability to change the fate he knew ends in tragedy. He was plummeting headlong into the abyss, but was unable to stop it. He made a mistake upon mistake, but there was no other path for him. And if there was, he wasn’t privy to its existence. He feared disappointment more than he craved happiness.
Deidara won’t survive the war he wages. The chances are too small to hold hope. He’d engage in a reckless combat that’d climax in his death, be it with a signature bang or more vapid way out. Not that it’s make a difference in anyone’s opinion but Deidara’s; death is death, final and unforgiving. Obito can swallow all dignity and plead him to practice caution till his voice is lost, it won’t cut ice. After the betrayal that cutting, Deidara doesn’t owe him the soundness of mind.
The logical solution would be to call the war off. Obito couldn’t do that either. Without it, his plan comes a cropper. He needs a total chaos for the Hidden villages to put the two remaining Jinchurikis on the frontline. He’s sacrificed too much to opt out of it now.
The victory is so close he could almost taste it, a spoonful of blandness and disillusionment. Obito refused to open the door for the hesitation to breeze in, not regarding this. It crept in anyways, whispered from the shadows of the psyche.
He can’t have both Deidara and Eye of the Moon plan. Spinelessly, he’s afraid to make a sacrifice, and that’s why he’ll lose both. By trying to avoid pain, by any means necessary, he’ll never achieve actual happiness.
If he could, Obito would have laughed. Throat has gone dry, vocal cords twinged with every ragged breath. He couldn’t tear up either, he didn’t have any tears left to cry. So he bowed to the instinct constricting his chest, those damned butterflies coiling in stomach, and cupped Deidara’s cheek. If their relationship is beyond salvageable, he might as well deal the final nail into the coffin himself.
Despite the unbearable ache, Obito loosened the grip, to give Deidara a way out. Fool didn’t take it. He stood with stupefying confidence that presaged a farewell. If he’s met with a rejection, then the gap of the second-guessing through which a beam of light can pass exists. There would be up higher to soar, an obstacle in the path that’s not a dead end. However, if his boldness is accepted…
Inhale. Exhale. There’s no going back now. Obito tapped under Deidara’s chin and coaxed his head into turning; not by much, just an inch needed for Obito’s breath to ghost over his cheek, find the edge of his lips. Then, he waited. Hoped for what he desired the least. Deidara is far from a dunce. Obito knew that he, on some level, knows about his convoluted feelings – and, of course, knows what’s coming.
“What… are you doing?” Deidara’s voice was nothing but unsteady breaths. He sounded vulnerable, and was. Obito wished he could scoop that vulnerability into his hands and preserve the gift, forevermore.
Much to my dismay, the notion of eternity has never tickle your fancy.
Their breaths merged, spiked and taut, ripe with more than a yearning for shallow physicality. Silence wasn’t a no. Knowing what firecracker the passivity is coming from, Obito knew it was as good as yes.
His lips shaped a frown while heart thumped with delirious excitement. Ultimately, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to mourn Deidara with or without knowing the taste of his lips. He’d be damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t. Either way, he’s doomed.
Something within snapped. “What I always am: being selfish,” Obito rasped and bridged the distance.
Peck landed on the corner of Deidara’s mouth, experimentally light, the last chance for him to recoil. Obito hoped the physical contact would break Deidara out of the trance. A jerk would have bred hope, a yelp would have been a proof of the ice melting. The moment an impossibly soft sound graced ears Obito knew tomorrow will never come.
In the darkness, they’ve found each other, with more ease than under the sun. Deidara canted head, inched closer and established the proper contact. He parted lips and pressed back, bold in his timid invitation of more. In response, Obito made a low rumbling sound, mayhap of pleasure, repressive dam collapsing. Inside his head, it sounded like a howl of a wounded animal.
Deidara gasped, but didn’t draw back. He unfroze and shyly touched back, stroked through his hair with still shaky fingers, caressed down to the scars with palpable curiosity; then with more confidence, the bittersweet resoluteness. The simple act of acceptance unwound. Obito grabbed the hinge of Deidara’s jaw and deepened the contact, other hand possessively resting on hip. He made all sorts of noises, drunk on the echoing thirst, and couldn’t care less. Let it all out, otherwise it’d engulf.
The veil of the darkness sinfully tickled Obito’s imagination. Deidara’s eyes must be gently closing, a strand or two slipping, tickling the bridge of his nose; rare serenity taking a hold of features, melting the years of insecurities and loneliness he rarely spoke of, taught to hide own pain before the world eager to weaponize it. Deidara’s lips weren’t petal-soft like he’s imagined, but coarse and cracked, that of a ninja weathered by life. Obito wasn’t met with amorous eagerness highlighted by the blissful moans, but the anguish matching his own, stifled gasps verging on sobs.
