The city was alive with noise that night. Car horns, laughter, and the hum of a thousand conversations melded into a chaotic symphony. Itachi Uchiha leaned against the railing of his apartment balcony, a cigarette in hand. He let the cigarette burn itself into ash as his other hand lazily scrolled through social media.
His thumb paused on a story posted by a mutual friend, “ZombieXOX.” Curious, Itachi clicked on it. He hadn’t seen Hidan post in a while.
The first few seconds of the video were chaotic—a concert crowd jumping and shouting, with Hidan front and center, his silver hair catching the flashing lights. Itachi took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he kept watching.
Halfway through the video, the camera shifted.
Itachi froze.
Golden hair bounced in rhythm with the music, swinging side to side as the person danced. They turned briefly, their face catching the dim lights. It was Deidara.
Itachi’s ex-lover.
He took a sharp breath, his gaze glued to the screen. Deidara’s radiant smile was unmistakable, his ocean-blue eyes half-lidded, clearly drunk but carefree. The younger man moved with unrestrained joy, singing along to the song, his voice blending with Hidan’s loud, off-key shouting.
“Debí tirar más fotos de cuando te tuve
Debí darte más besos y abrazo’ las veces que pude…
Ojalá que los mío’ nunca se muden
Y si hoy me emborracho, que Beno me ayude’…”
(“I should have taken more photos from when I had you
I should have kissed and hugged you as much as I could…
I hope mine never move away
And if I get drunk today, beno helps me…”)
Deidara sang that part of the song loudly, a bittersweet irony in the words. He turned away from the camera, his hips swaying as he danced to the beat.
The video ended.
Itachi’s hand lingered over the screen, his cigarette forgotten, as he replayed the story. He watched it twice, then three times, his chest tightening. After a moment, he switched to another account—his brother Sasuke’s—knowing full well Deidara had blocked him after their messy breakup.
As he scrolled through Deidara’s posts, a mix of emotions churned within him. Deidara’s art was everywhere—paintings and sculptures, each piece more expressive than the last. Itachi’s gaze landed on one post in particular: a burned and broken photo of the two of them, smiling together. The photo had been pieced back together, held in the grip of sculpted hands.
Itachi’s jaw tightened as he gripped his phone.
Without thinking, he threw the device across the balcony, where it landed with a loud clatter, teetering near the edge. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, letting the burn sting his lungs before exhaling through his nose.
Rubbing his face with one hand, Itachi stepped back inside. He rummaged through a small box tucked in a corner of his room. Inside were photos—fragments of a life he had buried but never truly forgotten.
Returning to the balcony, he lit a new cigarette and began burning the photos one by one.
Each picture was a memory: laughter, kisses, stolen moments that now felt hollow. One by one, the images turned to ash, their edges curling and blackening in the flickering flame.
As he reached the last photo, his hand trembled. It was their fifth anniversary—a rare moment where they both looked genuinely happy. For a moment, Itachi hesitated, the cigarette shaking between his fingers.
Then he let it go.
The photo slipped from his hand, floating gently through the night air before disappearing below. Itachi stared at the ground for a long moment before tossing the empty box over the railing as well. He sank onto the cold concrete of the balcony floor, lighting another cigarette.
Far below, the scattered remnants of the photos caught the attention of a passing figure.
A tan hand reached down, picking up the unburnt photo. Deidara stood still, staring at the picture. His thumb brushed over the image, tracing their smiling faces. Slowly, he looked up, his eyes scanning the building above him.
His mind flashed back to a night he’d tried so hard to forget.
|————————————————-|
The apartment was a mess—clothes scattered on the floor, picture frames turned face down, and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. Deidara stood in the center of the chaos, his fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms. Across the room, Itachi calmly zipped up a duffel bag, methodically packing his belongings as if they were strangers.
“You’re not even going to say anything, yeah?”
Deidara’s voice was sharp, trembling with barely contained rage.
“You screw someone else, and now you’re just walking out like it doesn’t matter?”
Itachi didn’t respond. He folded a black shirt with precision, tucking it neatly into the bag.
“Answer me!” Deidara shouted, stepping closer, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You owe me that much, yeah!”
