[His fingers twitch lightly around the water bottle in his hand, the only indication that he's heard the question. It's the same way his fingers have twitched in battle, itching for a flute that will no more summon his resentful energy than Itachi can summon any of his clones. It is not Baiyun his fingers twitch for now though, and for the first time in many months, he wishes for the familiar angry comfort of Chenqing.
(He doesn't actually want to fight Itachi, but the instinct to reach for the weapon remains there nonetheless.)
He raises the water bottle and takes several more drinks, capping it again when he's done and wiping at his lips. There is a buzzing in his ears that wasn't there before and a pressure in his head that throbs in time with his heartbeat. It takes more effort than he would like not to close his eyes to try soothing it away.
When he does finally speak, it is more than just flippancy in his voice and it isn't with the familiar dismissive humor. Instead, there's an edge that has rarely been present in his voice when speaking to Itachi. One that hasn't been there perhaps since that first conversation after Giva.]
Madam Yu beat me as badly as I deserved. [He raises his eyes to Itachi's finally, the smile that sits on his face lacking all sincerity and joy.]
For what I did to her family, she went easy on me.
（ the anger meets him at the shore, and washes over him. oceans are always calm when you travel far enough beneath the surface, and itachi is no stranger to the depths one can sink. he has no right to the rising clutch of anger at his throat. it feels... misplaced, to sift through the wreckage of someone's life and linger over cruelties done them, when he has done all that and more to the one he was meant to treasure above all else.
no right to it, but he feels it nevertheless. he thinks, if this woman were to arrive on the ximilia, that he would very possibly kill her with the same cold efficiency with which he passed his own judgment.
there's a faint cant to his head, tilted as if listening to some distant refrain. his eyes reflect the firelight, fell mimicry of the sharingan. ）
'As you deserved', （ he murmurs. an echo. there's no weight to it, no answering anger. he is still as glass. ） I see.
（ and he does. their familial ties are a distorted reflection. both are eldest sons, older brothers, but the stamp of the uchiha was in him down to the marrow. wei wuxian was an orphan, an outcast. yet they both bore up under the product of someone else's malice, didn't they.
he says 'deserved', but itachi hears the unspoken assertion there equally as much — that it was deserved because he was worthless. or perhaps, he was worthless because it was deserved.
the way to break down wei wuxian's walls is not with force. there are too many holes in an offensive line directed at masterful deflection. that too, would become a dance. itachi has to match it, and him, in order to hold any hope of anything beyond desolation here.
his attention shifts away. he studies the vines slung across the cavern. it has begun to rain, and the soft patter of water rustles the vegetation beyond the halo of their fire. ）
Was that her word? Or did you decide it for yourself.
[He's ready for Itachi to push. Ready for him to insist in that sure voice of his that could only belong to a man with eyes that can see through everything and everyone. He's ready to stand and yell, to laugh coldly, or to push past him and walk away, journey all through the night just to be away from this, the same way he had with Lan Wangji back then when they met for the first time after the Burial Mounds.
And it is pushing. It is, but not the way he was expecting.
Not the way he was ready for.
The cold humor drops away from his face for a moment and Wei Wuxian doesn't react in time—can't react in time as it seems he's lost control of his face entirely. His expression is an open wound, tinted with a grief that's childish in its vulnerability. It lasts for a moment before he gathers himself and looks away, desperately reaching for anger that isn't there.
("Worthless, waste of space, stupid, burdensome child" he hears even now, and it's the same shrieking hiss it has always been.)]
Itachi. [He says, reaching for sharp and falling short. Wei Wuxian feels unmoored, veering dangerously off balance. The fingers of his empty hand curl into his palm and he turns his head away, unable to look his friend in the eyes.]
Just...stop. [The "please" goes unspoken but echoes loudly all the same.]
