Chapter Text
The room was small, as rooms in brothels often are.
A bed, a table and a dingy light that flickered rhythmically. Sometimes, Deidara thought the flickering matched the groans and thrusts of its occupants, the pulse of bodies against a creaking bedframe that seemed to rattle through the floorboards and into his bones. They were ugly sounds, sharp and strange, too big for the tiny space. He could hear them now, bleeding through the thin wall that separated the bedroom from the narrow bathroom where he hid. The flickering light cast broken shadows beneath the door, twitching with every movement beyond.
Like always, when there were guests, his mother told him to hide away there and be really quiet. The men could get angry if he was found, or get ideas.
He pressed his back to the cold wall, his hands busily shaping the lump of clay he'd brought with him. Sticky, crumbling pieces clung to the too-long sleeves of his shirt and smudged the fabric of his shorts, which had once been black before wear and dust turned them grey. He was not creating anything but oddly shaped blobs. Still it was soothing. Part of the routine. He was fully concentrated on his new art project and so didn’t pay much attention to the particularly loud groan, the rustling, and the slam of a door.
“Deidara? You can come out now.”
He looked up, blinking at the door.
Carefully, he set the clay aside and edged forward, learned hesitancy guiding every movement. He cracked the door open just enough to peek through.
His mother was standing by the bed, tying the sash of her robe. It was pink, soft, a little frayed around the edges. Deidara liked how it felt against his cheek when she hugged him. She caught him watching and smiled, a small, tired thing. But it was a smile all the same. And for a moment, Deidara thought — hiding in the bathroom, staying quiet, feeling the cold tile around him—it was all worth it, if it meant she would smile at him like that. Deidara stepped fully into the room, feet whispering against the warped floorboards.
"You did really good, Dei," his mother said, voice warm and easy. She crossed the space between them and combed her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down. "Not a peep," she praised, almost laughing. "See? If you were just quiet like that every time, we wouldn’t have any problems, would we?" Her hand slid lower, fingers brushing against the dark bruise blooming over his right eye. She touched it gently, almost absentmindedly, a slow caress that made Deidara stiffen despite himself. A souvenir from a particularly nasty client a couple of days ago.
Deidara was eight and small even for his age. The man he tried to attack was old, big and mean. He made his mom scream a lot during their session. Deidara didn’t know what came over him, only that he had to help her, had to make it stop. The next thing he registered, he was running, throwing himself at the man with all the strength in his tiny body.
For a moment, surprise was on his side. The client stumbled, crashing naked onto the floor, roaring in anger.
Deidara felt angry too. He burned with it. Before he could stop it there was his anger, explosive and all consuming leaving a scorch mark on the man’s chest.
The man screamed. The smell of burning flesh hit Deidara and so did the client's fist, slamming his face into the side of the bed frame. Everything after was a blur. He remembered Kodai, the brothel manager, bursting in, some yelling and being carried into a different room. Everyone was very unhappy with him afterwards and he’d made mom lose out on all that money.
Deidara promised to never do it again. So far he had kept that promise. And if his mom’s smile meant anything, he was doing better.
He smiled back at her, holding tight to that fragile bit of pride.
“Are you done for the day? Can we go to the market like you said hm?”
“Not quite, I still have another client" she said, reaching for the makeup scattered across her table. "Why don’t you go outside and wait there this time? Maybe Yuko is out there to play with you?”
Deidara’s smile quickly faded. Yuko was one of the younger women that his mom worked with. They had grown up together, hiding away in dark corners and sneaking coins from distracted customers passing through. Last year, they said she was old enough to start working herself. After that, he saw her less and less. He liked Yuko, but was really looking forward to the traveling market—seeing all the shapes and colors and the art on display. Still he knew better than to show his disappointment. Being sad didn’t get you anything.
“Alright, but we will go tomorrow, yeah?” Deidara said, his voice light, as he moved toward the door. He spared one last glance at his mom, already sitting on the bed, a small hand mirror in one hand, a makeup sponge in the other. His mom was beautiful. Long blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders and deep brown eyes. He didn’t understand why she needed all that stuff on her face.
“Of course, darling,” she said absently, reaching for the next item on the cluttered table, “I’ll try my best.” She gave a dismissive shrug and waved him off.
