Chapter Text
his newest creations repulse him.
they are abominations. hollow, wretched things that mock him with their mediocrity. they lack passion, they lack beauty, they lack him. where did it go? the hunger? the obsession? the fire that once burned so violently in his veins...
now reduced to dying embers smothered beneath the weight of repetition.
each piece he crafts is an echo of something greater, something lost. just fabric and thread without a soul. meaningless. a grotesque parody of his once flawless artistry.
the realization gnaws at him, burrowing deep into his chest like a parasite festering and multiplying;
he has become dull.
at the edge of his world, in the suffocating silence of his dimly lit studio, sasori sits, surrounded by failures. half-finished sketches torn, fabrics drained of color, mannequins staring at him with their empty, vacant gaze mirroring his own. they whisper to him, sneering and ridiculing.
his hands itch to create everlasting beauty, but inspiration eludes him, slipping through his fingers like sand.
it infuriates him.
the frustration was slow at first, prickly. irritating. but now, rotted into something else entirely. something violent. something desperate.
he paces like a caged animal, golden eyes feverish darting between his lackluster pieces. the weight of his inadequacies crushing his ribs like a vice. the plastic stares, their silence heavier than a scream.
his teeth clench.
every stitch, every thread, is another slip into madness. if he cannot reclaim the fire, then he will see the whole damn world ablaze.
but what's missing?
what is it?!
he was once brilliant. these hands, his hands, they created masterpieces, perfection frozen in time. they pulsed with something raw, something divine. he sculpted beauty flesh, carved eternity from the fleeting morality. that was art. that was truth. but now? a mere imitation of who he once was.
a puppet of his own making.
sasori sits hunched over his worktable, eyes darkened, fingers twitching following the rhythm of knocks on his door.
"oi, danna! you alive in there?"
he doesn't answer.
another round of knocks followed by the creak of his door opening, deidara steps in. his face rises, blinking at the wreckage before him. his bright blue eyes scan the room, from the shattered ink bottles to the crumpled designs scattered across the floor. deidara whistles, "sheesh. looks like a warzone in here."
"leave."
"seriously, danna, what happened? you still in your existential crisis or did one of your mannequins start talking back to ya?"
sasori's fingers twitch and he finally lifts his gaze, locking onto deidara with an unreadable expression. shadows carve into the hollows of his cheeks and for a moment, deidara swore his old friend looked more mannequin than man.
"they're uninspired. they're empty. useless."
deidara snorts, "damn, that's harsh."
sasori's jaw tightens. his gaze flickering back to the chaos around him.
"have you even slept, man?" he doesn't respond, he just stares at the blank piece of paper, disgust curling at his lips.
deidara wraps a piece of shredded pewter silk around his neck posing in the mirror. "wanna get some coffee with me."
sasori finally turns his head, expression blank as if deidara had just suggested setting himself on fire. "...what?"
the blond cheekily grins. "mhm, you heard me, yeah. there's this coffee shop not too far from here. i go sometimes. the drinks are decent. the people are boring, but one of the baristas has red hair like you. you should come."
sasori stares at him dryly. "why would i subject myself to that?"
deidara kicks a crumpled paper to the side. "uh because, danna, you look like your seconds away from setting the place on fire. and don't get me wrong, i love a good explosion, but i don't wanna get blamed. got one too many felonies stacked up on me. besides, caffeine might shock some life back into you, yeah?"
the man exhales slowly, his fingers tapping against the table. he should say no. he should return to his work and force himself to create until the emptiness is filled. but the idea of sitting in this room any longer, drowning in self-pity, makes his skin itch. he sighs.
"fine."
deidara grins. "now we're talking! let's go before you change your mind." sasori stands reluctantly, brushing past his friend as he heads to the door.
the blond pats him on the back as they exit. "trust me, danna, you're gonna thank me for this."
sasori hums unamused, but for the first time in what feels like forever, his mind is quiet.
just for a moment.
the scent of burnt espresso and sickly sweet syrup lingers in the air, clinging to everything like a film. the dim glow of overhead lighting flickers intermittently, casting shadows across the faded walls.
the sound of milk steaming and ceramic cups clinking barely registers to sasori as he steps inside, the warmth of the shop failing to thaw the cold that settled within him.
he doesn't belong here.
everything about this place is dull. uninspired.
a mindless cycle of routine.
people shuffling in and out like lifeless marionettes, ordering the same drinks, making the same idle conversation, trapped in their own mediocrity. he can already feel the minutes slipping away, wasted on something so pointless.