The defiance of the expectation enhanced the experience. Growing addicted to the rush, Obito roamed hands over Deidara’s body, gasped and moved erratically, wanted this person to prove him wrong, again and again, till his perception of reality turns upside down; his personal catalyst.
You were destined to be an undoer. If I were an ounce braver, I would have given you a role other than a pawn. You wouldn’t have been on board to begin with, freedom suits you far better.
It was a dream come true. He’s spent too many nights lying awake and fantasizing about the discarded masks and languid touches, the impossibly tender kisses and comfort of human warmth. Now, he had a crumb, and has found himself unsatisfied. Tinges of bliss were overshadowed by the awareness; it was all marred, fouled.
Obito knew he should be enjoying this, but couldn’t ignore the harrowing sense of wrongness. Clock was ticking, too loud. Heart couldn’t be deceived. Deep down, he knew.
Even so, he couldn’t part with the fantasies, couldn’t pull away and face the reality; let him dream for a little longer. Obito closed eyes and kissed him slowly, gently, lovingly. Kissed with none of the aggression or ferocity the blood on their hands entails. Kissed like he’s always wanted to, but didn’t dare to, afraid of the sun rise. Now, he can, it’ll never shine again. Flowers will wither, to the last virulent petal.
The kiss lasted a whole eternity. Or kisses, he couldn’t tell how many escapism has gulled into scooping; none would quench the bottomless pit of his craving. The lack of oxygen forced them to part. Obito pulled away, painfully gently, and returned to a different reality where loneliness is the only promised. It was cold. So familiarly cold.
Wounds weren’t healed, not a single laceration; they all kept on bleeding, trails of red haunting in the place of unshed tears. The kiss has deepened the ache by sealing the deal. Anguish hasn’t been mended, betrayal hasn’t been forgiven. Deidara just chose to look away from the light, let the shadows seduce for the night.
The eerie atypicality weaved an epilogue that has left Obito hollow. A shiver ran through him, a tacit portent of what the dawn carries. The warmth of Deidara’s lips was vanishing from his, begged for more that he couldn’t get; every source dries up eventually, infinity exists only inside the wickedness of a gutless human being.
Paralyzed with a barrage of trembles, Obito rumbled groan and held tighter, with ruthless desperation, searing and bruising, as if under a delusion keep him that way. Nothing but a pipe dream. He can’t hold onto Deidara, not without clipping his wings, not without a lie to bind.
But maybe, just maybe, that’s for the best. If he lets the physical manifestation of his doubt die, he’d be able to advance toward the paramount goal with more… like hell he would. He’d lose his mind if he loses Deidara. You’ve said it yourself. I already have.
A chuckle unsettled. Obito couldn’t see him, but could feel Deidara’s sour smile. “Was that… meant to change my mind, hm?”
“No,” a strained breath, almost a rattle. “I’d never… not to you” – not out of principles or integrity, not even the sacred act of love itself, but because he knew guile won’t yield fruit.
A shudder roved through Deidara. “Then?” quieter than a whisper, devoid of a hope.
The truth has been waiting for a chance to escape. “I wanted to,” Obito confessed with astonishing lightness, delivering himself from the heavy burden of a secret.
If the circumstances were different, he would have managed a smile. Instead, he nuzzled into the back of Deidara’s nape, and amended, “I’ve always wanted to.”
“Is that so?” Deidara’s chest vibrated with a small, dry laugh. It rang like a wail. “I wish I could believe you.”
“I wish I could offer you something you can believe in.”
There was a moment of pause. “You can, hm.”
The certainty of Deidara’s tone flipped Obito’s stomach, tied it into a knot; it was too hoarse, too intended. No. Not that. Anything but that sweet temptation. He won’t be able to…
To his tragedy, he got his wish granted. Deidara slipped the robe off shoulder, the feeling of his bare skin sending an avalanche of chemicals to Obito’s brain. Gosh.
If writhes exuded a trace of seductiveness, the slightest hint of an ulterior motives, caution would have caused him to balk, and possibly retreat. But this determination, chakra low and calm, came from a sincere want. The craving has been there all along, dormant but existent, yet nothing has bloomed from the sprout.
Deidara seized his wrist and guided hand to the his inner thigh with burning assurance that won’t take no for an answer. “You can,” he repeated rawer, and broke him.
