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['We don't have to talk about this.' He almost types and then stops himself. If Itachi didn't wish it, they wouldn't be having this conversation. Which means there's a purpose to it.

He just wishes it didn't feel like running through a field of landmines to find it.]

How did you end up together that night?

The clan we eradicated that night was one he bore a grudge against, dating to the first of our Great Wars — he would not have gained access to them without my work with ANBU. In exchange for his participation in the act, I elicited his word he would not enact revenge against Konoha for failing to support his bid for Hokage.

（ all the best lies have at their core a beating heart of truth, black and bloody and riven with rot — but the point here is not to tell the story plainly, it is to control the narrative that surrounds what wei wuxian now knows. to sink his hands into the work he does best — being something other than what he is, to manipulate and manage those around him to best serve his purposes. ）

As I understand it, he kept that word only as long as it took my body to cool.

（ that's said bluntly, nothing more than his customary callousness when discussing his own death, but he knows it will wound his friend, and deter questions along that perilous line. ）

Edited 2022-10-17 01:29 (UTC)

[There had been no question as to the outcome of that night but seeing it in plain text still makes him lift a hand to cover his eyes and take a moment. The details after that only fill holes that he hadn't ever tried to fill in the history of this man he's come to care so deeply about.

In my world, I am a criminal and a terrorist.

He'd also been a child. Wei Wuxian had wondered before. He'd done the math with the information he'd had, and he'd known he must have been young. Seeing him on that rooftop though‐as small as his smallest shidis had been the night the Wen attacked Lotus Pier—was different. He tries to imagine fifth shidi lifting a sword to take down an entire clan and he has to bow his head, overcome with emotion. He can't picture it. It's a cruelty beyond his imagination.

And to protect his village, Itachi had slaughtered a clan full of innocent people when he was only as old as fifth shidi. He had done horrific unspeakable things.

No.

Horrific things had been asked of him and he'd complied.

(Did you go with Madara's plan, or stick to the original, he does and doesn't want to know. Did you end the lives of children with your own hands when you were barely more than a child yourself? Were there babies? Were you merciful? Did you make it quick? The questions haunt him and he feels a growing nausea that he forces down, sick for what his friend had done and sick for what he must have suffered for it.)

It has never been clearer to him why Itachi rejects Wei Wuxian's esteem so thoroughly. Why he can't find a single thing in himself that he admires. He doesn't know what Itachi is expecting to accomplish with this history lesson, but he knows without a doubt that it has failed. He would never seek empathy or understanding. He doesn't want Wei Wuxian to hurt for him or consider his own suffering. But he does and he is.

What he'd done was monstrous even in the name of good.

But that child's pain is burned into his memory all the same. Who put that choice in your hands, he wants to know? Who made you live with this weight? Questions he knows better than to voice even as they clamor to be uttered out loud.

He doesn't cry again, only leans back against the wall at the side of his bed and lets his eyes fall closed.]

What did it mean to him that he lost the bid for that title? Was it all for his wounded ego? All of that death...was that it?

"We are especially vulnerable to madness."

I told you that, once.

Madara is afflicted in this way. I suspect he has been so for a long time — he was at least a hundred when I first met him, and that is not an age reached naturally among shinobi. Further speculation is pointless.

Does this resolve any questions you had about what you witnessed?

[Nothing about any of this resolves anything, but he’s not foolish enough to say as much. He's not sure anything else matters anyway. Itachi has told him enough.]

It wasn't my right to ask. But it does.

[Even if he’s sure what he's understood isn't what Itachi intended.]

Itachi. I'm sorry for not leaving.

（ he doesn't say, it's all right. that kindness is not in him.

instead — ）

We are friends. You were distressed by what you saw, and wished to help. You undertook an understandable action.

However, please heed me next time I ask such a thing of you. I am aware of what I can bear in a way others are not.

I would accept your help if it were life or death.

I will.

[And then—]

Will you meet me for tea? It's only alright here, most of what I've had is pretty bad actually. I can catch you up on my theories about this place.

[Mostly he just wants to see him. He couldn't care less what they actually talk about.]

（ he exhales very steadily. then: ）

Tomorrow.

Come at 18:00 hrs.

（ and he sends along coordinate. ）

[With a soft exhale of relief]

I'll see you tomorrow.

[When he arrives at the coordinates the next day, he can't help letting out a soft sigh. He'd been hoping for some kind of café or restaurant—somewhere he could sit and wait ahead of time for his friend and never afford Itachi the opportunity to see him walk. Upon realizing he's arrived at a hotel, he begins the trek to his friend's temporary residence full of resignation. It's entirely possible that with everything going on between them Itachi won't pay any mind to the injury he's been doing his best to keep hidden, but he conceals his limp all the same.

They both know what this town is like by now. It's hardly like an injury here or there is that surprising.

He steadies himself for a moment when he arrives at the door and then gives a swift knock.]

It's me. [He calls out unnecessarily, aware that he'll already know.]

It's unlocked.

