1) You have never failed to use proper punctuation and grammar with me before. It was obvious you were under some manner of duress that was translating to the earpiece's automatic transmission. 2) You posed my name as a question, and added no further context. You had never done that previously and have not done it since. （ this does not count, as it fails to achieve the same parameters. ） 3) You are not careless, but you are entirely willing to put yourself in danger when you have identified a need for such a thing. 4) I have known you now for years. 5) I'm an Uchiha.
I like you so much Uchiha Itachi [What a weirdo. What a perfectly ridiculous human being. Wei Wuxian actually lifts a hand to his chest to rest over his heart, just for a moment.]
The miso-glazed salmon has been noted.
And I was thinking about the chocolate because if I don't get to stay, I keep thinking "Oh I'll miss this" before I remember I won't. It's such a strange feeling.
I know. I have given up attempting to correct your feelings.
（ the exasperated fondness is probably quite evident, there. ）
Do you wish to discuss the matter?
（ the possibilities. their regrets.
he has no especial desire to do so for himself — his mind and heart are in alignment on the matter for perhaps the first time in his life. but he does not mind listening. ）
[He's waiting beneath a snow covered pine, one mug of hot cocoa in each hand and his breath steaming in the artificial cold. His eyes are faraway, but they return to his surroundings shortly, less because he hears or feels any sense of Itachi approaching, and more because he knows to expect him.
When Itachi doesn't immediately appear, he take a minute to shuffle both mugs to one arm and tug the dark purple scarf wrapped around his neck a little tighter before adjusting the cocoa to his hands again.
There are more people than usual in the sunlight room as there usually are at this time of year thanks to the cozy setup Viveca has created for them. Wei Wuxian appreciates the warm ambiance of it, but he's still picked a tree some distance away from the crowds, hoping for more privacy.]
（ he is dressed in one of the festival sweaters but has foregone the scarf (after all, it can be used to restrain your motion and injure you). still, he looks warm, hands tucked into the pockets of a baggy pair of pants.
when he reaches wei ying's side, he reaches out to take one of the two cups. ）
[As always when Itachi joins him, Wei Wuxian feels himself immediately buoyed by the other man's presence, a warmth flooding his chest that has nothing to do with the warm drink in hand.]
Mmm. [He agrees cheerfully, using his free hand to sketch a glowing red sigil into the air—a variation on the silencing talisman that will muffle their speech to anyone listening in. It isn't necessary at all, but he'd been wanting to try it out, and it makes him feel better.]
[For a while, they walk in peaceable silence, Wei Wuxian gathering his thoughts knowing that Itachi will wait patiently as he does so. In the end he isn't sure he manages to figure out how to put his thoughts to words, but he has to start somewhere.]
I'm at peace with my death. Maybe even with my life. I don't feel any sorrow over its end. When I got here, I was eager to do what I could for my regret and then fade away to nothing.
[He pauses in his steps for just a second and then resumes walking, fingers curling around his mug.]
It feels so selfish to want anything more than what's already been given.
（ he gives his friend a sideways look. and then: ）
It isn't selfish to want to live.
（ his own feelings are... complicated, but in truth, he still has no especial desire to be alive. what he does have a desire for, ultimately, is to serve. to be useful. and if that means living, he will do so unflinching.
but. as far as wei ying knows — his end is final. and itachi knows it is not. ）
[There is something hidden there and it isn't the first time Wei Wuxian has begun to suspect. It is the first time Itachi is the one to engender the feeling. He has purposely ignored the signs, glancing away at anything that didn't add up, but now...so close to the end and with Itachi the one to encourage him, he nods.]
Okay. [A sigh.] In truth, I've been thinking I should, for a while. [Wei Wuxian has always been best at lying to himself until he isn't.]
But whatever Nie Huaisang has to say is...that isn't what this is about.
It isn't that I want to live, not exactly. It's that I'm happy. Or, I'm at peace. Here, aboard the Ximilia, with you and all the others. I never expected that. It's the first time I've felt like this.
If it's my choice it's no choice at all. [The smile he fixes Itachi with is warm with affection.]
I want to stay.
But I'm afraid that it may not be a choice the orbs allow me to make. And if this is the end, I...[He pauses, closes his eyes and takes a shuttering breath, calming the sudden surge of emotion rising in him.]
I don't want to lose this. I want...I want time. Time for us. Time to learn more about myself. Time to tease Viveca and do a thousand other things.
