I hug my knees and curl up tighter. I can hear him calling for me, opening doors and then slamming his fist into the wall when he sees I'm not there. I close my eyes; he's going to find me any moment now, and then my life will be over.

Quite literally.

I am not looking forward to being punished; it's going to be painful, of course. And probably slow. Really slow, so he gets to savor the sight of me in pain. Most likely he's going to use those freaky poisons of his; I shiver at the thought.

That's it. I'm dead. I can hear him coming into the room. I stop breathing, in case he'd hear it. I bite my lip to keep myself from crying. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was being stupid, don't kill me...

Light. I flinch. He found me.

"There you are..."

His voice is full of suppressed anger. Tears are forming in the back of my eyes, but I ignore them.

"Get out of the laundry basket, brat. I would love to talk to you right now."

I get up, open my eyes and look at him. The pure anger in his face makes me cry even more.

"Care to explain why you thought it clever to blow up my puppets?!"

"I-I'm sorry, Danna!", I stutter. "I just... wanted to make art, un..."

I stare at the floor and clench my fists.

"And this art of yours has to involve destroying mine?!"

I meet his gaze and smile miserably.

"I thought it'd be prettier that way, un."

Knowing it'll only make things worse if I explain more thoroughly, I push him away and run to our room. I flop down onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow to muffle my sobs.

I hadn't heard him coming so when he grabbed my collar, pulled me up and slapped me across the face I screamed. Both in pain and surprise.

"Don't leave when I'm talking to you, brat!! Why would you feel that it was necessary to ruin my puppets?! Explain, because I can't see the logic!!"

He hits me again, harder this time, and I try to stop crying. I know that deep down, beneath the fury and the hate, his feelings are hurt. Because he cares about his art just as much as I do mine. And I know that he thought I respected that.

Oh, but I do.

So I let him hit me because I'm angry with myself too. But sooner or later he'll have to stop or I will be in trouble.

"Danna", I whisper. He doesn't hear me. I try again, but my voice is hoarse from all the crying and I can't talk too loud.

"DANNA!", I eventually manage to shout. He stops, apparently startled by the sound.

"Danna... stop, please...", I beg. "I promise, it'll never happen again, un!"

He looks at me for a moment, and I think that I can see a hint of pity in those deep, brown eyes. He sighs and turns around, head bowed slightly.

"...Fine. Just don't do stupid things like that."

He turns to me again, gives me a brief peck on the lips, leaves and I am left dumbfounded.

What the hell was that?

I lie down on my bed again, staring at the wall. Did he just kiss me? Why would Danna kiss me? No matter how much I think about it, I can't come up with an answer. Maybe I had imagined it? Maybe I had been dizzy from being hit in the head too many times and hallucinated? Yes. That could be it.

But I didn't really think so.

As the hours turned to days and the days turned into weeks, it became quite clear that he wasn't about to give me an explanation. And, apparently, he wasn't going to do it again either.

But then again, he didn't beat me up for a long time.

Until, four weeks later, I got a little too close to his workshop and accidentally knocked over a jar of puppet eyes.

I panic, of course; I have no idea what to do! It's bad enough that I've been in his room without his permission – but when he realizes I've also broken his stuff again, I'll be in deep shit.

I can't lie about it – he'll see right through it, of course. Though I'm not sure he'll be that much happier with the truth.

Because seriously, after last time I doubt he'll believe that I've actually gone to his room just to admire his puppets.

I hear someone walking in the hallway; shit, shit, shit, it's him... I stare at the door, holding my breath. He's going to kill me, he's going to kill me...

The door opens. For a moment he just stands there, staring at me. I know what he's thinking; he's wondering why I'm in his room. Then he sees the broken jar of puppet eyes. Shards on the floor, both glass and the porcelain shards from the eyes. The macabre sight of broken eyeballs staring emptily at the ceiling. One of them is looking at me.

"What the hell is going on here?", he asks calmly. I do not like the calm of his voice – I can hear the suppressed anger. It's scary.

"I'm sorry, Danna! I wanted to see your puppets, un... and..."

I stare at the floor, clenching my fists and waiting for the pain. But it doesn't come, so I look up at him. He looks angry, but confused too.

"...why would you want that?"

"Because it's art, un" I blurt out, not really thinking about it. He frowns.

"But you don't share my view on art, Deidara. How could my puppets be art to you?"

My eyes widen. Deidara. He called me Deidara. Not brat. He called me Deidara.

"...they're art too, Danna. Just not quite as fine as mine is, un."

I don't know why I say that; chances are it'll make him angrier. But I can't lie. Not to him. Not when he's looking at me with those eyes that seem to see right through me.

And, much to my surprise, he smiles. It's very faint, but he does. He smiles. He actually smiles at me.

"Is that so? Well. Then I guess those explosions of yours aren't that bad either."

My jaw drops. What? Did he really just say that? Surely I'm dreaming, because he can't possibly just have said that my art was good. No, it's just impossible. I pinch myself discreetly, but no, I don't wake up. Which means that this is real.

"..uh, what, un? Are you serious?"

He nods, and without thinking, I lunge forward and embrace him.

"Thank you, un!" I say, and the giggle that follows makes me ashamed of myself. Only school girls giggle. Then I suddenly remember that I'm hugging him, and I pull away and turn my back to him.

"...sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

And he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me on the cheek.