Deidara swallowed the tightness in his throat and stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed with a soft click behind him. He started walking, passing by the many doors that lined the long corridor, tuning out the groans and creaks and the occasional scream. The air reeked of sweat and old perfume, heavy and cloying. It clung to his skin, made the floorboards feel sticky under his bare feet.
He kept his head down. Some people liked to leave their door open and his mom told him that he shouldn’t look if he could help it.
The bar was just beyond the corridor, at the front of the house. Customers would sit and have drinks before going to the back with their pick of the night. The tables and the furniture were clearly worn and arranged in a nonsensical pattern. Men slouched in their seats, cups clutched in heavy hands, eyes following him as he crossed. He felt their gaze like pinpricks against his skin.
He could see Yuko outside sitting on the porch. Just had to get there.
“Oy brat!” Deidara froze. “Yeah you little blonde one.” The voice was gruff, unfamiliar. Slowly, he turned, meeting the eyes of a man who sat hunched at a table, gesturing impatiently for him to come over.
“Come here a second”
Deidara didn’t want to go. He wanted to go outside and see Yuko. He wanted to go to the market. He wanted to have his clay with him, anything to distract himself. Why didn’t he have his clay with him? He reached for his pockets where he usually kept some. Something cold settled in his stomach. His hands came out empty. He must have left it in the bathroom, he could go back to grab some now. He just needed to feel something in his hands. As long as he had his clay it would all be—
“Hey I’m talking to you! Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to make people wait?”
Deidara startled at the man raising his voice. Slowly, too slowly, he forced his legs to move, each step toward the far table dragging him deeper into the pit in his stomach. The man who had called him sat slouched between two women, each giving Deidara quick, uneasy glances.
At the end of the table, Kodai sat with his pipe, the smoke curling around him like a lazy noose. Deidara wasn’t stupid. Kodai’s presence meant the man was important.
The brothel manager didn’t bother showing up for just anyone — usually too busy smoking, drinking, and dragging broken bodies back to his room under the excuse of checking if they were still 'up to standard'. It was all a load of bullshit in Deidara’s opinion. Kodai seemed content to ignore Deidaras presence entirely however, more focused on smoking his pipe.
Deidara kept his voice even, polite.
“You called for me?”
He hated 'polite'. The man smirked.
“Awfully pretty, you know that?” His voice was low, thick with something oily. “Even with that ugly bruise.”
He reached across the table, fingers curling into Deidara’s hair like he owned it. Deidara forced himself to stay still.
Not flinch. Not snap. Not sink his teeth into the man's dirty hand the way he wanted to.
"Could even pass for a girl," the man said, laughing, a rough, ugly sound. "Say, Kodai, when are you putting this one to work? Shame to waste all that beauty and youth."
The man didn’t look at Deidara as he said it. Like he was already a thing.
Deidara’s stomach twisted, but he kept his face blank. His mother had taught him that. Never show them what you’re feeling.
Kodai didn’t even glance up from his pipe. All hard lines, old scars, and the kind of stillness that came from surviving too much. His short brown hair stuck to his forehead in the heat. His beard masked the worst of the damage, but Deidara knew the man’s face underneath, the way it had been torn and stitched together during the war. He was an ex-shinobi after all.
Finally, Kodai’s green eyes lifted. They pinned Deidara in place like a blade. He took a long drag from his pipe, the smoke coiling in the air between them.
“Soon.”
His voice was rough as gravel and left no room for argument. Deidara’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging half-moons into his palms. He kept his breathing even, even as the man’s laughter ripped through him. He hated being laughed at. It felt like he was being torn to shreds.
“Send for me when 'soon' comes about will you?”
The man slapped Kodai's back with a bark of laughter, already turning away. His hands were busy again, tugging a woman's breast from her shirt, mouth pressing into her neck like she was just another drink he could guzzle down. Deidara didn’t react, the sight was too familiar. He turned to Kodai instead, voice carefully even.
“Am I free to go hm?”
Kodai gave a slow nod, the kind that made it clear he could have said no if he felt like it.
Deidara had to use every bit of self restraint not to run out of there directly.
Instead he walked steadily towards the entrance, muting the noise around him. He passed many groups of men, all accompanied by women in loose clothing or pretty boys encouraging them to drink more. He ignored it all. His focus was ahead. Yuko was still there, sitting on the porch.
