I know you don't celebrate, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. The noodles will have to wait until we're returned to our Ximilia, but they're coming! Don't think you're getting out of them just because we're dealing with some time travel inconveniences.
I'm happy to have been able to call you my friend for another year, Itachi.
[A few days after their return, the package appears sometime after Itachi returns to his room following his morning workout so that whenever he ventures out again after his shower, he’ll find it leaning there just to the side of his door. When Itachi examines it more closely, it will become immediately obvious that it’s some sort of soft paper that has been rolled and held closed with a ribbon. Attached to the roll is an envelope that contains a note folded inside. The envelope declares "Read me first!" in a very familiar scrawl, and should Itachi do as instructed, the note reads as follows:
Itachi,
It is not the custom of my culture to celebrate every birthday with a gift. Gifts are given occasionally, but only for years considered to be milestones. I don’t know if it’s the same for you, or if your customs are more similar to the majority here who celebrate every year in that way. Of all the traditions I’ve learned of here, I have to admit I don’t mind this one so much.
Still, you should know I didn’t intend this as a birthday gift until I realized its completion coincided so closely with the date. I want you to know that because if you don’t wish to receive any birthday gifts, this one doesn’t count.
I told you before our separation—before MY separation—that I would spend the time away perfecting my mastery of your language, enough to impress you with my command of Japanese calligraphy even. I regret to inform you that I did not become fluent in Japanese in one month. (I DID study though. A little.) And it was only half of a failure because in my free time in the evenings I diligently practiced my calligraphy. I think we both know that the art of it requires too much patience for me to ever truly excel, but I did find it surprisingly soothing.
Your fluency in my tongue far exceeds mine in yours, and so I hope you’ll find this piece of Chinese calligraphy acceptable until a time when I can butcher the beauty of calligraphy in your characters as well as in mine.
Oh, by the way, I didn’t write this! It’s a parable that I felt was fitting.
-Wei Ying
[Despite his jokes, when Itachi unfolds the paper to find a modestly sized hanging wall scroll, it’s immediately clear that Wei Wuxian’s calligraphy is far from the chicken scratch he usually writes. It’s still amateur to anyone truly practiced, but each stroke has been drawn with precision and care and the work is lovely overall. Beside the writing, a simple painting depicts two figures sitting alongside a river, one of them with a large instrument in his lap. The painting has been done with minimal strokes and isn’t as detailed as Itachi knows Wei Wuxian’s drawings can be, but the style matches the calligraphy well.
The context of the painting becomes immediately clear once Itachi reads and translates the text.
( it's still not morning just yet. the young man hadn't wanted to sleep with the group - a fair call, considering how loudly a few orbers slept - so bones seeks him out instead, treading familiar ground with dogged tenacity until he finds him. he's still in disarray from sleep, the fastenings of his boots loose, the naephus coat over his pajamas giving him the look of a wild space hobo. chic. )
（ itachi hears him coming from some distance off, and though he had been dozing lightly against the wall, it is enough to stir him to wakefulness. by the time mccoy arrives, he is sitting cross-legged and has produced from some impossible place or another a pot of tea and two cups. ）
Doctor McCoy.
（ it is said with a sort of ascetic pleasantry, neutral and mild. though their conversation was illuminating, he makes no presumptions. ）
Likely not. （ when has danger literally ever stopped him. literally ever. ） Would you like tea?
[The place Itachi finds is a simple one bedroom residence perfectly suited to their needs while they remain in Ankata. It sits on the second story of an empty business that Itachi intends to make use of and the slight elevation makes for a pretty view of the harbor town from the top of the stairs. Wei Wuxian is pleased to find a shoe rack at the entryway and he wastes no time kicking off his boots and making use of it. It had taken them most of the day to decide where they would settle and secure accommodations, which means that the sun has just finished sinking beneath the horizon as they enter.]
Are you hungry? [He asks, tearing his eyes away from the view of the setting sun through a window in the main room to fix Itachi with a questioning look. They'd eaten on the road early after their arrival and then later in town, but it's been some time since then. Wei Wuxian moves from the main living space to the adjacent kitchen, pulling his qiankun pouch from a pocket and swiftly producing a couple of apples that he sets on the narrow kitchen counter.
It's habit by now to bring a decent amount of nonperishable rations in his qiankun pouch, but it's always nice to bring a few fresher foods just for convenience's sake. Whether they eat the fruit tonight or tomorrow morning, it'll save them an extra trip as they settle in.]
（ the journey was neither long nor hard. sedate travel is still enough of a novelty to him that he's not quite certain how to feel about it. he is no longer one who looks for danger in every shadow (only most of them) and behind every blade of grass, but in a way that almost makes it worse.
he is not jumpy. but he is restless in a way he has come to recognize as an incompatibility with the tenets of the worlds to which they visit. it is telling, perhaps, that the most comfortable he has been on any of the many, many worlds on which he has now set foot was e-23b — a place torn by war and a violent police state.
he does not wear peace well, for all that every part of him craves it as desperately as a man craves water in the desert.
but wei ying blunts the edge of his unsettled nature, and by the time they are ready to retire for the evening proper he is... as contented as he ever is, these days. he's changed into sleeping clothing, and his hair is still damp from a shower as they make the transition between rooms.
the room is a simple one, furnished with a single small bed and a desk. it's utilitarian in a way that speaks to him, more monkish sanctuary than mansion, and itachi folds his pack up on itself, puts it on the floor and follows it down. he has a book tucked under one arm on the local laws and customs, with a focus on the bylaws that govern cubit care, and he leans against his pack the way one might a pillow, obviously intent on reading. it isn't a dismissal or a clear barrier to conversation, which his companion surely is aware of by now — it's more that itachi is a fucking nerd who loves to read, tbqh. ）
（ sizhui is perhaps the only person who could ask him that and have him reply in the affirmative at the moment. he had told wei ying not too terribly long ago of the massacre and all it entailed, and is certainly possessed of no capacity to deliberately seek out the company of others.
but he is a consummate actor first and foremost. so: ）
[It's easier to use the journal than to text. Maybe because with the journal there's no expectation of an immediate reply and less feeling of demanding Itachi's attention when he so clearly desires time and space to process. Whatever the case, he's glad for the alternative and he makes it known with how often he uses it. It isn't direct communication either, instead mostly sketches of people and places he's encountered on his journey.