（ and he's already made tea, which is gently steaming in the two small ceramic cups he brings along on missions. he's seated in the uncomfortable hotel chair furthest from the door, long fingers spidered over the top of his cup, resting on its rim. when wei wuxian enters, there's a sort of charge to the air — itachi is rarely uncomfortable in other people's presences, but he certainly seems so now. he's sitting a touch more stiffly than what is normal for him, and his gaze slides off wei wuxian like oil on water. itachi is not one to shy away from eye contact, generally, but the last time theirs met, he had put wei wuxian in tsukuyomi.

except he is not so mired in his own discomfort that he fails to notice it. the very, very faint hitch to wei wuxian's step, which he might have missed entirely if not for the fact he is accustomed to noticing such things in others, calculating when and where to strike at their weaknesses. his mouth thins. ）

You're injured.

[Despite the weight of tension in the air, Wei Wuxian lets out a soft snort, exasperated and fond. So much for it not coming up. At least, he supposes, it's a way to start the conversation.

He shrugs and gestures vaguely to his leg.]

Ah. Well. I think I made whatever is controlling this orb angry. It's not serious though.

[He smiles faintly and joins Itachi at the table, eyeing the tea with curiosity.]

Did you bring your own?

（ 'not serious' and an immediate change of topic, with wei wuxian, means he should immediately insist. itachi rises from his chair with that uncanny grace that informs all his motion, steps around the small table and gestures for the man to roll up the cuff of his culturally appropriate jeans. ）

Show me. I will heal it.

（ not even taking the bait to discuss that tea, sorry. ）

[For a moment he only stares at Itachi before huffing and looking away. He knows when a battle is worth fighting and this one isn't. With some reluctance, he reaches down to begin rolling up his mom jeans until they reveal a soiled bandage wrapped around his calf. He'd changed the bandages the night before, but it's an ugly messy wound, uneven and jagged, and it still weeps blood every here and there.

Forcing down a flinch, his fingers carefully unroll the bandage, brushing the sensitive area as he goes. When the wound is finally on display, it can be mistaken for nothing other than large bite.

He pointedly keeps his eyes fixed on the ground.]

It looks worse than it is.

No doubt.

（ his tone is dry, as he disappears to the small kitchenette and returns with a metal bowl filled with the hotel's perilously lukewarm water and a rag, to wipe away the worst of the blood. he does the hand seals for a katon jutsu, controlling the chakra so he simply has to touch one finger to the water to heat it tolerably. ）

Was it cleaned properly when you bandaged it?

（ the fact that it's a bite goes unremarked upon. clearly canid, but the spaces between the teeth and the incisors. a particular fear of his, he notes — but characteristic of this little town. ）

Yes. [And then, after a short silence.] Nie-xiong helped me.

[There were three bites in total, but the others were negligible in comparison to the wound on his leg. With that one, they'd done their best but the flesh was torn up enough that it was a difficult wound to treat without further intervention (which he had of course refused.)]

It really is similar to how cultivators heal with spiritual energy. [He remarks, watching the process with quiet interest and just a hint of embarrassment. Getting healed usually meant making a mistake and being someone else's burden, and in this case especially, it really was inexcusable.]

I've been watching for infection. It's seemed alright to me.

（ he hmms softly, and kneels down beside the man. the position is not like to be lost on either of them, strangely mimical of their return from taeum and sedorum. he puts one hand to the man's heel to lift his leg, and with the other dips the rag into the water and begins the process of cleaning away the blood. he hasn't even begun healing it yet, wanting a better look at the punctures themselves — he isn't quite skilled enough yet to heal sight unseen. ）

Animal bites have a high likelihood of becoming infected, a product of the bacteria in their mouths.

（ it's not quite a lecture so much as information known and shared while he works. his touch is firm, but there's a delicacy to it, not entirely unlike the nature of his calligraphy. ）

How did it happen?

[For a long moment, he says nothing, eyes falling to the bite. As his focus drifts, he folds his arms across his chest and brings his good leg up to curl close to it, instinctively making himself smaller without realizing.]

Isn't it obvious? [He tries for flippant and misses. After another pause, he continues in a soft voice, eyes dazed and focused on the memory.]

I was out at night. And there was a...a pack...of...um. [He stumbles over his words, and closes his eyes, appearing to struggle with even talking about it.

And then, quieter than the rest.] They were hungry. When I was a kid. When I lived on the streets. [His arms wind around the leg pulled up in front of him and he shrugs.]

They were always hungry.

（ wei wuxian speaks, but he is no longer present — not exactly, not entirely. and itachi listens, as he sets the bowl aside and focuses. this application of chakra is still clumsy, no matter that he has been learning it for nearly a year — it has never come as naturally to him as causing harm. but the chakra that floods his hand from his wrist to the tips of his fingers feels like submerging himself in a sunwarmed lake, and it's enough. the flesh begins to knit beneath his touch, a wrinkle of concentration furrowing his brow. ）

I'm sorry. I can't begin to imagine what that would have been like.