[He lets out a shuddered breath of relief. That makes it a little easier he guesses, even if it isn't real. It would be real to both of them and that's something.]
Can you take us somewhere now? Do you need privacy to use it?
It would be a poor weapon if one required privacy, Wei Ying.
（ his own fault for guarding his secrets so well. he hardly begrudges the man his lack of knowledge. ）
No one watching would be aware of what transpired. We could live decades, and return mid-sentence if that was what I wished. Where would you like to go?
（ the only house he has ever cared for is one where blood once soaked into tatami. but it does not occur to him to take the man anywhere else — it is still his home. it will always be his home. the mangekyō spins to life in a blink, its blades sharpening in a way that would drive most men to madness, but wei ying has never feared at all.
one word, a whisper: tsukuyomi.
and then they are there. it is not the room where he killed his parents — though he might have chosen that location once without divulging its meaning, they are instead sitting at the kotatsu just adjacent to the kitchen. the air is warm, although snow is visible beyond frosted window panes. something is simmering in a pan, and the air is filled with the clean, sweet scent of rice and the umami spice of the dish.
the house is peaceful. it feels full — occupied and lively, though presently they are the only ones within the walls. what he built into the foundations of the illusion is the promise of others. a sense of security, of family, of love.
it is exactly as he remembers it from his childhood.
the scar in one floorboard where a knife once fell from sasuke's small hands. the areas that showed the pacing of urgent, worried feet, where both his parents wore away the laquer awaiting the outcomes of his many missions. the overlay of nostalgia has deepened the warmth of the colours, and sharpened the edges of the uchiha emblem on the walls. but it is exactly as it was, right down to the marks of his and sasuke's height on the nearest doorframe.
but it is a shinobi house, so beneath the smell of fragrant, cooking food there is also the sharp scent of oil used to hone the edges of weapons. the lingering breath of fire that he and his father and mother all carry in their clothing after practice, after missions. more distantly is the intermingling of sweat and of blood, because this room has served more than once as an emergency treatment center in a crisis, and as the head of the clan fugaku's residence is the largest private dwelling in the compound.
they are both kneeling at the kotatsu, the thick blankets pulled over their laps. itachi is wearing his clan colours, and the kamon of the uchiha is stitched with care into his clothing.
[It's too detailed not to be real. Or maybe 'detailed' isn't the right word. Itachi's illusions have always been perfectly detailed to resemble realness, but there's a weight to this one—in the type of details he'd included. This house is heavy with history and affection, and it doesn't take Wei Wuxian very long to figure out why.
He shifts until he is pressed against Itachi's side beneath the blanket and he finds his hand, twining their fingers. He'd wanted Tsukuyomi to allow him the freedom of expressing his affection like this, but it's more than just the promised privacy that drives him to reach for Itachi now.
Wei Wuxian has never known a house like this and he is all at once painfully happy that Itachi once did. (It makes the thought of what came later hurt all the more, but it doesn't erase the happiness in knowing that he'd had this once.) With his free hand, he trails his fingers across the wooden floor and this too feels warm, perhaps from the nearness of the kotatsu.
If the multiverse is infinite, is there a world where some Wei Wuxian and Uchiha Itachi got to have this? Where the Uchiha lived, where Wei Wuxian belonged impossibly to this world, where they met and fell in love and got to sit at this kotatsu just for a moment out of an otherwise busy life while their families bustled around them?
(The Uchiha crest on his robes hasn't escaped his notice but he knows that if he pays it too much attention he might make a fool of himself.)
He reaches his hand out to smooth down Itachi's collar. It doesn't really need it but he does it all the same, hand coming to a rest over his sternum.]
You always look good, but I especially like you in these.
（ there are a few individuals among the ximilia that can touch him without a physiological response — but moreover, who evoke no negative reaction in him at all. even mccoy's hands he would often have to steel himself beneath, to endure whatever warmth and affection the man deemed him worthy of now. wei ying simply touches him, and there is no expectation of violence, no tolerance for the sake of appearances or social grace. warmth bleeds through the fabric from his palm, and itachi's mouth quirks up halfly in a smile.
he does cover wei ying's hand with his own, but it is a brief gesture. even here, his comfort with physical proximity is limited. ）
Blue has always been one of the more commonly associated colours of the Uchiha. It is a strange thing, when you consider our provenance.