Today's sketch is that of some sort of bird of prey that had landed on the mast for long enough for him to produce a sketch. It looked almost like a falcon, though it's feathers had shone brilliant sapphire blues and emerald greens unlike any falcon he'd ever seen.
He was going to leave it as a black and white inked sketch, but the discovery of a few colored powders means he decides to go big and add the dazzling blues and greens for accuracy. It's still mostly a quick sketch, but he hopes Itachi will enjoy it and perhaps encounter some of the beautiful birds himself.]
（ the journal is kept tucked away in one of his scrolls, for the first few days unused and unremarked on. he is too busy mastering skills that are new to him, and navigating the... embellishments that jake has been making to his backstory. feats of derring-do and childhoods spent in circuses have translated into him being shunted into the high mast work. it's an entirely new vocabulary he's spent little time with — he catches on quickly, because anything else would be remiss of a lifetime's training, but he is caught up in twenty-hour days with little respite, duty on the crow's nest and the mending of sails being only half of it.
plus — he is not so high-ranking aboard the ship that he has any time to himself. battle is a near-constant thing, the captain seeking out those he can easily overcome and capture or kill. and itachi has participated in those fights — though between his own natural skill, and the occasional use of genjutsu, he is able to prevent more harm than what is necessary to take a prize.
it is after one of these prizes, while the crew is rum-drunk and shouting shanties below that he volunteers for watch duty just to have a moment's peace to himself. far atop the deck, beyond the purview of the others, he frees the journal from its scroll.
perhaps it is uncharitable to be surprised that wei ying has been filling it. given the nature of their last conversation and his own request for space, he had considered the man's silence over the comms to be an acquiescence to that. finding instead, that he had been offering a sort of quiet companionship, neither intrusive nor insistent —
— ah.
he flips through the pages, studying each in turn, committing them to memory with the sharingan's perfect recall. when he gets to the brilliantly hued bird, his mouth quirks up faintly at one corner.
in return, then: the man gets a sketch of the view from the crow's nest. the revelry below, the crisp black sky dotted with stars like a landscape of dazzling gems scattered by an unseen hand. each line will appear with unerring precision on wei ying's side of the connected paper, no errors or erasures to be seen. ）
[ Even for a dog with a passion for sailing, the sheer scale of the ship they'd been stationed on was staggering to behold. The little skiff's he'd cut his teeth on in the ocean shallows around Ooo felt like paper toys by comparison. It wasn't that Jake had never seen a large boat -- the humans from the Islands sent them home on a huge steam ship even larger than this one. It cut through water like butter, flattening every swell into nothing as it chugged forward under a high-tech guiding hand. If Jake was being honest, it felt less like a ship and more like a huge horizontal elevator. All they had to do was sit back and wait to arrive at their floor.
But the Plunder? Now that was a ship. Everything Jake loved about sailing could be felt in the soul of each creaking bow and sail, alive with the work of dozens of crew members. They were all attuned to the sound of their captain's voice, waiting on his next order with bated breath. It was enough stimulation to satisfy Jake ten times over, and that's before he factored in the entertainment. Robbing, riches, cards, grub, laughs?
Jake could get used to this. ][ Despite Jake's glowing assessment, there were certain creature comforts a pirate might have trouble finding aboard their ship. The touch of a willing woman could be a long way off between port visits, and even then docking was no guarantee. Assuming you'd saved enough to pay for a good one, a culture of limited supply and heavy demand made for frequent disappointment.
For many of the Plunder's crew, that was just the way of seafaring life. For a few others, women were hardly their concern to begin with. But for the third group -- small in number and loud in voice -- that lack of attending to was criminal injustice. One that needed to be remedied expeditiously and without quarter.
Which usually meant getting good and drunk, finding the prettiest cabin boy, and gritting your teeth through whatever had to come next.
They'd taken down a frigate that morning, raiding her for her booze, food, and ammunition. Itachi was tasked with organizing the latter while the rest of the crew enjoyed the spoils; one of many subtle admonishments he'd received in his time here. Their captain had an eye for the especially blood thirsty and rewarded them accordingly. Itachi, with his nervous demeanor and lack of sea legs, had only managed to make himself an easy target for busywork.
Among other things. ]
'Ey there, Oocha. [ One of the crew slurs down the armory steps. It's not an Orber, he'll be able to tell that much. Even the most clueless among them would never butcher his name that badly. ] You still workin' on those balls, are ye?
[He'd been resolved not to bother him and to allow Itachi to come to him in his own time. He's been doing a good job of it even, refraining from texting or calling him at all. It was quite the achievement, honestly, when anytime he learns about something new or has a new experience, it's instinct to reach out to his friend to share it. It had been hard to quash the urge at first, but it's getting easier. (He hates that it's getting easier.)
But as prepared as he had been to wait, the weeks have been dragging on with no sign of change, and he's at a breaking point. If Itachi tells him to stay away, he will, but he has to try.
That it comes in the form of a question that had settled on his mind after Itachi's confession is perhaps foolish, but Itachi has never enjoyed small talk anyway. And better this than the more insidious self-doubts that have begun to creep in.]
[They aren't on the same ship on August 22nd which he'd been expecting the moment Viveca had listed their assignments. Even up until the morning of, he isn't sure what he means to do or if he'll do anything at all. They're speaking again now, but it would be silly to ask Itachi to meet him for something frivolous as the mission was ramping up in intensity.
After hours of debate as he worked through his daily ship chores, he finally settled on a simple idea.
When he has time to spare, Wei Wuxian opens their linked journal to a new page, pressing a hand to the paper for a moment, and then setting to work with the colored inks he keeps with him in his qiankun pouch. It takes him all of the free time he has, but at the end of it, he's left with a product that he's satisfied with.