（ his upbringing, after all, was befitting the son of a clan leader's son. he wanted for nothing within the walls of the compound, and while missions could be prone to hardship, he never experienced hunger of any scope or sort that he knew would not be alleviated upon his return to konoha. ）

[He blinks a few times and seems to come back to himself, inhaling sharply and then letting his gaze shift to watch Itachi work. The cleaning process had stung a little, but it only feels warm now.]

Aside from the...[He gestures vaguely with a hand] dogs, it wasn't that bad.

I was young enough some people took pity. And there was a kind old couple that let me sleep with their animals in the winters. [It might sound like very little, but it wasn't. It saved his life and not many people would have afforded such luxury to a street kid like him.]

And it was only for a little more than two years before Jiang Fengmian found me. What other street orphan could be so lucky?

（ what other street orphan could be so lucky? itachi's mouth thins to hear that, and once the leg is as mended as he can make it, he slowly lowers the man's foot to the floor, rolls down the cuff of his jeans. the injury is entirely healed upon the surface — but the trauma in the deep muscle is more difficult to work with, and will require only time.

he rises, when he is finished, and takes the bowl full of hazy, pink water to the bathroom to pour out. there is the sound of water running, and eventually he emerges, wiping his hands on a small towel. ）

Luck is finding a coin in the road. No one takes in a child without expecting them to have a use.

（ even if it's done purely out of the good of their heart — being good of heart does not clean a dwelling, or pay for food. he thinks of izumi, then, born to a non-uchiha mother, removed from the compound at the death of her sharingan-wielding father. it was not until she woke it herself that they were permitted back into the relative safety of the clan grounds. but the uchiha would have been perfectly content to let them — a grieving mother and young child — starve on the streets because they did not provide a use. ）

No, it wasn't...[He pauses. Sighs. Then keeps going. There is little he wouldn't tell Itachi, especially now, and it was common knowledge in his world anyway.]

He knew my parents. Before Uncle Fengmian met Madam Yu—his wife, he knew them. [Itachi more than others perhaps will pick up on the linguistic nuance. Uncle and Madam, the former intimate, the latter, the address of a stranger or servant.]

My father was his right hand man. My mother was a rogue cultivator—unaffiliated with any sect—who had trained under the immortal Baoshan Sanren herself.

Uncle Fengmian loved them both. [A quiet pause and even quieter admittance] He loved my mother.

Anyway, when he heard they'd been killed on a nighthunt, he spent months tracking me down. He raised me as one of his own. He was a good man.

（ then your use was assuaging either his sense of guilt or of obligation. but it is a cruel thing to say, and he sets it aside.

the distinction between uncle and madam does not go unnoticed. nor does, at length, that 'was'. so, the man that took him in passed away, and left him to the care of a woman who should have been considered an aunt but was instead a madam.

wei wuxian does not have many scars — but he thinks of the brand he saw, and his frown deepens at one corner. ）

Stand. The leg should support your weight now.

[He stands as directed and lets out a soft exhale of relief, fixing Itachi with a gratitude filled smile.]

You didn't have to. Thank you. [There's still feel a slight ache, but it's barely noticeable in comparison to what it was before.]

And you didn't even need any needles. [He can't help adding, lips twitching with amusement. Despite the weight between them and the tension that hasn't entirely faded, he feels warmth in the presence of his friend, and gratitude for more than just the healing.]

I considered them.

（ it's a spark of dry humour as he reclaims his seat. time ticks by, and he does not seek to stopper silence. it is not until he has lifted his tea and lowered it in turn that he speaks: ）

The ability I used on you is called Tsukuyomi. When wakened, the mangekyō sharingan often manifests one or more unique abilities in the user. Tsukuyomi is the absolute control over an opponent's minds and perceptions. It is all but unbreakable. But it is a weapon, and I should not have turned it on you. I apologize.

[He wasn't going to ask.

He'd considered it. Not at first. Not when the weight of his guilt was too overwhelming for him to even think it wasn't something he'd deserved, but a week after their first painful conversation when the guilt remained but was no longer an ever widening sinkhole, he had considered asking if he ever had the chance.

The day before, when they'd agreed to meet, the thought had crossed his mind again, and he'd eventually dismissed it. Maybe one day, but not now.

Itachi's ability—Tsukuyomi—had been...uncomfortable. It's the easiest word for him to use. At the time he'd been so consumed with Itachi's reaction that the void of black he'd been trapped in had been a secondary concern. But as the minutes passed and the trap kept it's hold, his discomfort had grown. And he'd hated the seed of doubt in him that wondered how long it would last.

He looks away briefly, dropping his eyes and shaking his head.]

It was reactive. I understand. [There is an urge in him to dismiss it. To wave it away as nothing. It wasn't nothing though, and to do so would be disingenuous to both of them so instead he says] I forgive you.

Absolute control, huh? [The words are light and interested, but there's a knowing look in his eyes when he raises them again. The sheer power and terror of a weapon like that doesn't escape him. Nor that all Itachi did was give himself space to get away.] What does that mean exactly?

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