（ he could. it would be a mercy. it would be kinder. to insist would be hypocrisy, after that night in the school. that old, awful memory coiled around him like smoke and oil. but, their friendship is strong enough, he thinks, to weather a little hypocrisy. wei wuxian will think no less of him in the long run, even if the interim may burn.
his gaze cuts back.
like the man before him who so readily excises pieces of himself away to offer succor to those he cares for, itachi can also make that same deft sacrifice and turn the bite of the cut inward. drag out wei wuxian's awareness of that night and let it fill the space between them. the reminder will serve as the cruelty he does not act on, and while he does not imagine it will silence his protests in entirety — it is difficult, he knows, to unlearn lifetimes — it will at least make him examine why he wishes to protest at all.
it does not matter whether he believes the words or not. he need only say them with conviction, and he is so very, very good at that. ）
We were both children. What we both deserved, Wei Wuxian, was not to be used and failed by those who should have known better.
（ his pulse ticks up. his physiology is more difficult to control without his mastery of chakra to affect dominion over his body. there is a brief, malleable moment where he feels the curl of danzō's hand against his shoulder, there and gone, shisui's chakra like a ghost light beneath his wretched bandages.
chaos will follow you all of your life.
and beyond it now, it seems.
he leans in as the fire snaps and spits sap. elegant fingers close on wei wuxian's jaw, holding him. he may not want to look at itachi, but itachi is going to narrow his options down to nearly nothing else. ）
Obligation keeps you bound to the memory of this woman, but she was fallible, and she was wrong to have hurt you. I promise you, there is not a single child who has ever or will ever live that you would tolerate this same treatment of. What makes you different? Or is it only the depths of your own self-hatred that warrants an injustice you would not stand for, if another had been in your place? （ more softly, then, his voice barely heard over the fire — ） Look me in the eye and tell me I would have deserved it, too.
[It isn't the first time Itachi has positioned his own experiences as a parallel to Wei Wuxian's for the purpose of silencing his arguments. It's intentional. Wei Wuxian knows it is. But even in knowing the trap, he's caught because it's true. Everything Itachi says about Wei Wuxian's inability to tolerate this directed at some other child is true. Everything about how Itachi was a child who was taken advantage of and used is true. He can't deny his own suffering without denying Itachi's, and he knows that was the fucking point but he still can't bring himself to do it.
There is a roaring washing sound in his ears and his vision blurs even as anger surges inside of him.
Look me in the eye and tell me I would have deserved it, too.
He can't. Itachi didn't.
Wei Wuxian is different.
Wei Wuxian is wrong. He's always been wrong. He was supposed to die on the streets, he's known that now for such a long time. He was a waste of space, a burden, an infection in Yunmeng Jiang that had destroyed them all. The fall of Lotus Pier, Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu's deaths. Shijie. And long before that, the unhappiness that plagued their home, the hurt sunk deep into Jiang Cheng's bones, the constant angry screaming, and the fear that lived in them all. It was him, all him, he did that. Defiance of fate always led to tragedy. He had lived an entire life out of turn, taken and wanted and coveted everything that was never meant for him.
The hand on his jaw holds him there and all at once, raw anger (and hurt) spill out of him. He violently yanks himself away, curling his hand into a fist and swinging even as his eyes continue to blur. Despite his emotional state, the blow is sharp and controlled.]
（ he doesn't avoid the blow. doesn't try to. that too is a point made — wei wuxian is lashing out instinctively to silence him, but rationally he knows he could not land a hit on him unless itachi made a misstep in blocking or avoiding him. they may be equals now in the sense of pure physicality, but they do not have equal experience. wei wuxian is perilously skilled, dangerous as the rumours that followed him through the burial mounds and well beyond, but he has not been shuffled from one life or death situation to the next from the time he was barely out of toddlerhood.
the blow connects. itachi wipes blood away from the sting of a split lip with his thumb, a beading of ruby on the cusp of his nail. his hand is wiped clean on his thigh, and calmly, as if it had not happened, he continues — ）
If my words did not strike true, they would not anger you thusly. Whether you wish to hear them or not is irrelevant. You owe more kindness to yourself than what you were given.