It's a drawing of the lotus pond from the memory Itachi had seen—specifically the pond that Itachi had created. It doesn't pack the emotional weight of a drawing of any of their loved ones, and that's for the better he thinks. Instead, it's a reminder of the memory shared between them that he hopes Itachi will like.
He does not mention anything about Qixi in the drawing. He only hopes the drawing will bring with it a small moment of joy.]
[He doesn’t want to be in a room where anyone can find him.
He’d tried working in his room, but it held too many reminders. The pictures on the wall, Gwen’s school books, and poetry tomes borrowed from Itachi on the shelf. His sketches of his closest companions. All gone now. All silent. His ear piece lies abandoned on a dresser, still buzzing he’s sure with a dozen voices, but none of them the voice he wants to hear.
Itachi’s blanket lies crumbled on his bed. Itachi’s robes tucked away into his closet. (He needed something. Anything. It was all he could bring himself to take.)
The room threatened to turn him to pieces every mounting second, and when he couldn't take it any longer, he fled.
Any of the rooms where there were people were out of the question. He doesn’t want to see anyone. Doesn’t want anyone to look at him. He doesn’t know what would be worse, the pity from the people who know and the echo of their own sorrow in their eyes, or the friendly attempts at conversation from the ignorant.
The simulation room is occupied so he’s in the sunlight room.
Despite the name of the room, he’s done his best to hide himself deep within the autumn turned trees, as shielded from the sun as he can be in here. Some of the rays still pierce through the foliage and the light is abrasive. It turns his stomach and makes a bone deep sorrow threaten to bubble out of him. He ignores it as best he can.
He sits in the epicenter of an explosion of paper, stacks of it cluttering the ground and multiple sketchbooks haphazardly splayed open before him. His talismanic invention spirals have always been a messy process, but the mess is different now. His focus is as scattered as the papers before him. Anyone who knew how to read what he was doing would see the lack of cohesion and the nonsensical collage of characters forced together. It doesn’t matter.
None of it matters, but if he puts the brush down for even a second, he doesn’t know what’ll happen. Maybe his heart will shatter and put him out of his misery. Or maybe the cracks in it will spread but he’ll just keep going, like he always keeps going. It’ll hurt.
It always hurts.
He can’t hold the brush forever, he knows, but he isn’t ready to let the pain have him yet. Just for a little while longer, he’s going to keep it at bay.
Dark circles around his eyes betray his lack of sleep and it’s hard to know if the tremble in his hand as he drags the brush against paper is from exhaustion or something else. (He has slept. Not much, only when he was ready to collapse with exhaustion, but he has slept.) Still, he writes and he designs. His ink dries and he has to wet it again. His back aches from his curled position on the ground. The light dims, just a little, signifying the ruse of afternoon. And he remains, giving his mind over to distraction for as long as his body will take it.]
（ the moment he becomes aware again of the ximilia, the empty platform, the fading sensation of being very far away indeed, he is already moving. his footfalls are eerie, only just audible to keen ears as he walks. the earpiece feeds him information: that it has been a handful of days, that the network is oddly devoid of its usual gamut of chatter.
a query posed to wei ying's inbox goes unanswered. while normally this would not be an immediate cause for alarm, the knowledge that it comes on the heels of his own having been absent for nearly a week speaks to caution.
there is a part of him that feels like a ghost, as he slips between the halls and access points of the station. he checks his own quarters, taking stock of what has been touched or misplaced with the exacting scrutiny of a man of the sharingan. the items missing are particular. things that no one would have cared to take for utility's sake. sentiment alone could have driven someone to strip the blanket from his bed, and take the kimono he wore in giva.
he circles to the infirmary, expecting to see mccoy there, and is met with a venue both still and silent.
it is with a deepening frown that he backtracks to wei ying's room, which he finds equally empty. but there are signs of recent occupation — the tangle of blankets in his bed, the placement and quantity of items he recognizes as signs of the man's attempts to lose himself in work, the earpiece on the dresser. itachi summons a clone with instructions to tidy the room, and then steps back into the hall.
his own skills would suffice to find the man in short order, but after a moment's hesitation he turns the cuff up on one wrist to reveal the bracelet there. a quick infusion of chakra, and it begins to emanate with a soft sunset glow that intensifies when he sweeps his hand towards the sunlight room.
shunshin makes the distance largely irrelevant. one moment he stands in the sterile corridor and the next he is in the sunlight room, reassessing the bead's resonant bloom, orienting on it after a moment. he is in the direction of the lotus pond, and it takes barely a moment to arrive in the copse of trees concealing the man from view. he brushes aside a low-hanging branch with one hand, and steps into the small clearing with no further preamble than that. ）
Wei Ying.
（ it's said gently, as much to pull the man's attention away from the gnarled web of sleepless work as anything. ）
[The early hour doesn't faze Cain, not when he's learned to wake up with the alarm of military life—a painful five o'clock sharp most days. Without daylight to tell a difference from the limitless expanse of space, he feels right at home on the station.
There's someone he's supposed to meet this morning, but all he was told was a location and general time, so his expectations are nebulous as he makes the circuit around to the training room. It's silent, surprisingly; he expected at least a few others to be milling about, but even though he hears distant voices no one crosses his path on the walk over.
Cain doesn't announce himself. The sound of the door should be enough. He ducks in, reluctant dark eyes sweeping the room, dressed in fitted black sweatpants and a warm, neutral gray jacket zipped up the front.]
[It's a successful Mid Autumn Festival dinner full of laughter and conversation that goes well into the evening. Wei Wuxian spends the day before and most of the morning making preparations for it alongside a number of friends who were willing to help out, and he only leaves briefly to get ready, opting for a nicer set of robes than his usual. He spends a long time hesitating over the purple before ultimately deciding to wear it. It isn't quite the right shade to make him feel like an imposter, and it looks good on him.
