a lovely night | hidadei ✓

a lovely night

Deidara runs a hand through his thick blond hair, letting his fingers glaze past his ponytail and allows them to untangle the small knots as his hand drops to his side. His arms sway slightly from side to side, his mouth hands gnawing on the tingey bits of dried clay left on their tongues. His day has been incredibly long, he's been up since six in the morning as Sasori wouldn't quit nagging about preparing for their mission and their trudging walks through the great desert didn't quite cheer him up. The back of his shoes has left a bubbly blister on his skin and aches with every step he takes.

The mission would've run smoothly if Sasori allowed him to travel with his clay bird, but decided against it after wanting their presence to go unknown. Deidara knows himself like the back of his palm, he knows all of his strong points, all of his weak points and all of the information he could possibly gather about himself. To say he knows Sasori the same is a stretch. Likewise, he had a blast pursuing their bounty. The joyous essence of watching his art go off like firecrackers on New Years is what matters, proving he remains superior compared to those tasteless shinobi below.

After all, causing a scene and attracting attraction are some of his specialties.

The summer day is beautiful. The weather has been good for once, it's nothing too cold and nothing too mild, it's equally balanced and the thought of it brings a small smile to Deidara's face. Near the corner of a cliff, he's sitting on a slanted rock and observing as the sky opens up from above him. A cool evening breeze whips around him and the atmosphere turns into a unique ombre gradient from a deep fiery orange to a bashful royal purple. Even some stars have come out of hiding, beginning to light up and twinkle in the most darkened parts of the sky. The vibrant amber colour shines behind the vast land of trees, making them appear like black construction cutouts of paper.

The woods are seemingly empty, and he likes to think everyone is enjoying the rare heat. The season hasn't been all that great throughout the villages in terms of actually feeling like Summer. It's that one small something Deidara has been longing for a while - a break. One where he can finally work and play around with his lovely creations in peace. He holds up his hand, fingers curling in as his mouth bites back on his clay and roughens it around the edges. In his palm, a chain of baby butterflies appear, magically coming to life as they flap their tiny wings to the sunset sky.

In a blink of an eye, the butterflies explode as a deafening blast is carried along with the wind, heard and echoed from meters away. If Deidara looks closely, he can pinpoint the exact moment and precise image of when the insects explode. He loves art with every fibre of his body. There's something mesmerizing, hypnotic even, about his explosions. He builds them, watches them spread as chakra flickers from within and with an easy effortful grunt - boom.

It's beautiful.

"It's not bad, I guess. I've seen better."

It takes Deidara a second to realize he said it out loud.

And that he's no longer alone.

So much for peace and quiet.

The damp smell of firewood ash circles the two Akatsuki members, slowly settling in comforting silence. Hidan steps forward, his fuchsia purple eyes are focused on the remains of scattered clay drifting in the air. A pair of ocean blue ones follow him, watching as he sets his beloved scythe down with a gentle clink, leaning against it so it supports his weight.

"And what would you possibly know about art, hm?"

Hidan gives a light scoff, craning his head with a growing smile. His smiles aren't friendly or nice in the slightest, but he's beaming a genuine one.

"More than you think." He answers, and Deidara craves to wipe that smug grin off his face. "I can tell when something is pretty, y'know."

"It's more than how 'pretty' something looks, yeah. That's just dumbing it down for babies." Deidara starts, a grin tugging the edge of his lips. Ignoring Hidan's gaze, he tilts his head back to watch the trails of grey and white smoke infiltrate the sky. "It's more than that. Art is perfect, like a masterpiece - absolutely flawless. Art is-"