（ there is solidity more than sharpness to his voice. the foundation one finds beneath a mountain — ancient, unyielding to all but time. ）
Unless you prefer to imply you've fooled me into seeing worth in you where there is none.
There isn't! [He roars back almost immediately, what little remained of his control entirely broken. His tears fall openly now and he shakes his head.]
There never was! My sister was punished for every kindness she ever showed me. My brother—[His voice cracks and he closes his eyes, a fresh wave of tears stalling him before he gathers himself.] My brother felt rejected by his father. He was brilliant, and strong, and so fucking smart, but it didn't matter, because I was just a little bit stronger, just a little faster, so his mother called him a failure, she told him that has father didn't love him because he wasn't good enough.
He could do nothing right. They were suffocated in misery because of me!
Every fight was about me. Every knife in Jiang Cheng's heart was because of me. I ruined them! I ruined their lives long before it was my fault Lotus Pier fell. Shijie suffered because of me years before she dove in front of that fucking sword.
[He lets out a frustrated cry and then covers his face with one hand, trying to wrestle back control. Eventually the hand falls away though his tears continue to fall.]
He wasn't supposed to find me. Uncle Fengmian. If he'd just left me on the streets, everything would have been fine. That was my fate. That was what I deserved.
（ it's the sort of outburst that builds for years. festers beneath the skin like an infection, poisoning the soul until it's lanced and bled and bandaged. itachi laces his fingers together, and lets him speak. he listens without judgment or expression or anger, his gaze heavy where it falls on the man as he speaks. he knows too well how his attention is like an anchor, how it narrows the world to the point of a blade.
when wei wuxian is finished, itachi reaches out to place another log on the fire. the disturbance scatters sparks to the sky. ）
Fate is not what might have happened. Fate is what does happen.
（ there is much to be said of fate, of karma, of the danger in straying from the path laid out before you. but it is a shackle, and wei wuxian was a child. ）
It is unfortunate that your sister and your brother suffered, but you were simply the knife, not the hand. The wielder was this woman you described as brilliant, unwavering in her love and loyalty for her children, wonderfully fierce. Yet, what is unspoken in your damning praise is that she was jealous, and cruel, and petty, one who preferred to relish in the power of violence and fear over someone who bears no blame for what they are. If not you, she would have found some other reason to treat them poorly. Your presence gave her nothing she did not already carry within herself.
（ he reaches out, fleeting and brief. a press of his hand against wei wuxian's shoulder. the hand that used to wear a ring, and no longer does. ）
How differently would your lives have gone if she had but thought to be kind?
[In the end, he doesn't know if it's the question or the simple gesture of physical comfort that undoes him.
How differently would your lives have gone if she had but thought to be kind?
Wei Wuxian weeps. (It's not a question he can afford to examine. He'll lose too much in the process.)
He does not answer, only turns away and bites back the sobs that threaten to wrack his body, suppressing himself until he is a shaking form, and the sounds of their fire crackling are broken only by the occasional soft sob. He has only been this raw twice before. Once as Lotus Pier burned. Again when Wen Qing and Wen Ning went to their deaths. He had not thought to ever be this again, but Itachi has seen through every crack in his walls and he is too tired to even try to hide them.]
（ he rises silently, pads across the cavern floor to where the bedrolls are. one is picked up, shaken out of its canvas shell. this world hasn't invented sleeping bags yet, so the roll is truly nothing more than blankets that have been tucked and folded for comfort. one he's retrieved the soft inner lining of the roll, he comes back to where wei wuxian is sitting, trembling with the strain of containing his emotions.
the blanket is draped about his shoulders, and then itachi simply sits down beside him, and waits out the storm. ）
[It takes him a while to notice the blanket, and when he does, he pulls it closer around his shoulders and curls into himself. He should be embarrassed at all of this, but it isn't the first time Itachi has seen him cry and he feels too empty and spent to feel anything approaching shame. Eventually the tears stop coming and his breathing evens out, only catching on the occasional hitch when he breathes too deeply.
Then he sits there in silence.
