"You think you remember me, Hn? Now that is interesting..."

"Yeah, I remember the blonde." She said as she continued to twirl his locks. "The excitement of seeing someone for the first time in months not enclosed in the war. The obvious civility amongst you compared to all those angry soldiers..."

"Well then, this is good, yeah?... Progress. Yeah..." Deidara abruptly stood up. His heart was racing and truth be told he could feel it trying to burst through his chest. "Excuse me for a second." He rushed out to the patio, dry heaving nothing in the autumn air.

'This isn't good. I knew she looked familiar...'

The image of her was breathtaking even amongst the gloom of the foggy autumn evenings. The Leaf has made purchase of his works on multiple occasions, but the very last time he distinctly remembered their medics picking up the supplies. A fire tempered blonde leading the way and a timid pink haired girl behind her, dwarfed by the beautiful blondes confident shadow.

"How the hell do I forget pink hair?!" He mumbled aloud.

"Is pink hair that uncommon-"

"AH!" Deidara jumped at Ino's sudden intrusion. He caught his heart before it could surface and managed to stomach his epiphany for the time being. "N-no!... Well, yes it is actually-"

"I forgot what the stars looked like." Ino ignored his answer in favor of the light littered sky and Deidara never once felt so grateful to explain something.

"They're Ah, something." He managed to calm down and star up at the open sky with her.

"You know, they're kinda like me. In their own special way." She surmised.

"How do you mean?"

"Their image." She paused to figure out exactly what it was she was trying to convey, both of them seemingly comfortable amidst one another's silence in the meantime. "Their image still shines even though the light in them likely burned out ages ago...Beautiful ghost..."

"Ino, I think you might be overthinking this." Was his concerned reply.

"I'm ignorant enough, but I know this isn't my first time living Deidara." Ino turned to him, managing a smile amidst her mounting confusion. "I'm not sure who I am really... or what caused you to bring me back. But I'm here, so I guess that's a start."

'Astonishing. Her psyche is rapidly recovering, I can't really but sure what she will or will not be able to comprehend at this point...'

"It's true. You died." Deidara's voice was firm. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was telling this to more than just a stranger. "We brought you back to life."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Truthfully, I wasn't. I was going to let Sakura do that."

"Sakura... Why is it I remember so much about her, but I can't even much remember my own death? Try as I must I can't manage to remember how it happened." Ino rested her head on his shoulder as she continued to gaze up into the pines of the night's sky. "I can't remember what ended me, and made me like one of those stars up there."

Deidara didn't know why but he felt the need to close the distance. His hand grabbed around his own as her back pulled into him form the waist. She made no motion to move under his hold and continued to count the glowing stars above.

"You feel great." Deidara muttered into her shoulder and he could feel her first stiffen and then relax into his hold. "This feels right." He said.

"You told me all these amazing stories about our past selves... What's your favorite?" She inquired. She didn't take her eyes off the sky, but she did grab his hands in hers.

Deidara admitted to himself that even in a world full of magic and wonder. His favorite memory had been the one that most resembled this.

He'd been a sculptor of great renown. Known for his precision and grace with the likes of a mallet and a lowly hunk of marble. He'd seen nothing greater than what he could make with his own two hands. To include others work, others ideals, and others worth. The creations of all the worlds greatest could not compare. Not even the gods could make something more beautiful than him, at least in his eyes.

Even the ideal woman was impossible if he couldn't sculpt her into existence and the opinions of man were clearly lacking his vision. They needed to see what he saw when he looked at a mass of untouched marble.

He reached far and wide with the influence of his work but he hadn't quite reached everyone. Hadn't quite made his masterpiece. Finding himself in a lul of desperation. He turned his sights to the higher powers.

Praying for intervention to bring his creations to life but no one granted his wishes. He deemed woman and man alike beneath him, but he finally found himself at the feet of Aphrodite. The goddess of love, he prayed she'd give him the gift to do what was right. His will.

And She did. At a great price.

That day Pygmalion made Galetea out of clay. White as milk. Flawless as the sky, more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. And absolutely all his. The goddess answered his wishes and he was granted his greatest desire.

Perfection made by his own hands.

"My favorite story of us ends in tragedy." He finally spoke as he recalled how horribly that tale ended, the wires finally connecting as he realized his inspiration in his artistic life was that of legend as well as his past.

"Don't they all?"

Yes.

Death after death. Life after life. Reincarnation seemed inevitable to him at this point. But never in the same life. That was new at least.

"I hope not." He turned her to face him and her eyes finally left the sky's stars and met his.

"Green."

"...What?"

"Pretty... Pretty green eyes." She closed the distance between them with her lips and he could feel his breath fail him. He choked on her presence and feasted on her lips.

"Now where did that come from?" He whispered as they pulled away for air. His cheeks filled out with red and she could tell it's a reaction she enjoyed.

Something that she wanted.

"I think I wanted to see that again." She concluded.

Deidara couldn't bring himself to pull his hands away from her waist. Couldn't shake that feeling that this was right, he just couldn't relay it with his words.

Words have a terrible way of fucking up what you're trying to say anyway he noted.

His hands kept exploring. Trying to remember the feeling of her into existence.

The flash he got of her past selves always presented a smell of cherry blossoms. But that... isn't what he noted on her milk pale skin.

He noted the lavender and its allure. It breathed like sweet sweat and desire.

"This...This isn't right." He breathed.

"Of course it is." She urged as she pulled him in by the face. Two delicate hands held him close and she breathed in his nervous air. "Would you like me to stop?"

Delicate.

Delicate and considerate seemed off. Wrong even. This was his soulmate, but all at the same time it wasn't.

The beauty was.

The attitude was.

But the blonde, those larger than life... hungry hips. Those small delicate hands... it just. Wasn't.

"Who are you?" He asked?

"You made me, so I'm sure you know better than I?... I'm yours. Of course." She reassured.

But he could hear the inflection of her gentle voice. The tremble in her throat. It didn't fit the beautiful blonde before him but he couldn't bring himself to deny her eager advances.

Her desire scintillated her intentions. He could feel her coming into herself and who was he as an artist to deny perfection from taking form?

He took her hands back in his and pulled her close. He kissed that perfect stranger and very much felt at home. He very much felt sculptor building that piece. He very much felt again.

And that was enough when her hands explored her creator from head to chest and tried to remember her meaning for him.

"You made me with these hands didn't you?" She asked as her flawless digits massaged his own rough sculptors' palms. "I can't remember a thing but the feeling of your hands and yet."

She interlocked her own hands with his waiting touch.

"Yet, I'm not whole despite your best efforts. I'm not quite myself. Am I?"

A tear escaped his eyes before an answer could surface from his opening, gaping, mouth.

"Not yet." He breathed. "Theses eyes... their not yours."