Once the dinner starts, he feels a sliver of sorrow at the missing faces of all those he loves who are no longer on board, but it isn't strong enough to take away from the affection and warmth that's there between those who remain. Ziggy and Finn are there, and Mal and Sabriel, friends new and old alike, and even some less familiar faces invited by others attending. The food is good and the company is better, and Itachi is by his side and more at ease in a group than Wei Wuxian has ever seen him.
The whole thing is a boisterous affair exactly as it should be, but he finds himself feeling a little relieved once the dinner winds down and everyone begins to go their separate ways. A few of the others had been generous enough to offer to clean up, and Wei Wuxian takes them up on the offer with gratitude, finding Itachi's eyes and signaling to him to follow him.
In lieu of taking Itachi's hand as they exit into the hallway, he fixes him with the kind of affectionate smile that he reserves only for him.]
Come with me, there's something I want to show you. [And so he leads him to the Simulation room and programs the setting he'd put in earlier.
The room they step into is an empty lotus lakeside at night with the full moon shining brightly above. It isn't his home because he doesn't want that for them, and instead it's an invention of his own creativity and some of his experiences aboard the Ximilia. The trees at their back are some of the winding canopied willows they'd encountered on Ciraiwei, and the glowing waves of the water can only be inspired by their last mission.
There are other familiar pieces of different worlds, but it is the moon Wei Wuxian's eyes fix on as the door locks behind them.]
It's tradition, [he starts, gesturing at the dazzling full moon] to view the moon with your loved ones. [He smiles. It wouldn't have been inappropriate to invite everyone back to view it together, but he'd wanted the time for the two of them.]
（ he passes the evening in a sort of relative ease to which he is startled to find himself growing accustomed. he finds himself smiling at the circle of their friends and acquaintances, and accepts sake when it's offered. their traditions are similar but not in perfect alignment, so he supplies other things, touches of a home that feels... less far away now than as before. tsukimi dango and edamame, small bushels of susuki that he requested from viveca, set out as decoration.
it has been years since he celebrated the festival in this manner. even now he is... circumspect about it. while he does choose to wear a kimono, it's a plain navy blue, with the uchiha crest painstakingly affixed to the back. he leaves his hair largely unbounded, save for the top layer which has been neatly affixed with a pin for the first time that most of those gathered will have seen him.
but by the time wei ying draws him away, he is ready to be alone — though camaraderie has made the edges of the evening soft and fondly warm, he is still exhausted by the energy it takes to simply exist around them.
he says nothing as his friend leads him to the simulation room. he's focused of the click of his geta on the floor, the way the fabric at his back where the uchiha symbol is affixed feels stiffer than the rest. once he is inside the room, and hears the familiar announcement of the lock behind him, he...
... it is not correct to say he relaxes. but he does lose the tension he had been carrying in his spine and across his shoulders, looking up at the moon from his place at wei ying's side. ）
It is customarily a rather solemn occasion, in Konoha.
[ the text comes a significant while after his conversation with wei wuxian; he could guess (after asking about his suspicions regarding the two and receiving confirmation) that his friend would go to mull over everything he'd been told with itachi, and wouldn't intrude on that time. ]
So, I will have it known I'm only doing this because Jiang-xiong isn't here to do it!
But if you hurt Wei-xiong... well, it'd be a mistake.
[ this is a man whose one and only talent is exacting the most painful revenge imaginable. not that he thinks it's going to be necessary! but. you know. it's the spirit of things, or something. what wouldn't one do for a brother, right? ]
（ it takes him a long, long moment to process what is actually occurring here, mostly because it takes a significant recalibration of his thought process to identify this for what it is:
someone is giving him the shovel talk. ）
Two years ago, I betrayed him on a mission as part of my personal goal, not knowing at the time if the result would be his death.
I have also utilized one of my more dangerous techniques against him without his consent, leaving him vulnerable in a dangerous situation for no greater a sin than trying to remove me from the confines of a memory.
I have been cold to him, and I have been cruel.
I have also been there in dark moments when he has wept. I have healed his wounds. I have defended him in combat and I would die in defense of not only his physical self, but the pursuit of his faintest hopes and fondest dreams. I have made him better than he was when I found him, as he has done the same for me.
If that is not enough for you, then you may label it a mistake at your own peril.
[Since Natasha is stranded in a cave, recovering from an ice needle incident related to a group search request, she might as well finally tackle the remaining letter for her task.]
For the purpose of disclosure, my personal task this mission involves writing sentimental letters to people significant to me.
If you'd prefer not read something like that, feel free to give the rest of this letter a miss.
But if you are still reading this, as I suspect, I'd like to tell you that you have become significant to me during our time here. I'm not very good at this—not sure exactly what else to say, but you are a very impressive person for reasons who have nothing to do with your abilities or your skill in strategy.
I am glad to have had the chance to meet you, and I value our time together.
There's more to you than I think you give yourself credit for. You deserve kindness as much as anyone, and perhaps more than most.
（ this response comes later. it's accidental at first, the earpiece simply picking up the errant utteration of her name: ）
Natasha—
（ he exhales. he wants, perhaps desperately, to shift away from the message. to carve the words out of his mind, to empty it of praise and warm affection.
but he doesn't.
though there is no especial need, given his memory, he instead reads it twice.
then: ）
That is a kind sentiment. I appreciate your sharing it.
（ it is not easily heard, or held. but she knew that would be the case, as did he. ）
[He leaves the letter for Itachi to find on the table. It's innocuous enough, except that its existence stands out. It's a simple piece of paper, rolled and closed with a ribbon. Wei Wuxian leaves immediately after placing it, ensuring that he will not be there when Itachi finds it.]
うちはイタチ
My goal for this mission is to write out sentimental letters and send them to people of my choosing. I know that you wouldn’t enjoy it if I said everything there is in my heart about you, so at first I’d thought not to send anything to you at all, but I hope you’ll forgive me for being unable to resist. Out of affection for you and in understanding this, I’ll be brief.