The embers of anger flare to life here and there but never for long enough to sustain anything more than a fleeting emotion. He expects to feel wrecked and he does. What he doesn't expect is the surprising wave of relief that follows. Like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders despite everything. (He doesn't believe Itachi and he refuses to think about everything he laid out tonight, but there's catharsis nonetheless.) He hasn't spoken of any of this before. Not like this. Not ever.
After a long silence, he exhales, carefully steady and slow.]
Itachi. [He summons his voice eventually, exhausted and hoarse from all the crying.]
（ he stands at the utterance of his name, and moves away. they've sat in silence long enough the fire has burned lower, but the cave is pleasantly warm, light dancing along crags and furrows in the rock smoothed by thousands upon thousands of years. there is not enough wood to last until the morning, but the warmth should sustain them after the fire dies. ）
[He watches him flee—because there can be no other word to describe it—and feels those embers of anger flare again. They die down seconds later and leave behind the ache of hurt.]
Not hungry. [And in lieu of having anything else to do, he frees himself from the blanket to wrap up his mostly untouched food and tuck it away into his pouch. He would argue about the watch because there's no way he's going to sleep at all tonight, but it doesn't seem worth it.
The food packed, he leans back against the cavern wall, gaze landing blankly on the dirt floor.]
（ he lifts one shoulder faintly in a sort of do what you wish gesture. he may excel at action — the waltz of knowing when and where and how hard to strike — but in the hush that settles over a battlefield when the last breath is drawn, he has no honest idea of what to say or do.
after a long lull of silence, he finally says — ）
Would you prefer I leave?
（ there is nothing inherently uncertain about it. no quaver to his voice, nothing beyond a stoic query. yet, it is not the sort of question he has ever asked before. if he felt wei wuxian would prefer solitude, he simply would have left. if he was certain his feelings were otherwise, there would be no commentary to accompany his presence. that he poses the question at all is... unusual. ）
[At most points in his life, the answer would have been yes. Or rather, he would have said yes despite the fact that it was not at all what he would have wanted. Now he only raises his eyes to Itachi and fixes him with a hard searching stare.
Do you want to leave? It would be so easy to ask.
But deflection like that has never worked on Itachi, and if his friend calls it out for what it is, he isn't sure he won't just shatter entirely.]
No. [He swallows hard.] I want to be with my asshole friend.
[It's that little exhale that gives him the power to find just a little piece of his usual self. There's still anger simmering inside of him and so much pain he doesn't know what to do with it, but the pain isn't new, only recently risen to the surface, and it isn't Itachi's doing. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, fixing Itachi with a look.]
Oh, now you're polite? [He snorts and crosses his arms, scrubbing beneath one of his eyes with a fist.]
（ but it's mild protest, and after adding another log to the fire he relents, and comes to sit a short distance away from him. he draws one leg up, a posture that seems almost the default for him when opportunity arrives. ）
It isn't mutually exclusive with being an asshole. So I've heard.
[The moment Itachi returns, a bit of the ache inside of him relents and he huffs out his own soft laugh under his breath that chases away even more of the lingering sorrow. Trust Itachi to choose now of all times to be hilarious.]
You're not always polite, you just use nice enough words that people don't know when you're actually being an ass to them. [It's impressive, honestly.]
After that the silence that falls over them is comfortable instead of the heavy one from before, and Wei Wuxian exhales into it, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. He won't be sleeping anytime soon, but maybe he'll manage a handful of hours as it gets closer to morning. After a moment, he reaches into his bag and pulls out some talisman drafting notes.
Just because he can't use them here doesn't mean he can't work on them.] Why don't I take first watch? I'm not sleeping for a while either way.
