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.
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
Fate is not what might have happened. Fate is what does happen.
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
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.
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
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.]
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
[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.]
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
[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.]
๏ผ 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 — ๏ผ
Would you prefer I leave?
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
[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.]
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
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.
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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. ๏ผ
Fate is not what might have happened. Fate is what does happen.
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
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.
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
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.]
no subject
the blanket is draped about his shoulders, and then itachi simply sits down beside him, and waits out the storm. ๏ผ
no subject
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.]
no subject
You should eat something. I'll take first watch.
no subject
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.]
no subject
after a long lull of silence, he finally says — ๏ผ
Would you prefer I leave?
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
no subject
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.
no subject
Are you certain? I'm uncomfortable company.
๏ผ ... exhibit a, really. ๏ผ
no subject
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.
no subject
๏ผ 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. ๏ผ
It isn't mutually exclusive with being an asshole. So I've heard.
no subject
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.
๏ผ he's got layers. like an onion. superpower: making people cry. ๏ผ
no subject
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. ๏ผ