A lethal thrill of desire ran up Obito’s spine, pulse dangerously picking up, blood rushing south. He didn’t dare move, stood still as a statue, like a convict before a noose. Didn’t dare make a peep, afraid his voice would crack, expose the depth of unsound yearning. Didn’t dare breathe. His traitorous body was weak. He was weak.
A kiss, for all its neediness, was fugacious; can be overlooked, brushed off on a spur of the moment. But this, the searing grips and slick heat… it’s far more tactile. Far more memorable, damaging in an absence of a resolution. Obito wanted it to be tinged with anything other than the blues of melancholia. Wanted it to last. This way it’ll just haunt.
Intimacy shouldn’t be exchanged in the dark, like a dirty secret. He wanted to gaze into Deidara’s eyes while making love to him under the starry sky, but didn’t want Deidara to look at his, and in that selfishness laid the crux of the dilemma. He wanted everything, but was afraid to give anything in turn.
The clock hand was shifting, way pass the eleventh hour. If they stall, the beams of the morning light will disperse the dream like foam. Patience can hardly be considered his stronger suit, but it was Deidara’s that was severed first.
“It’s cold here, mm,” he hummed an excruciatingly mellow sound and tilted neck in an invitation – yielded, for the first and the last time. “I’m still cold… always.”
We both are, in ways temporary heat won’t remedy. By the dawn, warmth won’t be anything but a distant memory. Except, its cost will beget regret in only one of them.
A funny noise died in Obito’s throat. Outside awareness, his palm glided higher up Deidara’s thigh, fingers toying with the hem of the loose robe, eliciting a pleased groan that spurred the hell on. Deidara’s scent, clay and smoke, spiced with the citrus of the body wash, inebriated, like poison. He lusted for the afters, that’s why it’s pivotal he resist the cheep passing thrills. He knew that, but his blood roared.
A memory of one of their shenanigans flashed through Obito’s mind. He couldn't remember the leading events, but they weren't important either; all he could recall was the landscape of the setting sun. One thing before the other, the raillery veered to topic of affections and intimacy; in retrospect, he’s been testing the waters. Deidara grumbled that he’d rather die than let anyone leave a claim, even if emblematically, on his body. Back then, it was a target of derision. Now, it ceased rousing laughter.
Beaten and bushed, Obito lowered forehead into the crook of Deidara’s neck. Teeth itched, frozen nerves refused to obey, flesh and spirit at odds. “Deidara…” a plea he knew would fall on deaf ears.
It had. They were both too headstrong to meet halfway. A sigh of despair arrived in a cynical wrapping. “Don’t you want to convince me the dreams are worth dreaming?”
As if you’d ever be tempted by the castles in the sky.
If Obito harbored an iota of hope Deidara may come to know the cowardice of his caliber and resort to the escapism, he would have moved heaven and earth till their paths are conjoined, never to unyoke. If there were a sprout, Sharingan wouldn’t have insulted on a cardinal level. Deidara loves the rotten nature of this world too much to fall for an illusion. Stubborn in his stubbornness, he refused to see his perspective; refused to accept the heart that’s too feeble to accept the reality.
The harsh reality hit Obito like the tidal wave. Deidara has given up on him – on the hope that he can change. That’s why he’s offered the silent treatment in the place of altercations, distance in the place of brawls. Deidara knew it’s hopeless. And yet…
I want you to try. I want your persistence, your unrivaled passion. I want you to clasp me by the shoulders and shake me till I crumble at your feet. I want you to deepen my doubt. I want the dawn. I want it, with you.
Not in the illusionary world that bends to his whims, limited by the confines of his perception, but this one, wild and rich in unpredictability of this man’s fickle nature. In the depths of his soul, Obito knew the red glow would come to haunt him too.
He could have had it all, if he hadn’t screwed up. He didn’t have a right to demand anything, let alone something as sacred as a second chance. He didn’t have a right to mourn own fate, but dry eyes did sting. He didn’t have the right to many things, but still gave himself the right to shape destinies – to play God as a pitiful mortal that couldn’t pave the own path towards happiness.
Presented with the correct and the right choice, Obito had no option but to opt for the wrong one. “If only I could,” with a defeated sigh, he pulled Deidara closer and gave in.
Obito sank teeth into the unmarked flesh where neck and shoulder met; laid a claim that won’t last enough to matter. Skin broke with ease, his vehemence drew blood, heightened Deidara’s gasps of pleasure that weren’t on the same wavelength as his grunts. Obito didn’t stop. No longer could. He wished regret didn’t taste this sweet.