（ he gives wei wuxian a sidelong glance. it's more an assessment than anything, but whatever he sees there is apparently enough that he makes a soft hm of agreement.
and then folds his arms across his chest, adjusting his posture so that his chin dips down against his chest, feet crossed at the ankle. it's not quite the perfect picture of repose, but it's meant to be restful nonetheless. could he stand, and go get the bedroll, and recline in some manner of comfort? yes, but he's rarely been comfortable in the whole of his life. little point in starting now.
he doesn't sleep, exactly, but he does rest. the sound of wei wuxian's pen scratching across the page as he scribbles notes down becomes an almost soothing white noise, the familiarity of it striking a rhythm alongside the steady beat of his heart. ）
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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(He doesn't actually want to fight Itachi, but the instinct to reach for the weapon remains there nonetheless.)
He raises the water bottle and takes several more drinks, capping it again when he's done and wiping at his lips. There is a buzzing in his ears that wasn't there before and a pressure in his head that throbs in time with his heartbeat. It takes more effort than he would like not to close his eyes to try soothing it away.
When he does finally speak, it is more than just flippancy in his voice and it isn't with the familiar dismissive humor. Instead, there's an edge that has rarely been present in his voice when speaking to Itachi. One that hasn't been there perhaps since that first conversation after Giva.]
Madam Yu beat me as badly as I deserved. [He raises his eyes to Itachi's finally, the smile that sits on his face lacking all sincerity and joy.]
For what I did to her family, she went easy on me.
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no right to it, but he feels it nevertheless. he thinks, if this woman were to arrive on the ximilia, that he would very possibly kill her with the same cold efficiency with which he passed his own judgment.
there's a faint cant to his head, tilted as if listening to some distant refrain. his eyes reflect the firelight, fell mimicry of the sharingan. ）
'As you deserved', （ he murmurs. an echo. there's no weight to it, no answering anger. he is still as glass. ） I see.
（ and he does. their familial ties are a distorted reflection. both are eldest sons, older brothers, but the stamp of the uchiha was in him down to the marrow. wei wuxian was an orphan, an outcast. yet they both bore up under the product of someone else's malice, didn't they.
he says 'deserved', but itachi hears the unspoken assertion there equally as much — that it was deserved because he was worthless. or perhaps, he was worthless because it was deserved.
the way to break down wei wuxian's walls is not with force. there are too many holes in an offensive line directed at masterful deflection. that too, would become a dance. itachi has to match it, and him, in order to hold any hope of anything beyond desolation here.
his attention shifts away. he studies the vines slung across the cavern. it has begun to rain, and the soft patter of water rustles the vegetation beyond the halo of their fire. ）
Was that her word? Or did you decide it for yourself.
no subject
And it is pushing. It is, but not the way he was expecting.
Not the way he was ready for.
The cold humor drops away from his face for a moment and Wei Wuxian doesn't react in time—can't react in time as it seems he's lost control of his face entirely. His expression is an open wound, tinted with a grief that's childish in its vulnerability. It lasts for a moment before he gathers himself and looks away, desperately reaching for anger that isn't there.
("Worthless, waste of space, stupid, burdensome child" he hears even now, and it's the same shrieking hiss it has always been.)]
Itachi. [He says, reaching for sharp and falling short. Wei Wuxian feels unmoored, veering dangerously off balance. The fingers of his empty hand curl into his palm and he turns his head away, unable to look his friend in the eyes.]
Just...stop. [The "please" goes unspoken but echoes loudly all the same.]
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his gaze cuts back.
like the man before him who so readily excises pieces of himself away to offer succor to those he cares for, itachi can also make that same deft sacrifice and turn the bite of the cut inward. drag out wei wuxian's awareness of that night and let it fill the space between them. the reminder will serve as the cruelty he does not act on, and while he does not imagine it will silence his protests in entirety — it is difficult, he knows, to unlearn lifetimes — it will at least make him examine why he wishes to protest at all.
it does not matter whether he believes the words or not. he need only say them with conviction, and he is so very, very good at that. ）
We were both children. What we both deserved, Wei Wuxian, was not to be used and failed by those who should have known better.
