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Description
SasoDei: Out to Get You: 02

He has red hair.  That's the second thing I notice, after the eyes.  Even in the dim light I can see it's a vibrant, flaming shade of red, almost violent.  He's staring at me with nothing but hate in his eyes.  I don't know what to do, but instinct kicks in and I stumble backwards a little, trying to find the door behind me.  My fingers run along the wood behind me, but I can't find the door.  Or maybe I have found the door but not that handle.  I can see his lip curling upwards.  He gets up.  I can see him better now that he's moved, because the lamp lights up his face.  He looks familiar.

"Who, un?"  I ask.  I had meant to ask a whole question, like: who are you?  But my mouth won't work how I want it to.  My fingers are skittering across the wood behind me.  I need to find that door.
"It's none of your business," despite the fact that I'm extremely uncomfortable with this whole situation, I have to snot when he says this,
"Because you're totally not some random stranger hiding in my shed, un?" I snap back before I can control myself.  Not smart.

There's a knife at my neck, held in place by one pale hand.  I swallow nervously.  If only I had found that door earlier.
"You, are just as much a mother fucking murderer as Jay, aren't you?" he asks slowly, but his lips are curling upwards in disgust, making his voice give away his anger in a little hiss at the edge of his voice.

I can feel myself freeze up.  He called him Jay.  Only people who knew him called him that, because it wasn't his name...  Only people who knew him well.  But if Jay knew him, I would too!  I knew all of Jays' friends.  I really need to get this guys name.

The knife is pressing against the flesh of my neck, but it's not cutting.  I'm guessing it's just a pocket knife, designed to stab, not cut.  That doesn't mean that it won't if he presses hard enough.

"He didn't murder them, un," I say, trying t talk without using my throat.
"Like you'd know," his eyes twitch and I swear he almost spits at me, he looks so angry.
"Who are you, un?" I don't think he'll kill me.
"I said, that's none of you're business,"
"Then why are you in my shed, un?"  He doesn't answer my question, but leans in closer.  I can feel his breath on my face, and the blade is trembling against my skin.  Is he nervous or angry?  I can't tell right now.

"You saved him back then, when you could have let him die.  You're just as much responsible for their deaths as him.  You had the chance to let him die and you didn't.  SO why aren't you locked up?  You're a murderer, too," he says in this low voice, and I feel myself shiver against the wooden wall.
"What the hell, un?" I ask, trying to sound like I don't know what he's talking about.  But I do.  The knife changes position.  I swallow.
"I was seven, you bastard, un" completely unexpectedly, he smirks at me.  His face is still contorted with anger and hatred, but he's smirking at me, and I can't help but think he's beautiful.  I want to hit myself.
"Not a good enough excuse.  You could have rid the world of a murderer,"
"He wasn't a murderer then, and he isn't now,"

There's silence for minuets, but I swear I can feel his grip on the knife loosening.  I flick my arm up, pushing his aside in less than a second, then push it downwards with my arm, spin my hand around and grab his wrist, twisting it around.  He wasn't expecting it, and he drops the knife completely, his legs falling out under him.

"Now, un, mind telling me why you're here, un?" the only response I get is him looking to the side indignantly.
"Look, un," I say, and he looks up at me, and there's a defiant look in his eyes.  As if, even though I have total control of the situation now, he's still better than me.  I can almost see a smirk trying to climb onto his face.
"I'm going to go back inside, un, and if you're still here tomorrow, I'm gonna tell someone and get them to come kick you out, un," as I finish speaking, I let go of his wrist, making sure that I quickly force it down with my palm just before he can pull it away, so that he can't gain control of it again until it's crashed against the floor.  By that time, I'm out the door, and running through the dark garden, reaching for the patio door.

The door slams behind me as I crash inside.  My heart is still beating fast, and I can almost feel the adrenaline pumping through me with each heartbeat.  The patio door leads straight into the kitchen, so I'm sitting on the floor there, in the half of that room that I use for eating breakfast, breathing as though I've run a marathon.  It's ridiculous.  It wasn't that scary, just some stupid kid.  Trying to kill me.  Not a big deal at all.

I get up and fumble with the tap, turning on the water, cold, and splashing it against my face with my hands.  The water gets onto my fringe, and weighs it down.  There a crashing noise.  I spin around, looking around the kitchen.  I'm still way too nervous.  It came from above me.  No, I think, leaning low over the sink, I can't take this twice in one night.  Staying perfectly still, leaning over the sink, I strain my ears.