I love you, 心肝. You know me as no one ever has and no one else ever will. There is nothing I'm more grateful to Viveca for than of her bringing me to you. That’s all.
Instead they spend their time helping non-combatants reach safety and guiding the more vulnerable or injured out of the fight. They aren't strictly staying together for most of it—there's no real reason to—but their paths have crossed a few times and they stay in communication.
But not taking a side doesn't mean staying entirely out of the fight. More than once, Wei Wuxian has found himself on the other end of a blade, and he's had to fight or use a talisman to slip away. He's just maneuvered a few children out of the heat of battle and gained the attention of a pair of attackers when he catches sight of Itachi in his peripheral again. He's about to make his way closer when he feels a brief spark of pain in his temples behind his eyes. It isn't strong, but it's surprising, and he manages to slip down an alley to get out of the heart of the fight. He presses a hand over his eyes to sooth the dull ache, and then removes it to blink steadily at the ground.
There's a red haze over his vision that he can't seem to blink away.]
（ he has felt it before. the tectonic shift that rends his chakra, cuts him away from the birthright and heritage of his kekkei genkai. they have been to worlds where such things are suppressed, torn asunder, replaced.
his visual acuity drops to baseline levels in an instant, and itachi — bereft of the stability offered by chakra at his feet — suddenly stumbles where he'd intended to step.
he does not have time amidst the press of thronging battle to reason out what's occurred. he looks to wei ying, where he last saw him — and the space is empty. what grips him then is not fear, but the cold and driving press of necessary action, and he makes his way to the spot. the loss of his powers would not be so pronounced in his friend, and so if it happened to hit both of them at once —
one person attacks him, and itachi fends them off deftly with his sword, disarms them and kicks them firmly into an unmoving heap, and that's when he catches sight in his periphery — the flash of a familiar red that draws the eye. the sharingan, staring back at him as wei ying looks up.
itachi drops his gaze instantly away. not a loss, then. a transfer? and the man will have no concept of how to use the sharingan, nor comprehension of its full and absolute power. ）
Close your eyes. （ his voice is a commanding crack. ） You may harm me otherwise.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
June 9th
I'm happy to have been able to call you my friend for another year, Itachi.
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then, eventually: ）
This time last year, we were on Viveca's world.
（ he will not say he is concerned for her, though he is, though he does not feel the need to hide it from wei wuxian. but her absence is a weight. ）
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Itachi,
It is not the custom of my culture to celebrate every birthday with a gift. Gifts are given occasionally, but only for years considered to be milestones. I don’t know if it’s the same for you, or if your customs are more similar to the majority here who celebrate every year in that way. Of all the traditions I’ve learned of here, I have to admit I don’t mind this one so much.
Still, you should know I didn’t intend this as a birthday gift until I realized its completion coincided so closely with the date. I want you to know that because if you don’t wish to receive any birthday gifts, this one doesn’t count.
I told you before our separation—before MY separation—that I would spend the time away perfecting my mastery of your language, enough to impress you with my command of Japanese calligraphy even. I regret to inform you that I did not become fluent in Japanese in one month. (I DID study though. A little.) And it was only half of a failure because in my free time in the evenings I diligently practiced my calligraphy. I think we both know that the art of it requires too much patience for me to ever truly excel, but I did find it surprisingly soothing.
Your fluency in my tongue far exceeds mine in yours, and so I hope you’ll find this piece of Chinese calligraphy acceptable until a time when I can butcher the beauty of calligraphy in your characters as well as in mine.
Oh, by the way, I didn’t write this! It’s a parable that I felt was fitting.
-Wei Ying
[Despite his jokes, when Itachi unfolds the paper to find a modestly sized hanging wall scroll, it’s immediately clear that Wei Wuxian’s calligraphy is far from the chicken scratch he usually writes. It’s still amateur to anyone truly practiced, but each stroke has been drawn with precision and care and the work is lovely overall. Beside the writing, a simple painting depicts two figures sitting alongside a river, one of them with a large instrument in his lap. The painting has been done with minimal strokes and isn’t as detailed as Itachi knows Wei Wuxian’s drawings can be, but the style matches the calligraphy well.
The context of the painting becomes immediately clear once Itachi reads and translates the text.
伯牙子鼓琴，鍾子期聽之，方鼓而志在太山，鍾子期曰：「善哉乎鼓琴！巍巍乎若太山。」少選之間，而志在流水，鍾子期復曰：「善哉乎鼓琴！湯湯乎若流水。」鍾子期死，伯牙破琴絕絃，終身不復鼓琴，以為世無足為鼓琴者。
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action; backdated to gettin mem back
( it's still not morning just yet. the young man hadn't wanted to sleep with the group - a fair call, considering how loudly a few orbers slept - so bones seeks him out instead, treading familiar ground with dogged tenacity until he finds him. he's still in disarray from sleep, the fastenings of his boots loose, the naephus coat over his pajamas giving him the look of a wild space hobo. chic. )
Y'know, sleeping alone isn't safe.
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Doctor McCoy.
（ it is said with a sort of ascetic pleasantry, neutral and mild. though their conversation was illuminating, he makes no presumptions. ）
Likely not. （ when has danger literally ever stopped him. literally ever. ） Would you like tea?
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Action: arrival in Mallard Harbour
Are you hungry? [He asks, tearing his eyes away from the view of the setting sun through a window in the main room to fix Itachi with a questioning look. They'd eaten on the road early after their arrival and then later in town, but it's been some time since then. Wei Wuxian moves from the main living space to the adjacent kitchen, pulling his qiankun pouch from a pocket and swiftly producing a couple of apples that he sets on the narrow kitchen counter.
It's habit by now to bring a decent amount of nonperishable rations in his qiankun pouch, but it's always nice to bring a few fresher foods just for convenience's sake. Whether they eat the fruit tonight or tomorrow morning, it'll save them an extra trip as they settle in.]
and there was ONLY ONE BED?
