#reddawnmultimuse

@reddawnmultimuse/Deidara said: "you were my first love. not that you needed to know that."

It felt more like, for once, he was the one caught in an illusion.

ㅤSo many things were unlikely about the present circumstances, the fingers of a hand wouldn't suffice to count them all.

ㅤFor a starter, the fact that both of them were here, alive. In a very strange coincidence, that both of them survived death at the hands of Sasuke as it was; one deliberately, the other by accident. Then, the fact that they would meet again, out of pure chance, in a tiny rural village in the middle of nowhere. Itachi during one of his lighthearted journeys to have his body slowly getting used to normal life again, after months in a coma and then months upon months of recovery and physiotherapy. Deidara because- ...he wasn't sure, really. He hadn't asked yet; and might or might not, depending on how the conversation developed.

ㅤAnd then... of course, what his former coworker had just said. Just like that, dumped it on top of that bar table like it was just pocket change. Everything about this was the worst idea ever. They shouldn't be here, drinking together like old buddies, ready to catch up, ready to share tales and anecdotes. It was borderline surreal. Itachi himself did not need the extra push from alcohol for his body to have reasons to flare up in inflammation all over again, and Deidara did not need it to... spill out earth-shattering truths, to use an understatement.

First love.

ㅤIf the younger shinobi [was Deidara still a shinobi?; he hadn't asked, either] had punched him square on the face instead, it would have been so much easier to deal with. What do you even say to this? What face do you put on?

«I-»

ㅤI'm sorry, was the first thing that dumbly came to mind and that almost made it out - but, fortunately, the lingering taste of sake on his own tongue slowed it down enough that the thought eventually vanished. What was he even going to apologize for? For everything, Itachi supposed. For basically having kidnapped the boy that Deidara had been back then, under the guise of recruiting him to the Akatsuki; following orders, yes, and if it had not been him it would have been either Sasori or Kisame and the end result would have been the same - but the weight of that responsibility / guilt wore on him even now. Itachi had always been incredibly talented at shouldering tragedies that did not belong to him, after all. But also... I'm sorry that you fell in love with a lie?

«You-»

ㅤIt was also probably the first time that Deidara would get to see him grasping for words in such a way that it bordered on half-pathetic and half-hilarious. And, likely, the first time Deidara would get to see so much emotion showing on his face? The mask had been discarded, finally; thank fuck for that. No more need to pretend to be a demon. No more need to hide his true nature, his true thoughts, his true care. But did this make things better or worse? Technically speaking, shouldn't it give Deidara reasons to hate him all the more? So many questions and not a single answer in sight.

ㅤNot that anything at all was in sight for Itachi anymore, to use a very poor joke. Yet another reason why drinking was the worst idea ever; if he ended up tripping on his own feet on the way out it was going to be one hundred percent on him. But that was a problem for his future self; the present self already had enough to make his head spin, literally and figuratively. «I've always known you have terrible tastes in general,» was the sorry excuse of a comeback that eventually came out, his slender fingers clutching the porcelain cup so tight the knuckles were even paler than usual.

The most eloquent.

ㅤCould he be blamed, though? All things considered? Blind gaze falling absently on the surface of the table, for a moment, Itachi heaved a quiet, barely audible sigh. There was a ridiculous urge in him to laugh at how mind-blowing all of this was, an urge to run the heck out of this bar and only stop once he was back at Konoha, an urge to curl up under the table and cover his ears and just go to sleep pretending he'd heard nothing. And, at the same time, he wasn't sure why it had startled him so much. The kid who used to have his locker filled to the brim with love letters from classmates, panicking because an old friend of sorts confessed his feelings to him? Maybe the long years of wearing the mask had ruined his capacity to react like a normal human being more than he'd realized. Looking up again, not that it made a difference but at least it was more respectful, Itachi pursed his lips and decided that, since they were here anyway, making real the worst idea ever, he might as well see where it'd lead them.

She opened the oval shaped locket and inside were portraits of her parents. One side was Izuna, the other was Reina. “It isn’t much, but it is one of the few things I have of them.” She handed it over to him. If this didn’t suffice she could find that other picture she had, just for him.

Halfway through his explanation, Chitose couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip. Unable to resist, she softly chuckled. 

Suppose magic was a foreign concept here, and that was okay. Sothis hummed as she gazed up at Deidara. She created a dog made entirely out of leaves, and she threw it up in the air. Using a burst of pure magic, the small animal suddenly exploded in a cloud of green.

“What do you think?”

It felt as SIsyphus must have as he pushed his boulder to the peak, Zabuza shutting the door behind him. In a moment no more than half a breath, the rogue shinobi was weightless. Haku was finally safe and receiving care. After their catastrophic encounter with Konoha's Team 7, by all rights, they both should have died. Instead, Zabuza in his critical condition had managed to lay low long enough to mend. Haku, on the other hand, had not woken from his comatose state, something a man like him could do nothing but idly twiddle his thumbs, pressed between the need to watch over the pathetic creature and to obtain supplies to provide for the both of them. The strain between the conflicting needs drove Zabuza here, a place he only thought he would be returning to by body bag.

Kirigakure. After his failed attempt to rid his village of that tyrant, he had already made his peace never returning here. That was until the rumors of a factionless organization working within seeking recruits had come his way. Amnesty went a long way... And with the change of power to the fifth Mizukage, there was a chance his old haunts still had sympathy for him left. If so, he would have the Akatsuki to thank... Or curse, if things went sour.

For now, they had been gracious enough to house Haku and attend to him. That woman, the one wearing a paper flower had assured him; she would be the first to die should this be a ruse of some sort. ... It was a cold take, perhaps too much so. But it was hard to think of Kirigakure as anything other than the bloodbath he had left it. In the least some policies has changed... Good for them.

But now Zabuza felt the boulder of responsibility pull him down the mountain slopes as he silently padded to what appeared to be a common area. Nothing came for free, after all. For the time being, he was on probation until the Akatsuki could determine how much his usefulness was worth. They would learn soon. At some point, his 'partner' would show up and undoubtedly try to size him up. Fair enough. But until they showed up, Zabuza practically through himself into the couch and sank, arms spread and head rested back.

Without the safe cover of tree canopies of Takigakure, the direct sunlight is overpowering, Fū is, quickly and repiningly, learning. Ducking under the welcome shelter of a roadside tea house, after the next way-marker pointing her in the direction of the next nearest village, Fū lets her eyes adjust to the dim four corners of the modest shop.

She almost struggles to see over the edge of the high counter as she enthusiastically hands over a few silver pieces and her waterskin to be replenished, as well as offering the shopkeeper conversation that goes untaken.

While, at first, she had assumed the shady sanctuary was empty, a dull glint of metal catches her eye in the back corner and, with it, the sight of an unusual stranger.

Taking her freshly-filled waterskin from the shopkeeper, she draws nearer to the back of the shop and approaches the occupied table, more transfixed by the scythe leaning against the corner where the walls met before she meets the stranger's gaze with a smile, eyeing the glint of metal that had lured her close.

"Oh, so you're a shinobi, too?" she asks, still clearly out of breath from the quick trek down the mountain pass.

Staring at the hitai-ate around his neck, she turns awkwardly to flash the band around her upper arm, which appeared dissimilarly clean and unmarred by scuffs or signs of wear. The scroll strapped to her back nearly throws her off balance, sore soles underfoot desperately begging for a rest.