Strings of Detonation

Quite Between Storms

The ruined house groaned under the weight of snow, every gust of wind pressing against its battered frame like the storm was trying to claw its way inside. Flakes forced themselves through the gaps in the roof, glittering as they fell into the dim light of the room.

Deidara sat slouched against the wall, one knee drawn up, his cloak wrapped tight around his shoulders. He huffed into his hands, trying to rub some warmth into his fingers. The air was sharp and thin—every breath like a mouthful of knives. His blonde hair clung damp to his face, the ends stiff with ice.

Across the room, Sasori worked. His cloak was open, sleeves rolled back just enough to bare pale wrists as his fingers moved over the shell of a puppet’s arm. He handled the joints with delicate precision, each thread of chakra glimmering faintly in the half-light. His expression was unreadable, carved as still as his creations, but his shoulders were set rigid, every movement deliberate.

Deidara watched him for a while, his grin faint but persistent. The contrast always got to him—how Sasori could look so alive while being so still. Like a marionette with its own will.

“You don’t get cold, do you, Danna?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the storm’s low roar.

Sasori didn’t look up. “Not in the same way you do.”

“Tch. Figures. Guess being a puppet’s got its perks, yeah.” Deidara flexed his hands, sighing as the joints cracked. “Meanwhile I’m over here feeling like my fingers are gonna snap off.”

“Then stay quiet and conserve your energy.” Sasori’s tone was clipped, but not cruel.

Deidara smirked, leaning his head back against the wall. “If I stayed quiet, you’d get bored out of your mind. Admit it.”

This time, Sasori did glance up. Just for a moment, his gaze flicked to Deidara—sharp, assessing—but it lingered longer than usual. Then, without a word, he went back to his work.

The storm rumbled on, relentless.

---

A little while later, Deidara shifted closer to the weak fire they had managed to coax from damp wood and scraps. The flames hissed, barely holding their ground against the drafts. He leaned in anyway, shivering as he extended his hands.

“Pathetic,” Sasori muttered, though his voice was low, almost distracted.

“What’s pathetic?”

“That fire. It won’t last.” Sasori adjusted a screw in the puppet’s wrist, his hands steady. “Neither will you if you keep wasting heat.”

Deidara rolled his eyes. “Always so dramatic, yeah.” He leaned back again, arms crossed, though his cloak did little to stop the cold biting into his skin. “You know, most people would offer to help instead of just pointing out problems.”

Sasori stilled. His threads retracted silently, vanishing back into his fingers. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then he stood, crossing the short distance between them.

Deidara blinked up at him, grin quirking despite the chill. “What, you gonna fix me like one of your dolls?”

Without answering, Sasori knelt down. His cloak brushed against Deidara’s as he reached out, pulling the fabric tighter around the younger man’s shoulders. His hands were cool, steady, but careful—no threads, no weapons. Just the weight of touch.

Deidara froze. The grin wavered, caught off-guard. “...Danna?” '(he has done it again...)'

“Your body wastes too much energy on heat,” Sasori said flatly, though his voice was quieter than before. “If you burn it all, you’ll collapse again. I don’t intend to drag dead weight through the snow.”

Deidara snorted, trying to mask the way his chest tightened. “Such a romantic, yeah.”

Sasori ignored him, but his hands lingered a moment longer before withdrawing. He sat back on his heels, gaze flicking toward the fire.

For a long moment, only the storm spoke.

---

Deidara tilted his head, studying him. The lines of Sasori’s face were illuminated by the firelight, sharp shadows playing across features that always seemed too still, too composed. But up close, Deidara swore he saw something different—tension around the eyes, the faintest curve of weariness.

“Y’know,” Deidara said softly, “most people would’ve just let me freeze. I’m not stupid. You care more than you pretend. I know I've said this before, but I just feel like repeating it.”

Sasori’s gaze snapped back to him, but his reply came slower, measured. “Don’t confuse necessity with sentiment.” '(how many times do I have to repeat this too -_-)'

Deidara smirked faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Heh. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Still, the warmth of Sasori’s touch lingered on his shoulders long after.

---

The wind howled again, rattling the broken shutters. The storm wasn’t letting up.

Deidara eventually stretched out on the floorboards, his cloak wrapped tight, the fire’s glow flickering across his face. “Guess we’re stuck another night, yeah. Can’t say I hate the company tho.”

Sasori returned to his corner, silent. He sat with his tools again, but his movements were slower this time, his gaze occasionally flicking back toward the blond stretched out across the floor.

Deidara’s breathing slowed, drifting toward sleep. His lips curved in a half-smile, even unconscious.

Sasori watched for a while, then finally allowed himself a quiet exhale...

The storm pressed on outside, endless and furious. But inside, there was a fragile quiet—something thinner, more dangerous than the snow-laden walls.