"you're glaring at the menu like it insulted your entire bloodline, yeah."
sasori barely shifts his gaze. deidara stands beside him, grinning like a fool, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. "why did i let you drag me here?" sasori mutters.
"because i'm a genius and you secretly enjoy my company." deidara steps forward in line. "now hurry up and order something before you turn into dust."
sasori exhales sharply, his patience thinning by the second. he doesn't care for coffee. doesn't care for the ritual of it, the way people cling to it like some kind of lifeline. weak. but he can feel deidara's stare, expectant and insufferable.
"black," he says, voice flat. "no sugar."
deidara rolls his eyes. "tch. of course. you would drink something as bitter as yourself." sasori doesn't dignify that with a response.
by the time they get their drinks, deidara is already making his way halfway through his, a concoction so overly sweet that sasori grimaces.
the blond sighs, dropping into a chair near the window, stretching his legs out in front of him with no regard for personal space. sasori sits across from him, more restrained, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of his untouched cup.
deidara watches him, a knowing smirk tugging the corner of his lips. "you gonna drink that, or just stare at it all night?"sasori's gaze flickers to him. "you never stop talking, do you?"
"nope!" he laughs slurping down the rest of his drink.
a silence settles between them, comfortable in a way sasori doesn't entirely acknowledge. the coffee shop hums with the mindless murmur of strangers, blending into a background noise he easily tunes out. he should feel more irritated, but at least here, surrounded by the dull, lifeless existence of others, the weight of his own shortcomings feels less suffocating.
deidara's straw whistles, signaling the emptiness. he slams it down with a dramatic huff. "you ever think about making something different, danna?"
sasori finally lifts his cup, taking a slow sip. the bitterness is sharp against his tongue. he lowers it, leveling deidara with a curious glance.
"elaborate."
he shrugs. "i dunno, just seems like you've been stuck in a rut lately, yeah. maybe you should switch things up. try something new. i mean, not that i'm saying your art isn't already great, but even geniuses like us gotta evolve."
sasori's grip on the cup tightens. something new? he had perfected his craft. there was nothing new to pursue, only the endless refinement of true artistry.
and yet, something about deidara's words linger like another itch beneath his skin. maybe he never did achieve greatness.
deidara watches him for a long moment before leaning back into his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. "sometimes the best inspiration comes from things you least expect."
sasori doesn't respond. instead, his gaze drifts past deidara, over the sea of faceless people lost in their own lives.
and then, his sharp eyes catch her immediately.
a young woman sitting alone, her posture slightly slumped, exhaustion rolling off of her in waves. something is striking about her appearance. a rawness in the way she exists in this monotonous place, detached yet fully present. she does not blend in.
she is different.
and sasori has always been drawn to rare things. a porcelain doll, cracking away at the edges from whatever it is chipping her soul away. yet, even through the exhaustion weighing her face down, her sea-foam eyes remain striking.
her gaze meets his, and even in their weariness, tainted by a lack of sleep,
inspiring.
"oi, danna?"
deidara's voice doesn't register. sasori is already standing, his moves calculating. "where are you going?"
"something caught my interest," he says simply walking away. deidara turns around watching him go, one brow arching before he laughs. "huh. i'll be damned."
with that, sasori approaches her table, a predator closing it on its prey. silent, certain, enthralled.
in that moment, the world tilts, time bends, and something inevitable takes shape in the space between them.
the undeniable realization slashes him, tearing through his mind like a blade.
it was never the fabric.
it was never the theme.
it was flesh.
she is what's been missing. the elusive spark, the answer to the pit of raw anguish and despair that has rotted him from the inside out. as the light settles, the suffocating venomous weight he's carried dissolves and fades into something erratic.
the inspiration, the pride, it washes over him, reminding himself of who he is.
his art, its only slept for a moment, waiting for something truly worthy. waiting for her.
he thought all this time he mastered his craft, ascended beyond even himself.
no.
she will be his grand masterpiece.
she will be his perfect everlasting creation.