（ the journey was neither long nor hard. sedate travel is still enough of a novelty to him that he's not quite certain how to feel about it. he is no longer one who looks for danger in every shadow (only most of them) and behind every blade of grass, but in a way that almost makes it worse.
he is not jumpy. but he is restless in a way he has come to recognize as an incompatibility with the tenets of the worlds to which they visit. it is telling, perhaps, that the most comfortable he has been on any of the many, many worlds on which he has now set foot was e-23b — a place torn by war and a violent police state.
he does not wear peace well, for all that every part of him craves it as desperately as a man craves water in the desert.
but wei ying blunts the edge of his unsettled nature, and by the time they are ready to retire for the evening proper he is... as contented as he ever is, these days. he's changed into sleeping clothing, and his hair is still damp from a shower as they make the transition between rooms.
the room is a simple one, furnished with a single small bed and a desk. it's utilitarian in a way that speaks to him, more monkish sanctuary than mansion, and itachi folds his pack up on itself, puts it on the floor and follows it down. he has a book tucked under one arm on the local laws and customs, with a focus on the bylaws that govern cubit care, and he leans against his pack the way one might a pillow, obviously intent on reading. it isn't a dismissal or a clear barrier to conversation, which his companion surely is aware of by now — it's more that itachi is a fucking nerd who loves to read, tbqh. ）
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he sets aside his tea and rises immediately, dislodging a dozing cubit to the ground with a gentle hand. ）
Where are you?
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text; un: lan.sizhui
If you are up for it, I would like to meet in the Sunlight Room for tea and little cakes.
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but he is a consummate actor first and foremost. so: ）
Of course.
I will be there in twenty minutes.
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What do you need?
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Journal
Today's sketch is that of some sort of bird of prey that had landed on the mast for long enough for him to produce a sketch. It looked almost like a falcon, though it's feathers had shone brilliant sapphire blues and emerald greens unlike any falcon he'd ever seen.
He was going to leave it as a black and white inked sketch, but the discovery of a few colored powders means he decides to go big and add the dazzling blues and greens for accuracy. It's still mostly a quick sketch, but he hopes Itachi will enjoy it and perhaps encounter some of the beautiful birds himself.]
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plus — he is not so high-ranking aboard the ship that he has any time to himself. battle is a near-constant thing, the captain seeking out those he can easily overcome and capture or kill. and itachi has participated in those fights — though between his own natural skill, and the occasional use of genjutsu, he is able to prevent more harm than what is necessary to take a prize.
it is after one of these prizes, while the crew is rum-drunk and shouting shanties below that he volunteers for watch duty just to have a moment's peace to himself. far atop the deck, beyond the purview of the others, he frees the journal from its scroll.
perhaps it is uncharitable to be surprised that wei ying has been filling it. given the nature of their last conversation and his own request for space, he had considered the man's silence over the comms to be an acquiescence to that. finding instead, that he had been offering a sort of quiet companionship, neither intrusive nor insistent —
— ah.
he flips through the pages, studying each in turn, committing them to memory with the sharingan's perfect recall. when he gets to the brilliantly hued bird, his mouth quirks up faintly at one corner.
in return, then: the man gets a sketch of the view from the crow's nest. the revelry below, the crisp black sky dotted with stars like a landscape of dazzling gems scattered by an unseen hand. each line will appear with unerring precision on wei ying's side of the connected paper, no errors or erasures to be seen. ）
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action; aboard The Silent Plunder...
But the Plunder? Now that was a ship. Everything Jake loved about sailing could be felt in the soul of each creaking bow and sail, alive with the work of dozens of crew members. They were all attuned to the sound of their captain's voice, waiting on his next order with bated breath. It was enough stimulation to satisfy Jake ten times over, and that's before he factored in the entertainment. Robbing, riches, cards, grub, laughs?
Jake could get used to this. ]
[ Despite Jake's glowing assessment, there were certain creature comforts a pirate might have trouble finding aboard their ship. The touch of a willing woman could be a long way off between port visits, and even then docking was no guarantee. Assuming you'd saved enough to pay for a good one, a culture of limited supply and heavy demand made for frequent disappointment.
For many of the Plunder's crew, that was just the way of seafaring life. For a few others, women were hardly their concern to begin with. But for the third group -- small in number and loud in voice -- that lack of attending to was criminal injustice. One that needed to be remedied expeditiously and without quarter.
Which usually meant getting good and drunk, finding the prettiest cabin boy, and gritting your teeth through whatever had to come next.
They'd taken down a frigate that morning, raiding her for her booze, food, and ammunition. Itachi was tasked with organizing the latter while the rest of the crew enjoyed the spoils; one of many subtle admonishments he'd received in his time here. Their captain had an eye for the especially blood thirsty and rewarded them accordingly. Itachi, with his nervous demeanor and lack of sea legs, had only managed to make himself an easy target for busywork.
Among other things. ]
'Ey there, Oocha. [ One of the crew slurs down the armory steps. It's not an Orber, he'll be able to tell that much. Even the most clueless among them would never butcher his name that badly. ] You still workin' on those balls, are ye?
text, after his network post
But as prepared as he had been to wait, the weeks have been dragging on with no sign of change, and he's at a breaking point. If Itachi tells him to stay away, he will, but he has to try.
That it comes in the form of a question that had settled on his mind after Itachi's confession is perhaps foolish, but Itachi has never enjoyed small talk anyway. And better this than the more insidious self-doubts that have begun to creep in.]
If it isn't your regret, then what is?
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It was failing to trust someone.
（ it seems like that may be all, but a while later he adds, ）
My brother.
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Journal, August 22nd
After hours of debate as he worked through his daily ship chores, he finally settled on a simple idea.
When he has time to spare, Wei Wuxian opens their linked journal to a new page, pressing a hand to the paper for a moment, and then setting to work with the colored inks he keeps with him in his qiankun pouch. It takes him all of the free time he has, but at the end of it, he's left with a product that he's satisfied with.