（ so much about them is steeped in red. their eyes, their hands, the fire, the madness. blue, by contrast, is calming as water and soothing as sky. ）
You can borrow my red robes sometime if you'd like to test them out. [His eyes glimmer with mirth as he teases and the hand on Itachi's chest returns to his own space.]
I didn't wear Jiang purple. I didn't even wear the Jiang disciple robes. I no longer remember if that was my idea or hers. [There is no point in clarifying who he means. He does remember thinking that it was the safer choice, setting himself apart. It didn't free him from her ire, but it was one less thing to incite it. The less Jiang he appeared to the outside world, the better.]
I wear my mother's colors. [And now that he thinks about it, maybe that was worse than wearing purple. He huffs softly under his breath and plays with the hem of one of his sleeves.] Still, I've grown fond of this shade of blue.
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2) You posed my name as a question, and added no further context. You had never done that previously and have not done it since. （ this does not count, as it fails to achieve the same parameters. ）
3) You are not careless, but you are entirely willing to put yourself in danger when you have identified a need for such a thing.
4) I have known you now for years.
5) I'm an Uchiha.
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The miso-glazed salmon has been noted.
And I was thinking about the chocolate because if I don't get to stay, I keep thinking "Oh I'll miss this" before I remember I won't. It's such a strange feeling.
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（ the exasperated fondness is probably quite evident, there. ）
Do you wish to discuss the matter?
（ the possibilities. their regrets.
he has no especial desire to do so for himself — his mind and heart are in alignment on the matter for perhaps the first time in his life. but he does not mind listening. ）
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Maybe we can talk over cocoa? It's almost done.
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I will meet you there.
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When Itachi doesn't immediately appear, he take a minute to shuffle both mugs to one arm and tug the dark purple scarf wrapped around his neck a little tighter before adjusting the cocoa to his hands again.
There are more people than usual in the sunlight room as there usually are at this time of year thanks to the cozy setup Viveca has created for them. Wei Wuxian appreciates the warm ambiance of it, but he's still picked a tree some distance away from the crowds, hoping for more privacy.]
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when he reaches wei ying's side, he reaches out to take one of the two cups. ）
Shall we walk?
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Mmm. [He agrees cheerfully, using his free hand to sketch a glowing red sigil into the air—a variation on the silencing talisman that will muffle their speech to anyone listening in. It isn't necessary at all, but he'd been wanting to try it out, and it makes him feel better.]
Is the cocoa good?
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Yes.
（ it's said as they fall into step side-by-each. he maintains a polite distance — mindful of watching eyes and his own preference for privacy. ）
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I'm at peace with my death. Maybe even with my life. I don't feel any sorrow over its end. When I got here, I was eager to do what I could for my regret and then fade away to nothing.
[He pauses in his steps for just a second and then resumes walking, fingers curling around his mug.]
It feels so selfish to want anything more than what's already been given.
cw: suicide mention
It isn't selfish to want to live.
（ his own feelings are... complicated, but in truth, he still has no especial desire to be alive. what he does have a desire for, ultimately, is to serve. to be useful. and if that means living, he will do so unflinching.
but. as far as wei ying knows — his end is final. and itachi knows it is not. ）
You should speak to Huaisang.
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Okay. [A sigh.] In truth, I've been thinking I should, for a while. [Wei Wuxian has always been best at lying to himself until he isn't.]
But whatever Nie Huaisang has to say is...that isn't what this is about.
It isn't that I want to live, not exactly. It's that I'm happy. Or, I'm at peace. Here, aboard the Ximilia, with you and all the others. I never expected that. It's the first time I've felt like this.
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it is a subtle movement. it would not be discernible at a distance. but for a moment, he laces his fingers with wei ying's, and squeezes.
it is over as quickly as it came, and then he is drinking his cocoa left-handed again like a sleight of hand. ）
Mm. （ it's a neutral noise. agreeable in its own way. ）
So, what will you choose?
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I want to stay.
But I'm afraid that it may not be a choice the orbs allow me to make. And if this is the end, I...[He pauses, closes his eyes and takes a shuttering breath, calming the sudden surge of emotion rising in him.]
I don't want to lose this. I want...I want time. Time for us. Time to learn more about myself. Time to tease Viveca and do a thousand other things.
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then, softly: ）
I can give you that.
（ wei ying is the only person still aboard the station who knows that tsukuyomi can affect one's perception of time. ）
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Maybe. Not yet. We aren't there yet. [Maybe he'll get to stay.]
What would it feel like for you? Do you experience it the same way I do?