Someone is on the stairs.  I look around the room, looking for somewhere, although I know this room off by heart.  The patio door is still an option, and from there, I can get into the den through the other back door.  The footsteps are already on the ground floor; I have no choice.

As the door closes behind me again, I pray no one hears the door as I slip through it again, onto the patio.  I can already hear the kitchen door opening.  I lean against the wall next to the door, then slowly slide downwards, into a crouching position.  There's more crashes, the sound of glass breaking, more noises that I don't recognise.  But from what I can hear, it's definitely my father in there.  He'll probably go back upstairs in a few minuets.

"Deidara," my eyes widen at the sound, he can't expect me to come running down (presuming he thought I was in my room) in the middle of the night?
"Deidara!" he's shouting now, so apparently he does.  Footsteps.  Will he check my room?  No, he'll have forgotten by the time he gets up there.

I feel damp.
I'm not entirely sure how I feel damp and not wet, but I definitely feel damp.  And everything hurts.  My back hurts, my neck hurts, my arms hurt, my legs hurt, and I'm cold.  I wonder if someone has turned my bedroom light on, because it's way to light, but I don't think anyone would want to get me up.  Unless Saiko has come over...

Groaning slightly, I let my eyes split open.  Shit.  Apparently there is an explanation for the dampness, the uncomfortable sleep and the light: I fell asleep outside.  I can hear shouting in the background, but for now, I press the backs of my hands against my eyes, which are stinging because of the light.  After a while of this, the shouting starts to get more annoying.  I think it's coming from behind me, from the house.

The patio door bursts open.  And it really busts, I swear it almost came off its hinges.  Next to me, Saiko is standing, breathing heaving and staring at me with wide eyes.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" she asks, sounding exasperated.
"Un," I say as a reply, and get up, pushing past her into the kitchen.  She's asking me something.

"Deidara?  Hello, Deidara?" her annoying voice vibrates around my ears.
"What?" I grumble at her, glancing at the clock.
"Why were you sleeping outside?  I told you not to go out at all!" I groan and put my hands over my ears, walking to the fridge.

I know it's a childish gesture, but I really can't be bothered to deal with her right now, last night was just way too dramatic for me.  Saiko is still going on at me in the background, but I'm not going to listen to her now.  But I'm faced with a problem.  It's impossible to open the fridge without my hands, so, grudgingly, I have to release my ears to get food.

"And I brought you breakfast, because I checked yesterday, and you had nothing at all," she says, and I start to wonder if it really is that bad having her around.  I look up at her.  Yes, it is.  She's looking at me like that again.  She used to look at me all the time, after the operation.  I don't know how to explain it, but it feels like she's searching for signs of malfunction, like she expects me to grow rabbit ears suddenly or something.  Even though it was her who preformed the operation.

She's offering me a bag, though, and I'm sure it's full of food.  I'm really hungry, so I decide to ignore my discomfort for now, so that I can get that bag.  She puts it down on the countertop, sighing, and sitting down at one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

"How long do you think they'll go on about it this time, un?  The whole murder or manslaughter thing, that is, un," I ask, sitting down on the other stool, and hastily unpacking the bag.  'They' refers to the media, and so on.  Teen psychologists and relatives, too.
"However long it takes to sort it out, or however long it takes until a new case turns up," she says.  There's croissants.  I haven't had croissants in ages.  And chocolate spread.  Sometimes, the world is a beautiful place.
"So that's how long I'm trapped?" she gives me a look, like she knows I'm just going to view it as an extra holiday.
"Yes, but I have talked to your school.  You're getting work by email.  And anything else they can get your friends to bring over..." she trails off.

"What, un?" I attempt to ask through a mouthful of croissant, but I think she gets the message anyway.
"I was just wondering if your friends wouldn't be a ...little freaked out?" I laugh.  They're madder than me.  Probably madder than the kid in the shed.  I shake my head.

I wonder if he's gone yet...
She sighs, and apparently the Spanish inquisition is over, so I switch on the TV.  The croissant falls out of my hand.  He's there.  Staring straight at me from the screen is said psychotic shed dweller.  I think Saiko is asking something, but I can't hear her.

I can't believe I didn't recognise him earlier!  I saw this article last night.  He looks different on the picture, bored and annoyed, but not psychotic.  He's still beautiful.  But more importantly, he's that kid who was missing last night.  He's still not been found.  So he didn't go back last night.  Then they say something that catching my attention.  Something really disturbing.  His name.

"...Akasuna no Saori, whose parents died five years ago in tragic circumstances, inquiries into which have just been started again..."

Saiko grabs the remote and turns it off.

I can't tear my eyes away from the screen, even though it's blank now.