She was incredibly easy to recognize even by the back of her head; bright red hair in a long loose braid. Deidara walked out onto the front steps and took a seat beside her. He didn’t say anything just yet, letting her finish her work in silence.
It wasn’t unusual to find Yuko with a sketchpad in hand, the same way it wasn’t unusual to find Deidara with a lump of clay. He loved that about her — the way they shared the same need to create, even if their art took different shapes. Currently she was working on what looked like a drawing of a small bird. Deidara recognized it as a nightingale. Small body in different shades of brown perched on a branch.
It was pretty, but that was all it was.
“Do you like it?”
Yuko must have noticed him looking. She leaned her sketchpad to the side so he had a better view, her deep blue eyes looking up and scanning his face. Did he like it? He thought it lacked any real power to be considered art. There was no depth. But he was not going to say that to Yuko. It was mean spirited and would just result in another argument. Deidara was honest and sincere to a fault. But he was not mean.
“It’s pretty hm.”
She smiled at him knowingly. “So that’s a no then.”
“I said it was pretty!”
“Yeah but you think just pretty is boring.” She scoffed, putting her sketchpad away and fully turning to look at him “As if your ugly clay creatures are any better.”
“Why are you coming for my work now hm? I was being nice”
“You don’t need to placate me Deidara, I’m not some insecure child.” Deidara was not sure about the insecure part, but she was only four years older than him so the child part was definitely a lie. He also was not sure what placate meant. “I asked if you liked it. That means I want to know what you think.” She teased tapping the pencil to his forehead. Deidara sighed.
“It has no real feelings to be considered art. It’s a pretty distraction though yeah.”
She rolled her eyes at his statement.
“Not everything needs to have some profound meaning. Some things exist just because.” She paused for a second, looking at the clearing and the large mass of stones that surrounded the brothel. “To be pretty distractions.”
Deidara sensed they were talking about more than just art. Still he was not in the mood to argue with Yuko so he just made a noncommittal 'hm' in response. She sighed and looked back at him again, a smirk gracing her lips.
“How’s your shinobi training going anyways?”
His eyes widened at her question. She was clearly trying to get a rise out of him.
“Not so loud hm! What if someone hears you?” he hissed, casting a sharp glance back toward the bar. Everyone was clearly too preoccupied to care about what two stray kids were talking about. He quickly turned back to Yuko.
“It’s going well yeah! I’ve been practicing with that Kunai you got for me and I can almost always hit the target straight on.”
He was smiling fully now, hands waving animatedly as the words spilled out faster. “I still don’t know any ninjutsu — nobody’s teaching me yet — but I’ve been practicing with my bloodline stuff! That’s how I got that pig off my mom last week.” He finished with a smug tilt of his chin. Yuko was nodding along to his rant, smiling encouragingly.
“That’s great to hear, especially since I got something for you off of my recent customer.” She reached to a pouch to her left, pulling out a bag of clay and what looked like a piece of paper. Deidara happily took the items from her hands, examining them all over. The clay felt familiar, smooth, dense, pliable. The paper was a mystery however. It was small and rectangular. Covered in neat rows of tiny symbols, but otherwise ordinary-looking.
“Thanks for the clay, yeah,” Deidara said, flipping the paper between his fingers. “But what’s this?”
“It’s an explosive tag. You can attach it to stuff and well..make it explode” Yuko explained, carefully taking the paper from him. “The shinobi who gave it to me explained how to use it. I couldn’t get it to work but I also don’t have any chakra control whatsoever.” She giggled to herself before continuing “You should have seen the scene I played out”.
Yuko dramatically placed the back of her hand to her forehead and leaned against the wall, her voice taking on an exaggerated, high-pitched tone. “Oh shinobi-san! Please! I do not have anything to protect myself! Could you leave this with me in case I get attacked?”
Deidara found himself laughing along with her “No way he fell for that yeah.”
“Well when you pay to sleep with a twelve year old the guilt can make you do a lot of things I guess.” Yuko’s voice had shifted, losing its usual lightness. The words hung in the air, heavy with an unspoken weight. She shrugged, but the gesture felt hollow now, and for a moment, the playful energy between them dissipated. She pushed herself off the wall, the movement abrupt, and reached for Deidara’s hand.
