Maturity
Deidara’s blood is boiling. He huddles himself in the workshop, his art ruined, his pride wounded. He lost to Itachi. Again. He doesn’t understand - his traps were in place, his explosions were calculated, his attacks should’ve landed - it should’ve been Itachi who lost, not him, not again, but those eyes, those damn eyes -
“Damn it!” He hurls the chunk of clay in his hand against the wall with so much force that the wall dents and even compels Sasori to spare him a glance from his puppetry.
Deidara huffs, anger still very much present in his system, but he forces himself to sit down before he makes a mess in the workshop. His judgment distantly echoes that Sasori is just a few feet away from him and if he doesn’t pull himself together, he might damage one of his Master’s puppets.
“God fucking damn it,” he mutters, conflicted between simply unleashing his rage with no care for the consequences or listening to the waning voice in his head that knows better.
“Patience.”
Deidara looks up to see that Sasori had settled down beside him, and looking at his ever stoic face makes Deidara realize he doesn’t need to listen to himself - he just needs to listen to Sasori.
Still, the dominant part of himself - the one still anchored to humiliation and anger - disregards that insight, and so Deidara scoffs. “What would you know? You’re the one who hates waiting.”
“Sacrifice.” Sasori takes the little clay dove from Deidara’s palm and crushes it with his fist. Specks of clay dust drifted into the air as he unfurled his fingers. “If you want to beat Itachi, you have to beat him with tactics you wouldn’t usually use. Be unpredictable and subtle.”
“But I’d be reducing my art for that freak, hm!” Deidara defensively reaches for a helping of clay and molds it into a crow. He gives the bird a look of disdain and tosses it into the air, setting off a light explosion. “I wouldn’t really beat him if I didn’t stay true to myself.”
“You can be better and still be yourself,” Sasori reasons. “You’ve taught me that, yes?”
Deidara pauses, caught off-guard by how alarmingly close the words sound like reassurance. “Y-yeah.”
“Then practice what you preach. Study other techniques.” Something warm glinted in Sasori’s eyes then, like a fleeting burst of affection, but it was gone before Deidara could observe it. “I will help you.”