Description
SasoDei: Out to Get You: 02

He has red hair.  That's the second thing I notice, after the eyes.  Even in the dim light I can see it's a vibrant, flaming shade of red, almost violent.  He's staring at me with nothing but hate in his eyes.  I don't know what to do, but instinct kicks in and I stumble backwards a little, trying to find the door behind me.  My fingers run along the wood behind me, but I can't find the door.  Or maybe I have found the door but not that handle.  I can see his lip curling upwards.  He gets up.  I can see him better now that he's moved, because the lamp lights up his face.  He looks familiar.

"Who, un?"  I ask.  I had meant to ask a whole question, like: who are you?  But my mouth won't work how I want it to.  My fingers are skittering across the wood behind me.  I need to find that door.
"It's none of your business," despite the fact that I'm extremely uncomfortable with this whole situation, I have to snot when he says this,
"Because you're totally not some random stranger hiding in my shed, un?" I snap back before I can control myself.  Not smart.

There's a knife at my neck, held in place by one pale hand.  I swallow nervously.  If only I had found that door earlier.
"You, are just as much a mother fucking murderer as Jay, aren't you?" he asks slowly, but his lips are curling upwards in disgust, making his voice give away his anger in a little hiss at the edge of his voice.

I can feel myself freeze up.  He called him Jay.  Only people who knew him called him that, because it wasn't his name...  Only people who knew him well.  But if Jay knew him, I would too!  I knew all of Jays' friends.  I really need to get this guys name.

The knife is pressing against the flesh of my neck, but it's not cutting.  I'm guessing it's just a pocket knife, designed to stab, not cut.  That doesn't mean that it won't if he presses hard enough.

"He didn't murder them, un," I say, trying t talk without using my throat.
"Like you'd know," his eyes twitch and I swear he almost spits at me, he looks so angry.
"Who are you, un?" I don't think he'll kill me.
"I said, that's none of you're business,"
"Then why are you in my shed, un?"  He doesn't answer my question, but leans in closer.  I can feel his breath on my face, and the blade is trembling against my skin.  Is he nervous or angry?  I can't tell right now.

"You saved him back then, when you could have let him die.  You're just as much responsible for their deaths as him.  You had the chance to let him die and you didn't.  SO why aren't you locked up?  You're a murderer, too," he says in this low voice, and I feel myself shiver against the wooden wall.
"What the hell, un?" I ask, trying to sound like I don't know what he's talking about.  But I do.  The knife changes position.  I swallow.
"I was seven, you bastard, un" completely unexpectedly, he smirks at me.  His face is still contorted with anger and hatred, but he's smirking at me, and I can't help but think he's beautiful.  I want to hit myself.
"Not a good enough excuse.  You could have rid the world of a murderer,"
"He wasn't a murderer then, and he isn't now,"

There's silence for minuets, but I swear I can feel his grip on the knife loosening.  I flick my arm up, pushing his aside in less than a second, then push it downwards with my arm, spin my hand around and grab his wrist, twisting it around.  He wasn't expecting it, and he drops the knife completely, his legs falling out under him.

"Now, un, mind telling me why you're here, un?" the only response I get is him looking to the side indignantly.
"Look, un," I say, and he looks up at me, and there's a defiant look in his eyes.  As if, even though I have total control of the situation now, he's still better than me.  I can almost see a smirk trying to climb onto his face.
"I'm going to go back inside, un, and if you're still here tomorrow, I'm gonna tell someone and get them to come kick you out, un," as I finish speaking, I let go of his wrist, making sure that I quickly force it down with my palm just before he can pull it away, so that he can't gain control of it again until it's crashed against the floor.  By that time, I'm out the door, and running through the dark garden, reaching for the patio door.

The door slams behind me as I crash inside.  My heart is still beating fast, and I can almost feel the adrenaline pumping through me with each heartbeat.  The patio door leads straight into the kitchen, so I'm sitting on the floor there, in the half of that room that I use for eating breakfast, breathing as though I've run a marathon.  It's ridiculous.  It wasn't that scary, just some stupid kid.  Trying to kill me.  Not a big deal at all.

I get up and fumble with the tap, turning on the water, cold, and splashing it against my face with my hands.  The water gets onto my fringe, and weighs it down.  There a crashing noise.  I spin around, looking around the kitchen.  I'm still way too nervous.  It came from above me.  No, I think, leaning low over the sink, I can't take this twice in one night.  Staying perfectly still, leaning over the sink, I strain my ears.