（ his pulse ticks up. his physiology is more difficult to control without his mastery of chakra to affect dominion over his body. there is a brief, malleable moment where he feels the curl of danzō's hand against his shoulder, there and gone, shisui's chakra like a ghost light beneath his wretched bandages.
chaos will follow you all of your life.
and beyond it now, it seems.
he leans in as the fire snaps and spits sap. elegant fingers close on wei wuxian's jaw, holding him. he may not want to look at itachi, but itachi is going to narrow his options down to nearly nothing else. ）
Obligation keeps you bound to the memory of this woman, but she was fallible, and she was wrong to have hurt you. I promise you, there is not a single child who has ever or will ever live that you would tolerate this same treatment of. What makes you different? Or is it only the depths of your own self-hatred that warrants an injustice you would not stand for, if another had been in your place? （ more softly, then, his voice barely heard over the fire — ） Look me in the eye and tell me I would have deserved it, too.
no subject
There is a roaring washing sound in his ears and his vision blurs even as anger surges inside of him.
Look me in the eye and tell me I would have deserved it, too.
He can't. Itachi didn't.
Wei Wuxian is different.
Wei Wuxian is wrong. He's always been wrong. He was supposed to die on the streets, he's known that now for such a long time. He was a waste of space, a burden, an infection in Yunmeng Jiang that had destroyed them all. The fall of Lotus Pier, Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu's deaths. Shijie. And long before that, the unhappiness that plagued their home, the hurt sunk deep into Jiang Cheng's bones, the constant angry screaming, and the fear that lived in them all. It was him, all him, he did that. Defiance of fate always led to tragedy. He had lived an entire life out of turn, taken and wanted and coveted everything that was never meant for him.
The hand on his jaw holds him there and all at once, raw anger (and hurt) spill out of him. He violently yanks himself away, curling his hand into a fist and swinging even as his eyes continue to blur. Despite his emotional state, the blow is sharp and controlled.]
Shut up!
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the blow connects. itachi wipes blood away from the sting of a split lip with his thumb, a beading of ruby on the cusp of his nail. his hand is wiped clean on his thigh, and calmly, as if it had not happened, he continues — ）
If my words did not strike true, they would not anger you thusly. Whether you wish to hear them or not is irrelevant. You owe more kindness to yourself than what you were given.
（ there is solidity more than sharpness to his voice. the foundation one finds beneath a mountain — ancient, unyielding to all but time. ）
Unless you prefer to imply you've fooled me into seeing worth in you where there is none.
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There never was! My sister was punished for every kindness she ever showed me. My brother—[His voice cracks and he closes his eyes, a fresh wave of tears stalling him before he gathers himself.] My brother felt rejected by his father. He was brilliant, and strong, and so fucking smart, but it didn't matter, because I was just a little bit stronger, just a little faster, so his mother called him a failure, she told him that has father didn't love him because he wasn't good enough.
He could do nothing right. They were suffocated in misery because of me!
Every fight was about me. Every knife in Jiang Cheng's heart was because of me. I ruined them! I ruined their lives long before it was my fault Lotus Pier fell. Shijie suffered because of me years before she dove in front of that fucking sword.
[He lets out a frustrated cry and then covers his face with one hand, trying to wrestle back control. Eventually the hand falls away though his tears continue to fall.]
He wasn't supposed to find me. Uncle Fengmian. If he'd just left me on the streets, everything would have been fine. That was my fate. That was what I deserved.
no subject
when wei wuxian is finished, itachi reaches out to place another log on the fire. the disturbance scatters sparks to the sky. ）
Fate is not what might have happened. Fate is what does happen.
（ there is much to be said of fate, of karma, of the danger in straying from the path laid out before you. but it is a shackle, and wei wuxian was a child. ）
It is unfortunate that your sister and your brother suffered, but you were simply the knife, not the hand. The wielder was this woman you described as brilliant, unwavering in her love and loyalty for her children, wonderfully fierce. Yet, what is unspoken in your damning praise is that she was jealous, and cruel, and petty, one who preferred to relish in the power of violence and fear over someone who bears no blame for what they are. If not you, she would have found some other reason to treat them poorly. Your presence gave her nothing she did not already carry within herself.