It's a drawing of the lotus pond from the memory Itachi had seen—specifically the pond that Itachi had created. It doesn't pack the emotional weight of a drawing of any of their loved ones, and that's for the better he thinks. Instead, it's a reminder of the memory shared between them that he hopes Itachi will like.
He does not mention anything about Qixi in the drawing. He only hopes the drawing will bring with it a small moment of joy.]
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He’d tried working in his room, but it held too many reminders. The pictures on the wall, Gwen’s school books, and poetry tomes borrowed from Itachi on the shelf. His sketches of his closest companions. All gone now. All silent. His ear piece lies abandoned on a dresser, still buzzing he’s sure with a dozen voices, but none of them the voice he wants to hear.
Itachi’s blanket lies crumbled on his bed. Itachi’s robes tucked away into his closet. (He needed something. Anything. It was all he could bring himself to take.)
The room threatened to turn him to pieces every mounting second, and when he couldn't take it any longer, he fled.
Any of the rooms where there were people were out of the question. He doesn’t want to see anyone. Doesn’t want anyone to look at him. He doesn’t know what would be worse, the pity from the people who know and the echo of their own sorrow in their eyes, or the friendly attempts at conversation from the ignorant.
The simulation room is occupied so he’s in the sunlight room.
Despite the name of the room, he’s done his best to hide himself deep within the autumn turned trees, as shielded from the sun as he can be in here. Some of the rays still pierce through the foliage and the light is abrasive. It turns his stomach and makes a bone deep sorrow threaten to bubble out of him. He ignores it as best he can.
He sits in the epicenter of an explosion of paper, stacks of it cluttering the ground and multiple sketchbooks haphazardly splayed open before him. His talismanic invention spirals have always been a messy process, but the mess is different now. His focus is as scattered as the papers before him. Anyone who knew how to read what he was doing would see the lack of cohesion and the nonsensical collage of characters forced together. It doesn’t matter.
None of it matters, but if he puts the brush down for even a second, he doesn’t know what’ll happen. Maybe his heart will shatter and put him out of his misery. Or maybe the cracks in it will spread but he’ll just keep going, like he always keeps going. It’ll hurt.
It always hurts.
He can’t hold the brush forever, he knows, but he isn’t ready to let the pain have him yet. Just for a little while longer, he’s going to keep it at bay.
Dark circles around his eyes betray his lack of sleep and it’s hard to know if the tremble in his hand as he drags the brush against paper is from exhaustion or something else. (He has slept. Not much, only when he was ready to collapse with exhaustion, but he has slept.) Still, he writes and he designs. His ink dries and he has to wet it again. His back aches from his curled position on the ground. The light dims, just a little, signifying the ruse of afternoon. And he remains, giving his mind over to distraction for as long as his body will take it.]
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a query posed to wei ying's inbox goes unanswered. while normally this would not be an immediate cause for alarm, the knowledge that it comes on the heels of his own having been absent for nearly a week speaks to caution.
there is a part of him that feels like a ghost, as he slips between the halls and access points of the station. he checks his own quarters, taking stock of what has been touched or misplaced with the exacting scrutiny of a man of the sharingan. the items missing are particular. things that no one would have cared to take for utility's sake. sentiment alone could have driven someone to strip the blanket from his bed, and take the kimono he wore in giva.
he circles to the infirmary, expecting to see mccoy there, and is met with a venue both still and silent.
it is with a deepening frown that he backtracks to wei ying's room, which he finds equally empty. but there are signs of recent occupation — the tangle of blankets in his bed, the placement and quantity of items he recognizes as signs of the man's attempts to lose himself in work, the earpiece on the dresser. itachi summons a clone with instructions to tidy the room, and then steps back into the hall.
his own skills would suffice to find the man in short order, but after a moment's hesitation he turns the cuff up on one wrist to reveal the bracelet there. a quick infusion of chakra, and it begins to emanate with a soft sunset glow that intensifies when he sweeps his hand towards the sunlight room.
shunshin makes the distance largely irrelevant. one moment he stands in the sterile corridor and the next he is in the sunlight room, reassessing the bead's resonant bloom, orienting on it after a moment. he is in the direction of the lotus pond, and it takes barely a moment to arrive in the copse of trees concealing the man from view. he brushes aside a low-hanging branch with one hand, and steps into the small clearing with no further preamble than that. ）
Wei Ying.
（ it's said gently, as much to pull the man's attention away from the gnarled web of sleepless work as anything. ）
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comes in like a wrecking ball
There's someone he's supposed to meet this morning, but all he was told was a location and general time, so his expectations are nebulous as he makes the circuit around to the training room. It's silent, surprisingly; he expected at least a few others to be milling about, but even though he hears distant voices no one crosses his path on the walk over.
Cain doesn't announce himself. The sound of the door should be enough. He ducks in, reluctant dark eyes sweeping the room, dressed in fitted black sweatpants and a warm, neutral gray jacket zipped up the front.]
Yo.
Mid Autumn Festival
Once the dinner starts, he feels a sliver of sorrow at the missing faces of all those he loves who are no longer on board, but it isn't strong enough to take away from the affection and warmth that's there between those who remain. Ziggy and Finn are there, and Mal and Sabriel, friends new and old alike, and even some less familiar faces invited by others attending. The food is good and the company is better, and Itachi is by his side and more at ease in a group than Wei Wuxian has ever seen him.
The whole thing is a boisterous affair exactly as it should be, but he finds himself feeling a little relieved once the dinner winds down and everyone begins to go their separate ways. A few of the others had been generous enough to offer to clean up, and Wei Wuxian takes them up on the offer with gratitude, finding Itachi's eyes and signaling to him to follow him.
In lieu of taking Itachi's hand as they exit into the hallway, he fixes him with the kind of affectionate smile that he reserves only for him.]
Come with me, there's something I want to show you. [And so he leads him to the Simulation room and programs the setting he'd put in earlier.
The room they step into is an empty lotus lakeside at night with the full moon shining brightly above. It isn't his home because he doesn't want that for them, and instead it's an invention of his own creativity and some of his experiences aboard the Ximilia. The trees at their back are some of the winding canopied willows they'd encountered on Ciraiwei, and the glowing waves of the water can only be inspired by their last mission.