Someone is on the stairs.  I look around the room, looking for somewhere, although I know this room off by heart.  The patio door is still an option, and from there, I can get into the den through the other back door.  The footsteps are already on the ground floor; I have no choice.

As the door closes behind me again, I pray no one hears the door as I slip through it again, onto the patio.  I can already hear the kitchen door opening.  I lean against the wall next to the door, then slowly slide downwards, into a crouching position.  There's more crashes, the sound of glass breaking, more noises that I don't recognise.  But from what I can hear, it's definitely my father in there.  He'll probably go back upstairs in a few minuets.

"Deidara," my eyes widen at the sound, he can't expect me to come running down (presuming he thought I was in my room) in the middle of the night?
"Deidara!" he's shouting now, so apparently he does.  Footsteps.  Will he check my room?  No, he'll have forgotten by the time he gets up there.

I feel damp.
I'm not entirely sure how I feel damp and not wet, but I definitely feel damp.  And everything hurts.  My back hurts, my neck hurts, my arms hurt, my legs hurt, and I'm cold.  I wonder if someone has turned my bedroom light on, because it's way to light, but I don't think anyone would want to get me up.  Unless Saiko has come over...

Groaning slightly, I let my eyes split open.  Shit.  Apparently there is an explanation for the dampness, the uncomfortable sleep and the light: I fell asleep outside.  I can hear shouting in the background, but for now, I press the backs of my hands against my eyes, which are stinging because of the light.  After a while of this, the shouting starts to get more annoying.  I think it's coming from behind me, from the house.

The patio door bursts open.  And it really busts, I swear it almost came off its hinges.  Next to me, Saiko is standing, breathing heaving and staring at me with wide eyes.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" she asks, sounding exasperated.
"Un," I say as a reply, and get up, pushing past her into the kitchen.  She's asking me something.

"Deidara?  Hello, Deidara?" her annoying voice vibrates around my ears.
"What?" I grumble at her, glancing at the clock.
"Why were you sleeping outside?  I told you not to go out at all!" I groan and put my hands over my ears, walking to the fridge.

I know it's a childish gesture, but I really can't be bothered to deal with her right now, last night was just way too dramatic for me.  Saiko is still going on at me in the background, but I'm not going to listen to her now.  But I'm faced with a problem.  It's impossible to open the fridge without my hands, so, grudgingly, I have to release my ears to get food.

"And I brought you breakfast, because I checked yesterday, and you had nothing at all," she says, and I start to wonder if it really is that bad having her around.  I look up at her.  Yes, it is.  She's looking at me like that again.  She used to look at me all the time, after the operation.  I don't know how to explain it, but it feels like she's searching for signs of malfunction, like she expects me to grow rabbit ears suddenly or something.  Even though it was her who preformed the operation.

She's offering me a bag, though, and I'm sure it's full of food.  I'm really hungry, so I decide to ignore my discomfort for now, so that I can get that bag.  She puts it down on the countertop, sighing, and sitting down at one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

"How long do you think they'll go on about it this time, un?  The whole murder or manslaughter thing, that is, un," I ask, sitting down on the other stool, and hastily unpacking the bag.  'They' refers to the media, and so on.  Teen psychologists and relatives, too.
"However long it takes to sort it out, or however long it takes until a new case turns up," she says.  There's croissants.  I haven't had croissants in ages.  And chocolate spread.  Sometimes, the world is a beautiful place.
"So that's how long I'm trapped?" she gives me a look, like she knows I'm just going to view it as an extra holiday.
"Yes, but I have talked to your school.  You're getting work by email.  And anything else they can get your friends to bring over..." she trails off.

"What, un?" I attempt to ask through a mouthful of croissant, but I think she gets the message anyway.
"I was just wondering if your friends wouldn't be a ...little freaked out?" I laugh.  They're madder than me.  Probably madder than the kid in the shed.  I shake my head.

I wonder if he's gone yet...
She sighs, and apparently the Spanish inquisition is over, so I switch on the TV.  The croissant falls out of my hand.  He's there.  Staring straight at me from the screen is said psychotic shed dweller.  I think Saiko is asking something, but I can't hear her.

I can't believe I didn't recognise him earlier!  I saw this article last night.  He looks different on the picture, bored and annoyed, but not psychotic.  He's still beautiful.  But more importantly, he's that kid who was missing last night.  He's still not been found.  So he didn't go back last night.  Then they say something that catching my attention.  Something really disturbing.  His name.

"...Akasuna no Saori, whose parents died five years ago in tragic circumstances, inquiries into which have just been started again..."

Saiko grabs the remote and turns it off.

I can't tear my eyes away from the screen, even though it's blank now.