Being dangerous is not a sin — what judgement is passed on you for being so is the result of petty jealousies and damaged egos.
๏ผ his tone is placid and calm, there is no outward sign that the words are a polished mirror, reflecting his own experiences as a boy. he has never known a world where he was not feared for the simple truth of his skill, the edges of which he refused to blunt to be more palatable to those who could not match him. like wei wuxian, he had never wanted power. he had simply wanted to protect his home.
he is not prone to bitterness at the course of his life and its inevitable end, which means that the vehemence of how he feels at wei wuxian's situation catches him off guard. anger rises to choke him, he feels it as definitively as a hand around his throat, palm over the trachea, squeezing.
he has to deliberately unfurl his fingers from against the press of his palm, leaving his hand lax against the side of his drawn-up knee. an evenly drawn breath follows, though it hitches just slightly in the ruin of his lungs.
he worries his thumb against the ring on his hand, and then — ๏ผ
You are a good person, with good intentions. Intent does not excuse action — and as you say, you are not innocent. But what was done to you was and is wrong. You did not deserve it.
[He lets out a sound like he's been punched, caving in on himself a little that way too. One hand rises to clutch at his chest as if he can physically stop the ache that Itachi's words had provoked in him. Itachi is wrong. Even if Itachi doesn't say things he doesn't mean. Even if he has been reasonable and rational up until now.
The words echo in his head and he shrinks under their sound.
He must have deserved it. Maybe...maybe not all of it. Not the clans' ire when all he wanted was to protect the Dafan Wen. Not Jin Zixun's accusation because he was the most convenient target. But most of it. All of the parts that mattered.
All he's ever done is bring people trouble after all.
He feels fresh tears slip down his cheeks and he groans, bringing up his knees and burying his face in them to keep it hidden. There's nothing to say to that that isn't an argument and he doesn't much feel like trying to speak, so he stays silent and continues to cry silently.]
๏ผ it isn't as though he lacks the knowledge of what to do in situations like this. he was often sasuke's source of comfort — sasuke, who would throw himself around his middle and press his face into his shirt, who'd lamented the growth spurt he had that made him just slightly too awkward to carry.
he thinks of clara, who had put herself into his space and hugged him, the first person to do so in a decade. he had stood stock-still, non-reactive, but warmth had suffused his bones.
he is a distance away from wei wuxian, for all that they are both sitting on the floor, but not so far he cannot lean in, wrap an arm around his shoulders and tug him gently nearer for a hug. as far as embraces go, it's awkward — unpracticed, and he is clearly uncomfortable with the proximity that results, posture stiff and unyielding.
but it is an attempt, and as these things go he knows that can often be enough. ๏ผ
[The touch makes him let out that noise again, but he leans into it, allowing his head to tilt onto Itachi's shoulder just a little. He knows how much Itachi prizes his personal space, and that knowledge makes him all the more grateful for the comfort offered. For a long moment he rests there with his eyes closed, and then he raises an arm to wipe at his eyes and reaches out to squeeze Itachi's shoulder in the thanks he can't find the strength to verbalize. Not yet.
He lets his hands slide back to the ground and after another couple of moments lets out a soft sigh.]
You're really...[He trails off and lets out a soft sound reminiscent of a laugh.] You really are a very good friend, Itachi.
๏ผ there is no point in refuting it. if he tried, they would get caught in a cyclic conversation that only ends when one of them is angered. instead, he exhales in the ghost of old amusement, and shakes his head. ๏ผ
[He laughs in earnest then, a soft and brittle thing but sincere nonetheless.]
What, and have to share? [He shakes his head.] Not a chance.
[Now that he's got himself mostly under control again, he lets out a tired sigh.] Is it alright if I hang out here for a little while longer? I've already taken up so much of your time and energy, if you want your space back, I'll get out of your hair.
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๏ผ his tone is placid and calm, there is no outward sign that the words are a polished mirror, reflecting his own experiences as a boy. he has never known a world where he was not feared for the simple truth of his skill, the edges of which he refused to blunt to be more palatable to those who could not match him. like wei wuxian, he had never wanted power. he had simply wanted to protect his home.
he is not prone to bitterness at the course of his life and its inevitable end, which means that the vehemence of how he feels at wei wuxian's situation catches him off guard. anger rises to choke him, he feels it as definitively as a hand around his throat, palm over the trachea, squeezing.
he has to deliberately unfurl his fingers from against the press of his palm, leaving his hand lax against the side of his drawn-up knee. an evenly drawn breath follows, though it hitches just slightly in the ruin of his lungs.
he worries his thumb against the ring on his hand, and then — ๏ผ
You are a good person, with good intentions. Intent does not excuse action — and as you say, you are not innocent. But what was done to you was and is wrong. You did not deserve it.
no subject
The words echo in his head and he shrinks under their sound.
He must have deserved it. Maybe...maybe not all of it. Not the clans' ire when all he wanted was to protect the Dafan Wen. Not Jin Zixun's accusation because he was the most convenient target. But most of it. All of the parts that mattered.
All he's ever done is bring people trouble after all.
He feels fresh tears slip down his cheeks and he groans, bringing up his knees and burying his face in them to keep it hidden. There's nothing to say to that that isn't an argument and he doesn't much feel like trying to speak, so he stays silent and continues to cry silently.]
no subject
he thinks of clara, who had put herself into his space and hugged him, the first person to do so in a decade. he had stood stock-still, non-reactive, but warmth had suffused his bones.
he is a distance away from wei wuxian, for all that they are both sitting on the floor, but not so far he cannot lean in, wrap an arm around his shoulders and tug him gently nearer for a hug. as far as embraces go, it's awkward — unpracticed, and he is clearly uncomfortable with the proximity that results, posture stiff and unyielding.
but it is an attempt, and as these things go he knows that can often be enough. ๏ผ
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He lets his hands slide back to the ground and after another couple of moments lets out a soft sigh.]
You're really...[He trails off and lets out a soft sound reminiscent of a laugh.] You really are a very good friend, Itachi.
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Don't let the others know.
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What, and have to share? [He shakes his head.] Not a chance.
[Now that he's got himself mostly under control again, he lets out a tired sigh.] Is it alright if I hang out here for a little while longer? I've already taken up so much of your time and energy, if you want your space back, I'll get out of your hair.
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๏ผ though, you know, he might... beg off conversation. #justintrovertthings. ๏ผ
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And when Itachi goes quiet, Wei Wuxian is content to let the conversation drift away, comfortable resting in the companionable silence.]