（ he reaches out, fleeting and brief. a press of his hand against wei wuxian's shoulder. the hand that used to wear a ring, and no longer does. ）
How differently would your lives have gone if she had but thought to be kind?
no subject
How differently would your lives have gone if she had but thought to be kind?
Wei Wuxian weeps. (It's not a question he can afford to examine. He'll lose too much in the process.)
He does not answer, only turns away and bites back the sobs that threaten to wrack his body, suppressing himself until he is a shaking form, and the sounds of their fire crackling are broken only by the occasional soft sob. He has only been this raw twice before. Once as Lotus Pier burned. Again when Wen Qing and Wen Ning went to their deaths. He had not thought to ever be this again, but Itachi has seen through every crack in his walls and he is too tired to even try to hide them.]
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the blanket is draped about his shoulders, and then itachi simply sits down beside him, and waits out the storm. ）
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Then he sits there in silence.
The embers of anger flare to life here and there but never for long enough to sustain anything more than a fleeting emotion. He expects to feel wrecked and he does. What he doesn't expect is the surprising wave of relief that follows. Like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders despite everything. (He doesn't believe Itachi and he refuses to think about everything he laid out tonight, but there's catharsis nonetheless.) He hasn't spoken of any of this before. Not like this. Not ever.
After a long silence, he exhales, carefully steady and slow.]
Itachi. [He summons his voice eventually, exhausted and hoarse from all the crying.]
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You should eat something. I'll take first watch.
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Not hungry. [And in lieu of having anything else to do, he frees himself from the blanket to wrap up his mostly untouched food and tuck it away into his pouch. He would argue about the watch because there's no way he's going to sleep at all tonight, but it doesn't seem worth it.
The food packed, he leans back against the cavern wall, gaze landing blankly on the dirt floor.]
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after a long lull of silence, he finally says — ）
Would you prefer I leave?
（ there is nothing inherently uncertain about it. no quaver to his voice, nothing beyond a stoic query. yet, it is not the sort of question he has ever asked before. if he felt wei wuxian would prefer solitude, he simply would have left. if he was certain his feelings were otherwise, there would be no commentary to accompany his presence. that he poses the question at all is... unusual. ）
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Do you want to leave? It would be so easy to ask.
But deflection like that has never worked on Itachi, and if his friend calls it out for what it is, he isn't sure he won't just shatter entirely.]
No. [He swallows hard.] I want to be with my asshole friend.
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Are you certain? I'm uncomfortable company.
（ ... exhibit a, really. ）
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Oh, now you're polite? [He snorts and crosses his arms, scrubbing beneath one of his eyes with a fist.]
Just come sit with me already.
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（ but it's mild protest, and after adding another log to the fire he relents, and comes to sit a short distance away from him. he draws one leg up, a posture that seems almost the default for him when opportunity arrives. ）
It isn't mutually exclusive with being an asshole. So I've heard.
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You're not always polite, you just use nice enough words that people don't know when you're actually being an ass to them. [It's impressive, honestly.]
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I'm a man of many talents.
（ he's got layers. like an onion. superpower: making people cry. ）
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After that the silence that falls over them is comfortable instead of the heavy one from before, and Wei Wuxian exhales into it, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. He won't be sleeping anytime soon, but maybe he'll manage a handful of hours as it gets closer to morning. After a moment, he reaches into his bag and pulls out some talisman drafting notes.
Just because he can't use them here doesn't mean he can't work on them.] Why don't I take first watch? I'm not sleeping for a while either way.
no subject
and then folds his arms across his chest, adjusting his posture so that his chin dips down against his chest, feet crossed at the ankle. it's not quite the perfect picture of repose, but it's meant to be restful nonetheless. could he stand, and go get the bedroll, and recline in some manner of comfort? yes, but he's rarely been comfortable in the whole of his life. little point in starting now.
he doesn't sleep, exactly, but he does rest. the sound of wei wuxian's pen scratching across the page as he scribbles notes down becomes an almost soothing white noise, the familiarity of it striking a rhythm alongside the steady beat of his heart. ）