[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
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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.
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Are you certain? I'm uncomfortable company.
๏ผ ... exhibit a, really. ๏ผ
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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.
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
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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. ๏ผ