Itachi glanced at him, his expression impassive.
“What do you want me to say, Deidara? That I regret it? That it was a mistake? You wouldn’t believe me even if I did.”
Deidara’s breath hitched, the coldness in Itachi’s tone cutting deeper than any blade.
“I wouldn’t believe you because you’re a liar,” he spat. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time, yeah!”
Itachi smirked faintly, but there was no humor in it.
“Don’t be dramatic. You knew what you were getting into with me.”
Deidara froze, the words hitting him like a slap. “What I was getting into?” he repeated, his voice a low growl.
“I gave you everything, yeah! My time, my trust, my love—and you just threw it all away!”
Itachi zipped the bag shut, slinging it over his shoulder as he walked past Deidara toward the door.
“This isn’t about you,” he said coolly.
“It’s about me. I told you I wasn’t good at relationships, but you didn’t listen. You wanted to fix me.”
Deidara’s eyes widened, his chest tightening as the manipulation sank in.
“Don’t you dare put this on me, yeah!” He grabbed Itachi’s arm, forcing him to stop.
“You don’t get to act like this is my fault!”
Itachi turned slowly, his gaze icy. “Let go.”
Deidara ignored him, his grip tightening. “No! You’re going to stand here and face what you’ve done, yeah!”
His voice broke, the anger giving way to raw, unfiltered pain. “Do you even care about me at all?”
Itachi sighed, his tone exasperated.
“I cared, Deidara. But caring doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”
The words shattered whatever restraint Deidara had left. With a roar of frustration, he shoved Itachi hard, sending him stumbling back a few steps.
“You’re unbelievable, yeah! You ruin everything and act like it’s nothing!”
Itachi straightened, brushing off his sleeve like the shove had barely fazed him. “You’re being childish.”
“Childish?!” Deidara lunged forward, his fists colliding with Itachi’s chest. “
You’re the one running away because you can’t handle the mess you made!”
Itachi grabbed Deidara’s wrists, his grip firm but not overly harsh. “Stop this,”
he said quietly, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
The dismissiveness was too much. Deidara wrenched free, his hand swinging instinctively. His palm connected with Itachi’s cheek, the sharp sound echoing in the silent room.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Itachi’s head turned slightly from the impact, his cheek reddening. Slowly, he straightened, his eyes locking onto Deidara with a cold intensity.
“..you hit me?..,” Itachi said, his voice low and calm, but with an undercurrent of confusion as he didn’t expect that of deidara.
“And I’ll do it again, yeah!” Deidara screamed, his tears finally spilling over.
“You deserve worse for what you’ve done to me!”
Itachi took a step closer, his expression unreadable. “You’re proving my point. This is why I’m leaving. You can’t control yourself.”
“Don’t twist this, yeah!” Deidara shouted, his voice breaking.
“This is on you! You’re the one who betrayed me, who destroyed us!”
Itachi tilted his head, his voice soft and infuriatingly calm.
“I didn’t destroy us, Deidara. You did, by clinging so tightly. You suffocated me.”
Deidara’s legs buckled, and he sank to the floor, his hands trembling as he covered his face.
“How can you say that, yeah? After everything?”
Itachi stood over him, the faintest flicker of something—guilt, maybe—crossing his features before his mask of indifference returned.
“You’ll thank me one day,” he said softly.
He stepped around Deidara, picking up his duffel bag and walking toward the door. “Goodbye, Deidara.”
The door clicked shut, leaving Deidara alone in the wreckage of their love. He let out a broken sob, the weight of Itachi’s coldness pressing down on him like a stone. He punched the floor, over and over, until his knuckles bled, his screams echoing through the empty apartment..
|————————————————-|
Deidara’s eyes opened, and he stared at the photo one last time. A faint smile tugged at his lips, bittersweet and resolute.
“Thank you, Itachi,” he whispered, his voice barely audible
“What was that?” Hidan asked, glancing at him.
“Nothing,” Deidara replied, tucking his hands into his pocket after tearing the photo apart and letting the pieces scatter. He turned back to Hidan with a brighter smile. “Let’s go. We need to find a hotel.”
Hidan grinned, throwing an arm around Deidara as they walked away.
Deidara didn’t look back again.