"Hey," Hidan said, setting down a cup up Jashin-blessed Irish coffee. "Hasn't Deidara seemed awfully... quiet recently? SInce that f--er Sasori died, I mean."

"He always did search for arguments with that guy..." Konan noted. "He liked getting reactions out him. This usually came to blows, and Deidara would get so badly poisoned that Sasori would have to carry him to the sick bay and force-feed him antidotes, or Sasori getting nearly blown up. But either way, Deidara always smiled at the end. Like getting poisoned was worth seeing Sasori's face with an actual expression."

Hidan grinned. "Well," he said, "The asshole did have a --ing great angry face."

"He did," Konan. "But only Deidara ever made him angry enough for us to see it."

...

Deidara stalked down the... corridor... of the cave, pausing at Sasori's room. Pein had told him yesterday to clean the place up, but Deidara had 'accidentally' discovered Sasori's secret diary.

It was the pink, fuzzy kind that had the words 'hands off' across it in cursive writing.

It also had a lock.

Deidara blew up the lock with a spare bit of clay he'd had behind his ear.

Then, he'd started reading. He couldn't put it down-- he hadn't known that Sasori put so much thought into his day. The shock came when Deidara turned the page to May Sixth.

And yes, I'm going to tell you what it says. Even though snooping through people's diaries is impolite and Sasori's private thoughts should not be posted all over the internet since it's not exactly a nice way to treat his memory.

However, this excerpt is slightly integral to the plot, so I'll tell you what it said:

Dear Diary,

Finished fixing Hiruko from when Dei (strangely, he always called Deidara that in his diaries) tried to blow him up last week. Seriously, doesn't he know how hard it is to fix a puppet made from human flesh? I have to go out and actually harvest-- well, since the chances of anyone besides me of reading this diary are slim to none, I'm not going to continue. I don't like to think about it-- it's nasty business.

If Dei is reading this, I either decided that showing you how stressed I am after you blow my artwork up, or died. If it's the second one, I bet you finally blew me up. I said something too much, or didn't act quickly enough. Or I died another way. Either way, Pein is probably make you clear the s-- out of my room eventually as you were/are my partner in Akatsuki, and you'll probably blow up the lock or have the key and you'll read this.

And you'll laugh. You'll laugh so, so hard. The tears will stream down your face and you'll laugh because you think my way of art is wrong. You'll smile and your eyes will light up all big like they do when you blow up large buildings full of screaming people. Except you won't look quite as malicious.

And I'll wish I was there to see you so happy. I think I'm in love with you, Dei.

... Waaait. This is MY diary. Why am I writing to Dei? I'm not going to die anyway-- my art is everlasting, and I became my art. And besides, Dei's probably straight. That's why he grows his hair out. It makes him look like that Link guy from those stupid Legend of Zelda games. He probably wants to rescue a princess from an evil scaly monster or something.

Gee, now I'm all depressed. And I'm going to be depressed next time I happen apon this page. And if Deidara sneak into my room at night and tries to find dirt on me while I'm out, then he'll be depressed. Because he'd only read this if I was somehow dead.

Hey, Dei, if I'm dead go put a chocolate cake on my grave. Because you made me write this stupid confession you probably don't want to hear.

Dammit I'm talking to Dei again. I'm not going to die!

-- Akasuna no Sasori, May 6.

Deidara had dropped the diary and sat frozen on the floor for what seemed like a week. Sasori loved him?

Deidara didn't know what to do. He'd fallen in love plenty of times, but he'd never had someone fall in love with him.

What now? Deidara had never even visited the place where Sasori died.

And now, sitting for the second time alone in that dusty room, Deidara knew exactly what he had to do.

He was going to bake the best damn chocolate cake he ever made.

...

Far away, in a rocky gorge where there was once a cave, there was a puppet with red hair and a capsule labeled 'heart' on his chest. There were two puppets besides him, with swords that went through this makeshift atrium.

Damn it, the puppet thought, Is that brat ever going to figure it out? He knows I hate waiting.