There are other familiar pieces of different worlds, but it is the moon Wei Wuxian's eyes fix on as the door locks behind them.]
It's tradition, [he starts, gesturing at the dazzling full moon] to view the moon with your loved ones. [He smiles. It wouldn't have been inappropriate to invite everyone back to view it together, but he'd wanted the time for the two of them.]
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it has been years since he celebrated the festival in this manner. even now he is... circumspect about it. while he does choose to wear a kimono, it's a plain navy blue, with the uchiha crest painstakingly affixed to the back. he leaves his hair largely unbounded, save for the top layer which has been neatly affixed with a pin for the first time that most of those gathered will have seen him.
but by the time wei ying draws him away, he is ready to be alone — though camaraderie has made the edges of the evening soft and fondly warm, he is still exhausted by the energy it takes to simply exist around them.
he says nothing as his friend leads him to the simulation room. he's focused of the click of his geta on the floor, the way the fabric at his back where the uchiha symbol is affixed feels stiffer than the rest. once he is inside the room, and hears the familiar announcement of the lock behind him, he...
... it is not correct to say he relaxes. but he does lose the tension he had been carrying in his spine and across his shoulders, looking up at the moon from his place at wei ying's side. ）
It is customarily a rather solemn occasion, in Konoha.
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text; un: romanoff
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if she had meant spar she would have said so.
it's with a faint sense of curiosity that he replies: ）
Yes. Twenty minutes?
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cw: suicidal ideations
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With Clara.
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Will you be free later?
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yeah. ）
Yes. Why?
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So, I will have it known I'm only doing this because Jiang-xiong isn't here to do it!
But if you hurt Wei-xiong... well, it'd be a mistake.
[ this is a man whose one and only talent is exacting the most painful revenge imaginable. not that he thinks it's going to be necessary! but. you know. it's the spirit of things, or something. what wouldn't one do for a brother, right? ]
(character development intensifies)
someone is giving him the shovel talk. ）
Two years ago, I betrayed him on a mission as part of my personal goal, not knowing at the time if the result would be his death.
I have also utilized one of my more dangerous techniques against him without his consent, leaving him vulnerable in a dangerous situation for no greater a sin than trying to remove me from the confines of a memory.
I have been cold to him, and I have been cruel.
I have also been there in dark moments when he has wept. I have healed his wounds. I have defended him in combat and I would die in defense of not only his physical self, but the pursuit of his faintest hopes and fondest dreams. I have made him better than he was when I found him, as he has done the same for me.
If that is not enough for you, then you may label it a mistake at your own peril.
im so sorry for this
im not it's perfect
i love him
this is Fine
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For the purpose of disclosure, my personal task this mission involves writing sentimental letters to people significant to me.
If you'd prefer not read something like that, feel free to give the rest of this letter a miss.
But if you are still reading this, as I suspect, I'd like to tell you that you have become significant to me during our time here. I'm not very good at this—not sure exactly what else to say, but you are a very impressive person for reasons who have nothing to do with your abilities or your skill in strategy.
I am glad to have had the chance to meet you, and I value our time together.
There's more to you than I think you give yourself credit for. You deserve kindness as much as anyone, and perhaps more than most.
Take care of yourself.
Natasha
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Natasha—
（ he exhales. he wants, perhaps desperately, to shift away from the message. to carve the words out of his mind, to empty it of praise and warm affection.
but he doesn't.
though there is no especial need, given his memory, he instead reads it twice.
then: ）
That is a kind sentiment. I appreciate your sharing it.
（ it is not easily heard, or held. but she knew that would be the case, as did he. ）
Letter
うちはイタチ
My goal for this mission is to write out sentimental letters and send them to people of my choosing. I know that you wouldn’t enjoy it if I said everything there is in my heart about you, so at first I’d thought not to send anything to you at all, but I hope you’ll forgive me for being unable to resist. Out of affection for you and in understanding this, I’ll be brief.
I love you, 心肝. You know me as no one ever has and no one else ever will. There is nothing I'm more grateful to Viveca for than of her bringing me to you. That’s all.
Entirely and always Yours,
魏婴
A waste to live pt 2
Instead they spend their time helping non-combatants reach safety and guiding the more vulnerable or injured out of the fight. They aren't strictly staying together for most of it—there's no real reason to—but their paths have crossed a few times and they stay in communication.
But not taking a side doesn't mean staying entirely out of the fight. More than once, Wei Wuxian has found himself on the other end of a blade, and he's had to fight or use a talisman to slip away. He's just maneuvered a few children out of the heat of battle and gained the attention of a pair of attackers when he catches sight of Itachi in his peripheral again. He's about to make his way closer when he feels a brief spark of pain in his temples behind his eyes. It isn't strong, but it's surprising, and he manages to slip down an alley to get out of the heart of the fight. He presses a hand over his eyes to sooth the dull ache, and then removes it to blink steadily at the ground.
There's a red haze over his vision that he can't seem to blink away.]
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his visual acuity drops to baseline levels in an instant, and itachi — bereft of the stability offered by chakra at his feet — suddenly stumbles where he'd intended to step.
he does not have time amidst the press of thronging battle to reason out what's occurred. he looks to wei ying, where he last saw him — and the space is empty. what grips him then is not fear, but the cold and driving press of necessary action, and he makes his way to the spot. the loss of his powers would not be so pronounced in his friend, and so if it happened to hit both of them at once —
one person attacks him, and itachi fends them off deftly with his sword, disarms them and kicks them firmly into an unmoving heap, and that's when he catches sight in his periphery — the flash of a familiar red that draws the eye. the sharingan, staring back at him as wei ying looks up.
itachi drops his gaze instantly away. not a loss, then. a transfer? and the man will have no concept of how to use the sharingan, nor comprehension of its full and absolute power. ）
Close your eyes. （ his voice is a commanding crack. ） You may harm me otherwise.
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