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（ he has lived so many more years than he ever intended to, within tsukuyomi. ）
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Can you take us somewhere now? Do you need privacy to use it?
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It would be a poor weapon if one required privacy, Wei Ying.
（ his own fault for guarding his secrets so well. he hardly begrudges the man his lack of knowledge. ）
No one watching would be aware of what transpired. We could live decades, and return mid-sentence if that was what I wished. Where would you like to go?
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And anywhere will do. Some place peaceful. Maybe with snow like this? No, you don't like the cold. Make it somewhere warm and cozy.
A house, perhaps. Of your design.
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one word, a whisper: tsukuyomi.
and then they are there. it is not the room where he killed his parents — though he might have chosen that location once without divulging its meaning, they are instead sitting at the kotatsu just adjacent to the kitchen. the air is warm, although snow is visible beyond frosted window panes. something is simmering in a pan, and the air is filled with the clean, sweet scent of rice and the umami spice of the dish.
the house is peaceful. it feels full — occupied and lively, though presently they are the only ones within the walls. what he built into the foundations of the illusion is the promise of others. a sense of security, of family, of love.
it is exactly as he remembers it from his childhood.
the scar in one floorboard where a knife once fell from sasuke's small hands. the areas that showed the pacing of urgent, worried feet, where both his parents wore away the laquer awaiting the outcomes of his many missions. the overlay of nostalgia has deepened the warmth of the colours, and sharpened the edges of the uchiha emblem on the walls. but it is exactly as it was, right down to the marks of his and sasuke's height on the nearest doorframe.
but it is a shinobi house, so beneath the smell of fragrant, cooking food there is also the sharp scent of oil used to hone the edges of weapons. the lingering breath of fire that he and his father and mother all carry in their clothing after practice, after missions. more distantly is the intermingling of sweat and of blood, because this room has served more than once as an emergency treatment center in a crisis, and as the head of the clan fugaku's residence is the largest private dwelling in the compound.
they are both kneeling at the kotatsu, the thick blankets pulled over their laps. itachi is wearing his clan colours, and the kamon of the uchiha is stitched with care into his clothing.
it is also, notably, present on wei ying's. ）
no subject
He shifts until he is pressed against Itachi's side beneath the blanket and he finds his hand, twining their fingers. He'd wanted Tsukuyomi to allow him the freedom of expressing his affection like this, but it's more than just the promised privacy that drives him to reach for Itachi now.
Wei Wuxian has never known a house like this and he is all at once painfully happy that Itachi once did. (It makes the thought of what came later hurt all the more, but it doesn't erase the happiness in knowing that he'd had this once.) With his free hand, he trails his fingers across the wooden floor and this too feels warm, perhaps from the nearness of the kotatsu.
If the multiverse is infinite, is there a world where some Wei Wuxian and Uchiha Itachi got to have this? Where the Uchiha lived, where Wei Wuxian belonged impossibly to this world, where they met and fell in love and got to sit at this kotatsu just for a moment out of an otherwise busy life while their families bustled around them?
(The Uchiha crest on his robes hasn't escaped his notice but he knows that if he pays it too much attention he might make a fool of himself.)
He reaches his hand out to smooth down Itachi's collar. It doesn't really need it but he does it all the same, hand coming to a rest over his sternum.]
You always look good, but I especially like you in these.
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he does cover wei ying's hand with his own, but it is a brief gesture. even here, his comfort with physical proximity is limited. ）
Blue has always been one of the more commonly associated colours of the Uchiha. It is a strange thing, when you consider our provenance.
（ so much about them is steeped in red. their eyes, their hands, the fire, the madness. blue, by contrast, is calming as water and soothing as sky. ）
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I didn't wear Jiang purple. I didn't even wear the Jiang disciple robes. I no longer remember if that was my idea or hers. [There is no point in clarifying who he means. He does remember thinking that it was the safer choice, setting himself apart. It didn't free him from her ire, but it was one less thing to incite it. The less Jiang he appeared to the outside world, the better.]
I wear my mother's colors. [And now that he thinks about it, maybe that was worse than wearing purple. He huffs softly under his breath and plays with the hem of one of his sleeves.] Still, I've grown fond of this shade of blue.
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（ it isn't quite a rebuke. wei ying has never seen the akatsuki robes — but his meaning is still clear.
there is tea on the table, steaming gently, and he pours it as any good host would, each movement set and practiced. more mildly — ）
It looks good on you, too.
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