ᴀᴜ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ sᴀsᴜᴋᴇ ᴊᴏɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴋᴀᴛsᴜᴋɪ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴇɪᴅᴀʀᴀ's ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ (ᴘᴏsᴛ sᴀsᴏʀɪ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɪᴛᴀᴄʜɪ ɪs ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ) // ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ᴀᴜ??

Sasuke leans back, chopsticks hovering over his rice. His eyes are sharp, cold, like he’s scanning you for weaknesses instead of eating.

“You know,” he starts, voice flat but deliberate, “most people I work with either panic or babble after a mission. You? You’re… grinning like we just won a parade instead of surviving a firefight. How is that even possible?”

Deidara chews, smirking, clay-stained fingers tapping the table. “…Because it’s fun.”

Sasuke pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fun? You almost got yourself killed. And me. Do you even care about the mission outcome, or is it all just… explosions and dramatics for your amusement?”

“Explosions are the outcome,” Deidara shrugs. “…Also, me surviving is a win. Obviously.”

Sasuke narrows his eyes, leaning forward slightly. “You really are insufferable. You talk too much, eat like a maniac, and somehow think your chaos counts as strategy. I don’t know why I even tolerate you.”

“you'd be bored without me,” Deidara replies casually, tilting his head.

Sasuke sighs, setting his chopsticks down. “…Lucky for you I’m not bored enough to strangle you right now. But don’t mistake my patience for approval. This ‘bonding’ you keep talking about? It’s not bonding. It’s… tolerating a liability.”