（ 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.
Is it? [He asks, an open question should Itachi want to elaborate or not. As they speak, he sits down at the end of one dock, pulling his robes up out of the way and letting his feet dangle just above the water.]
In Yunmeng, it was a family event. [Which as everything involving the family he was raised in, meant it was a mixed affair. The memories of laughing with his brother and sister intertwined with Madam Yu's scornful looks, and as many of the nights ending in full bellies as uncomfortable arguments that always came back to him. It's a strange dichotomy that he'd learned to live with a very long time ago, and one that he can only call bittersweet now.
It's nice to make a new memory with Itachi, even if the moon is an illusion. The feeling unfurling inside of his chest is perfectly real.]
It was for us as well, but it was... mm. A time of reflection.
（ he settles at wei ying's side, and reaches towards him. it feels natural to curve an arm around his shoulders, and tug him in against his body. he gestures towards the still waters before them, where the moon's solemn face is reflected between the lotus blooms. the water is not quite still, and faint ripples keep its surface from being a mirror sheen. ）
Metaphorically and otherwise. We would sit on the dock of Nakano Lake after the festival. My father would recite poetry.
[The moment Itachi reaches for him, Wei Wuxian faintly melts into his hold, not so much that Itachi bears his weight but more than enough to convey his pleasure in being held in this way. There are few who have held him with the same tenderness and he feels greedy for it every time Itachi offers.]
Mmm. Would you like to? Recite poetry? [The offer is sincere. Wei Wuxian might not be much of a poet himself, but he knows the greats and is always happy to share them with his friend.]
（ there are layers built into that poem, he thinks. chosen not only for its obvious imagery, but also... whatever else it is they have become to one another, one thing is certain — this love will certainly last them the rest of their borrowed time.
(but wei ying's, he knows, is not borrowed at all. he returns to his life, where he is both father and brother and, although no one has yet said as much, he imagines perhaps lover to lan wangji. itachi has never been a jealous man. it does not trouble him to know this.
but it is harder every day not to tell him as much, and let him make his own decisions about what the future holds for them here.)
his thumb worries at the soft silk at wei ying's shoulder. it is not a gesture of anxiety so much as one of tactile enjoyment. ）
Hm.
（ wei ying understands enough of his vocabulary of sounds to know it's a pleased one, warm and fond. ）
I can't say that I recall my father ever reciting one quite like that.
[That warrants a laugh, bright and warm, and he turns in Itachi's arms just enough to press a kiss to his jaw, and then another. His hand rises to smooth a finger down Itachi's cheek and he smiles again that smile reserved just for Itachi, unaware of the deeper thoughts circling his zhiji's mind.]
I should hope not. [He says eventually, a spark of amusement in his eyes.
The poem wasn't entirely suited to them, if only because he has no need to long for that which is right here in his arms, but the depth of that longing still resonates. Husband, the poem recites and the word ignites a strange feeling inside of him that he allows to pass over him.]
（ he casts his mind to his family's small library. his father's books on war and strategy and poetry. itachi had read them all before he was ten, each one pressed into his memory like flower petals between pages. even before he had the sharingan his memory was exceptional. afterwards...
he has forgotten no detail of his family home. he can recall where the floors creaked, where the scars of a generation's living had bitten into the wood. it used to be that such recollections were overlaid in blood, and now...
now he can close his eyes, and remember sitting on the engawa in the long, warm nights of summer with his brother curled up at his side, watching the fireflies in their dance. he can remember his mother brushing out his hair and commenting playfully that it would be the envy of all the girls at the academy. how his father's hands had trembled, the first time itachi came home wounded from a mission, and how his mother had to be the one to fetch one of the uchiha medical nins for him because fugaku could not bring himself to leave.
there was more good than bad. until the bad had been all encompassing, and other things faded away.
but now...
itachi tilts his chin up, studying the distant moon. it seems closer in this simulation than in his own world, whether it is by artistic merit or perhaps some quirk of wei ying's world itself. finally, in a soft murmur: ）
The autumn night is long only in name— We’ve done no more than gaze at each other and it’s already dawn.
（ he speaks in his companion's tongue rather than his own, which means that one or two words require a quick review via the earpiece. he is passably fluent now as far as conversation goes, but not archaic poetry. ）
[The smile slips from Wei Wuxian's face and leaves a different kind of look behind, eyes drinking in the sight of the man in front of him as if he can't get his fill. His heart stutters in his chest and there is a tightness in his stomach that he doesn't have a name for. More than affection, more than love. Suddenly the care with which Itachi holds him is too much. The poem, the barely accented Mandarin, the soft voice that makes him feel like he's on the edge of some precipice about to fall into the unknown.
