Strings of Detonation

Between Walls

The stone corridors of the hideout swallowed sound in that uncanny way only underground places could. The dripping of water from cracks above echoed faintly, and the air carried a damp chill that clung to their skin and clothes even after hours spent inside. Flickering torches painted shifting shadows along the rough-hewn walls as Deidara and Sasori walked side by side, their pace unhurried but heavy with the weight of the meeting behind them.

Deidara shoved his hands into his cloak’s sleeves, chewing on the silence. He was the first to break.
“Y’know, un, you didn’t have to snap like that back there. Almost looked like you actually cared.”

Sasori’s eyes didn’t flicker from the path ahead. His voice, when it came, was as flat as the stone underfoot.
“Don’t mistake necessity for sentiment.”

Deidara grinned faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. '(he always says that)'
“Mm. Necessity that sounded a lot like you didn’t wanna lose me, yeah.”

Silence stretched. Sasori could have dismissed him with a sharper quip. He didn’t. That pause—too long, too deliberate—was louder than words. Deidara caught it, and it gnawed at him in a way he wasn’t sure he liked.

They rounded a bend, the corridor widening near one of the central halls. Voices carried, and Deidara’s grin soured when Kisame’s bulk loomed into view. The swordsman leaned against the wall, Samehada resting lazily on his shoulder, jagged teeth bared in a grin that was all too knowing.

“Well, well. Look at the storm survivors,” Kisame drawled, his gaze flicking between the two. “Heard you were snowed in together. Cozy.”

Deidara bristled. “Tch. Better than being stuck with a walking fish tank, yeah.”

Kisame chuckled low in his throat. “Could’ve fooled me. You two walked in looking like a married couple back from a holiday.”

Deidara opened his mouth for a retort, but Sasori’s presence beside him stilled him more effectively than a hand on his arm. Sasori didn’t even look at Kisame, simply kept walking with that disinterested calm that made mockery slide off like water on stone.

From further down the hall, Itachi’s dark gaze tracked them quietly as he stepped out of the shadows. He said nothing, but his eyes lingered—sharp, unreadable—as if he were cataloging every twitch of expression, every too-long glance between partners.

Deidara felt his skin prickle under it. He wanted to snarl, but Sasori moved smoothly past, forcing Deidara to follow unless he wanted to stand there fuming alone. Kisame laughed behind them, the sound bouncing off stone.

By the time they reached the quieter wing of the hideout, the silence between them had settled thick again. Their room was a small, spare cell with two low stools and a table scattered with scraps of clay and half-assembled puppetry tools. The storm’s chill seemed to linger in the walls themselves.

Deidara flopped onto a stool, dragging off his cloak. His blond hair was a tangle from the days of damp cold, and his hands twitched for something to mold, but instead he propped his chin on them and watched Sasori unpack his tools with neat precision.

“You’re really just gonna pretend it didn’t happen, yeah?” he asked suddenly.

Sasori didn’t glance up. “What exactly?”

“You know what I'm talking about. Back in the meeting. Cutting me off before I could say a word. Getting all—” Deidara waved a hand, searching for it, “—possessive, un.”

Sasori’s hand stilled on a small screwdriver. His head tilted just slightly, but his voice was still composed.
“I acted because inefficiency irritates me. You wandering off with another partner would have wasted time.”

Deidara snorted. “Inefficiency, my ass. You’d have let me freeze out there if I didn’t matter at all. But you didn’t.”

That landed. For a second, Sasori’s gaze lifted, dark eyes meeting Deidara’s with a flicker of something that wasn’t cold detachment. His lips pressed together, as if weighing words, then parted—only for the moment to collapse as his focus dropped back to his tools.

“You read too much into things,” he muttered.

Deidara leaned back, a smirk tugging at his mouth. He’d seen it, though. The tiny slip, the hesitation. Proof enough.
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just bad at hiding it.”

Sasori’s hands moved with deliberate steadiness, but the faint tightening of his grip on the pliers betrayed him. Deidara’s grin widened, equal parts smug and curious.

The room quieted except for the soft clink of tools and the drip of water somewhere in the cave. Shadows swayed across stone, and the weight of unsaid words hung thicker than any storm outside.

Deidara finally leaned forward, voice softer but still edged with teasing.
“You’ll crack one of these days, Danna. And when you do, I’ll be there, un.”

Sasori didn’t look at him. But he didn’t push him away, either.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It thrummed, alive, like the hush before an explosion.