Inbox: Ximilia

[singlelogbridge]

// Wei Wuxian

TEXT • AUDIO • VIDEO

XIMILIA

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[blackfire]

（ the silence is like a bleak river that twists between them, dark as a moonless night. it is a deep and fathomless thing, but — the heart knows still waters. perhaps he resisted telling wei ying for so long because he knew the man would react like this. not the inward-directed judgment, not the hatred that he has burned with for years in a form of self-immolation.

there was a reason he laid down conditions first. because the idea that wei ying could do anything but join him in the fire is a laughable one — foolish indeed.

he opens one hand, and a small rumpled leaf that had been tucked in against his palm falls to the water, where it does not sink. ）

One day, perhaps, I may find the strength to forgive myself for my role in that atrocity. If I do, it will be in no small part due to those I have met here, befriended and come to love. You should know this, too.

[singlelogbridge]

[The fist that had been clamped so tightly around his heart loosens with the words as an inkling of hope takes root. It's more than he expected and he's warmed to be wrong. He doesn't know how much it must have taken Itachi to speak them into existence, but he knows it's probably more than he can understand.

His eyes fall on the leaf floating on top of the water and he reaches out for Itachi, setting his fingers on the back of Itachi's hand. He hopes that he'll understand it as the declaration of love that it is, and not anything born of sympathy or pity.]

You don't need me to tell you that I'll be here, either way. Still, some things should be said aloud. [Itachi might be able to read between the lines, but there is power in words. It's something he's learned only more recently.]

You are my xingan, Itachi. Until the end of our days.

[blackfire]

（ his fingers twitch faintly beneath wei ying's, but he doesn't move away.

there is something to be said for the fact that the liver is what processes poison. almost, he makes the quip.

but he is neither the first nor the last person to use humour as a deflection — so, rather than give voice to the subterfuge, he says nothing at all — simply focuses on the warmth of the man's hand, his presence and nearness, and the faint smell of camellia oil on his hair.

it is perhaps a small eternity later that he lifts their twined hands together, and presses a kiss against the back of his companion's hand.

and then, quite abruptly, he is gone.

if anyone will understand why, it is wei ying. ）