He reaches for Itachi again and his fingers tremble with the force of his want.
I could, he thinks, I could gaze at you until dawn and for endless days after.
His hands guide Itachi's mouth to his and he kisses him, shifting to press closer as he does. He wishes they could be closer. Wishes he could press so close that they might become one entity, forever entwined.]
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no subject
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.
no subject
In Yunmeng, it was a family event. [Which as everything involving the family he was raised in, meant it was a mixed affair. The memories of laughing with his brother and sister intertwined with Madam Yu's scornful looks, and as many of the nights ending in full bellies as uncomfortable arguments that always came back to him. It's a strange dichotomy that he'd learned to live with a very long time ago, and one that he can only call bittersweet now.
It's nice to make a new memory with Itachi, even if the moon is an illusion. The feeling unfurling inside of his chest is perfectly real.]
no subject
（ he settles at wei ying's side, and reaches towards him. it feels natural to curve an arm around his shoulders, and tug him in against his body. he gestures towards the still waters before them, where the moon's solemn face is reflected between the lotus blooms. the water is not quite still, and faint ripples keep its surface from being a mirror sheen. ）
Metaphorically and otherwise. We would sit on the dock of Nakano Lake after the festival. My father would recite poetry.
no subject
Mmm. Would you like to? Recite poetry? [The offer is sincere. Wei Wuxian might not be much of a poet himself, but he knows the greats and is always happy to share them with his friend.]
no subject
Do you expect I would say no, Wei Ying?
no subject
良 何 總 秋 萬 長 子
人 日 是 風 戶 安 夜
罷 平 玉 吹 擣 一 四
遠 胡 關 不 衣 片 時
征 虜 情 盡 聲 月 歌
秋
歌
no subject
(but wei ying's, he knows, is not borrowed at all. he returns to his life, where he is both father and brother and, although no one has yet said as much, he imagines perhaps lover to lan wangji. itachi has never been a jealous man. it does not trouble him to know this.
but it is harder every day not to tell him as much, and let him make his own decisions about what the future holds for them here.)
his thumb worries at the soft silk at wei ying's shoulder. it is not a gesture of anxiety so much as one of tactile enjoyment. ）
Hm.
（ wei ying understands enough of his vocabulary of sounds to know it's a pleased one, warm and fond. ）
I can't say that I recall my father ever reciting one quite like that.
（ yes, this is teasing. ）
no subject
I should hope not. [He says eventually, a spark of amusement in his eyes.
The poem wasn't entirely suited to them, if only because he has no need to long for that which is right here in his arms, but the depth of that longing still resonates. Husband, the poem recites and the word ignites a strange feeling inside of him that he allows to pass over him.]
Will you recite one for me?
no subject
he has forgotten no detail of his family home. he can recall where the floors creaked, where the scars of a generation's living had bitten into the wood. it used to be that such recollections were overlaid in blood, and now...
now he can close his eyes, and remember sitting on the engawa in the long, warm nights of summer with his brother curled up at his side, watching the fireflies in their dance. he can remember his mother brushing out his hair and commenting playfully that it would be the envy of all the girls at the academy. how his father's hands had trembled, the first time itachi came home wounded from a mission, and how his mother had to be the one to fetch one of the uchiha medical nins for him because fugaku could not bring himself to leave.
there was more good than bad. until the bad had been all encompassing, and other things faded away.
but now...
itachi tilts his chin up, studying the distant moon. it seems closer in this simulation than in his own world, whether it is by artistic merit or perhaps some quirk of wei ying's world itself. finally, in a soft murmur: ）
The autumn night
is long only in name—
We’ve done no more
than gaze at each other
and it’s already dawn.
（ he speaks in his companion's tongue rather than his own, which means that one or two words require a quick review via the earpiece. he is passably fluent now as far as conversation goes, but not archaic poetry. ）
no subject
He reaches for Itachi again and his fingers tremble with the force of his want.
I could, he thinks, I could gaze at you until dawn and for endless days after.
His hands guide Itachi's mouth to his and he kisses him, shifting to press closer as he does. He wishes they could be closer. Wishes he could press so close that they might become one entity, forever entwined.]