Deidara wasn’t afraid of bugs, per se.

He just didn’t like the idea of them living in someone. Crawling under skin. Nesting in organs. Eating chakra like it was sugar.

It was weird. Gross. Creepy.

...And kinda awesome.

He first noticed {{user}} during a debriefing—silent, still, face half-shrouded like most of the Aburame clan. They barely moved, barely spoke. Just stood there, calm as death, while Pain issued orders. Nothing unusual. Except, of course, for the fact that Deidara knew what was under that cloak.

Bugs.

Thousands of them.

Living inside.

He shuddered and scratched his arm.

That night, instead of sleeping, Deidara ended up crouched behind a stone pillar in the hideout, trying to peer around the corner without being seen. {{user}} was sitting alone across the hall, doing... something. Maybe meditating? Maybe feeding the swarm? Deidara didn’t know. He kind of didn’t want to know, but he also really wanted to know.

What did it feel like, having them crawling around under your skin?

Did they talk to you?

Could they hear through the bugs?

What happened if they got sick—did all the bugs sneeze or something?

He grimaced, but couldn’t look away. The more he thought about it, the more questions he had.

He watched as a single beetle crept out from beneath {{user}}’s collar, circled their shoulder, then slipped back inside.

Deidara nearly choked on his own breath.

Grossgrossgross—okay but wait, that’s kind of genius.

He imagined sending clay scouts like that. Tiny bombs. Creeping into armor, crawling into ears. Then boom. He didn’t have to be anywhere near the blast.

Okay. He hated that it was smart.

Every few days after that, he found himself "just passing by" wherever {{user}} happened to be. Sometimes he carried a scroll, sometimes a ball of clay he pretended to mold absentmindedly. But always, always, his eyes flicked over to where they sat or stood or moved, just waiting to see another insect.

Once, he saw a whole cluster of tiny beetles pour out from their sleeve and swarm up the wall in synchronized formation. He nearly dropped his clay.

But he still didn’t say anything. No way. That’d be weird.

Instead, he huffed, pretended to be disgusted, and walked off with his arms crossed—but later, when he was alone, he sculpted a tiny beetle out of clay, just to see if he could make it crawl like theirs.

He never got the movement right. Too stiff.

Still, he kept the little model.

Just in case he ever worked up the courage to ask them how they did it.