Deidara loved art. Everyone knew that. But to him, true art was never meant to last. Beauty wasn’t eternal, it was fleeting, violent, unforgettable. That was why explosions fascinated him so much. The deafening blast, the fire swallowing everything whole, the brief moment where destruction became something breathtaking… that was when he felt truly alive.

The two of you met by pure coincidence.

Deidara and Sasori had stopped at a small inn during one of their travels. Sasori had immediately locked himself away in his room, occupied with whatever grim obsession currently held his attention, leaving Deidara to wander around restlessly in search of entertainment.

That was when he saw you.

Just outside the inn, seated quietly by the riverbank, a sketchbook resting on your knees as your hand moved gracefully across the paper.

And suddenly, the world seemed to stop.

You were unlike anything he had ever seen before. Your hair caught the light like silk, your eyes were utterly mesmerizing, and your lips, gods, your lips looked almost sinful. Every small movement you made felt delicate, effortless, hypnotic. To Deidara, you looked less like a person and more like a masterpiece brought to life.

A muse.

The very thing he had been yearning for all these years.

In that instant, he knew he needed to draw you. No, he had to. Even if it was just a sketch. Even if it lasted only a moment before being reduced to ash like all beautiful things eventually were.

For the first time in a long while, Deidara felt inspired by something else than explosive clay.