“He said that to activate it you have to place your fingers like this.” She made it so Deidara had the middle and pointer finger of his right hand up and his left hand grasping them from the front. “All you gotta do is infuse your chakra into the paper, do the hand seal and then BOOM!” she shouted suddenly, the words bursting from her with such force that Deidara jumped. He shot her an annoyed look, shaking his head.
“Not funny, yeah.” He muttered, exasperated though the tiniest smile tugged at his lips despite himself. He grabbed the tag from her hand. “Let me try.”
He carefully placed the explosive tag on the step beneath him, his fingers brushing over its surface before he positioned his palms over it. This wasn’t his first time trying to harness chakra, but the feeling still exhilarated him—the slow burn of power gathering beneath his skin. He’d managed to walk a few steps up the jagged rocks that surrounded the clearing, simply by watching passing shinobi. This should be possible. Deidara took a deep breath and concentrated. Slowly his hands began to glow a faint blue, wavering slightly with each breath he took. He felt the tag taking the energy in, like it was coming alive. Like it was ready to explode.
“I..I think I did it yeah?” He looked up slightly out of breath. “We can put it to the test!” He grinned, putting his hands in the seal that Yuko had taught him earlier.
Yuko’s eyes widened, and she sprang into action, smacking his hands away with surprising force. “Not here! Do you want us to die?” She yelled, quickly grabbing the tag. Deidara had the conscience to look guilty, his hands hanging in the air as his grin faded.
“Damn you’re right yeah.” He looked around before his eyes landed on the clay in front of him. Inspiration sparked in his eyes. “Give me a minute”
Deidara picked up a small chunk of clay and stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. He began walking away from the porch of the brothel, his fingers deftly shaping the clay as he moved, his focus entirely consumed by the task. Yuko was not far behind, curiously looking over his shoulder. After a while they stopped, standing on the edge of a large pit. It was hidden by a lot of the surrounding rocks and had been there for as long as Deidara could remember. He turned to look at Yuko.
“Can I have the tag hm?” She nodded and raised her hand to pass it to him. Deidara unveiled the sculpture he had been working on as he went to grab the tag. It was a small bird. Two wings and a short body accompanied by a beak. The only part that was missing was the legs but it was distinguishable enough.
“Is that a nightingale?” She raised her eyebrow as Deidara wrapped the sculpture in the tag. “Are you having a go at my art again?” Yuko teased. Deidara grinned at her in response before launching himself off the ledge and sliding down the pit, his feet skimming the rocks. He placed the sculpture right in the middle.
“Not at all yeah!” Deidara turned and began climbing out, focusing some of the chakra to his feet as he went along. He reached the top quite quickly, brushing the dirt of his clothes before he properly positioned his hands. One over the other, two fingers up.
“I’m paying tribute”.
He took a deep breath. Concentrated and then—
“Katsu!”
The sound hit him first. The bird shattered into tiny pieces, stray bits flying everywhere. Deidara’s gaze was locked on the chaos he’d created, unable to tear his eyes away. The mix of oranges and reds, the gust of wind that punched the air out of his lungs, the fire in the aftermath. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and only him and Yuko were here to witness it, which made it all the more special. He turned to her, excitement clearly evident on his face. Excitement evident on every part of him.
“Did you see that yeah!? That was amazing! See that’s art!” He rambled as Yuko smiled at him, “It’s raw, it’s passionate! This is what it’s all about!” She nodded clearly more caught up in his enthusiasm than actually agreeing with him. He could not contain himself. Deidara launched at her, hugging her tightly. Yuko blinked in surprise, but quickly returned the gesture, her arms encircling him in a comforting embrace. The warmth of her body against his was like an anchor in that moment, grounding him in the afterglow.
Thank you, Yuko!” he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder, but full of genuine gratitude.
“Anything for you Dei.” she whispered back, her voice soft and warm. She slowly pulled away after a moment, both her hands lingering on his shoulders, a gentle pressure that made him look up at her. Her eyes were filled with a quiet fondness. “Now what do you say we get back? I’m sure your mom is looking for you."
Deidara nodded, the smile still lingering on his lips. They began walking back to the brothel, whispering among themselves and laughing about their new secret the entire way back. Maybe it was not all bad. As long as he had his mom, his art and Yuko, Deidara could deal with the rest.