( If Jiang Cheng finds it easy to blame Wei Wuxian, so does Wei Wuxian. More aware now than he had been from before, sixteen years and then some ago, when he'd felt more and more hemmed in to the path he was walking, trying to live by his creed and finding that with the world facing him down, just had everything to do with perception. Nothing to do with fact.
The line of people he'd failed did not start or end with sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years ago. He knows now it wasn't just his decisions, or just up to him to make those decisions alone. That he didn't need to, though here, again: he makes his decisions, still alone, but less presumptively. He asks, tentative, instead of assume. The things he'd wanted hidden had already been unearthed, albeit remained not fully addressed. He tells himself he'll be fine if they never are.
There are selflessnesses that are selfishnesses, and he's never stopped caring for the brother, martial or adopted, he was raised with. Through the harsh words, the whipping, the righteously aimed angers, or the less understandable ones. That he'd only objected when Jiang Cheng had aimed his anger at Lan Wangji, or anyone else, says more about his personal feelings on his actions than on Jiang Cheng's, in these cases.
So he stops, still a half step behind, but closer than he'd been trailing. )
Yes.
( No hesitation, staring up at familiar buildings, feeling the presence of familiar ghosts. Remembering another homecoming, years ago; the one where everyone lived, and the one after everyone had died. When he'd been worth boasting about, and later, when he'd been hiding every reason why he was no longer boasting. Growing up is a long and painful process, he supposes. Better to forget about it, live up to what he'd told Jiang Cheng in the temple, in letting go, in moving forward.
It's something they all need to do, without forgetting why it'd mattered. Remembering the people, but not being stuck on the details. What Jiang Cheng has built, he built with his own hands. What core sits within his chest doesn't define the ways in which it's been used.
But Wei Wuxian doesn't say that, least of all right now. He has his own filial piety and respects to pay to Jiang Cheng's parents, and a heartfelt respects to pay to their sister. He blinks away the water in his eyes, trying not to let it matter once again that he stands here, tentative or otherwise. No confidence in it, but trust in the things Jiang Cheng says, even now: both what's extrapolated, and what's stated in plain terms.
He meets Jiang Cheng's turned head with wet eyes he's ignoring are damp at all, and swallows again, nodding his head. He's already said yes.
He's still waiting for permission. The reassurance that he, for too often after his resurrection, has needed. This is really okay. )
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The line of people he'd failed did not start or end with sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years ago. He knows now it wasn't just his decisions, or just up to him to make those decisions alone. That he didn't need to, though here, again: he makes his decisions, still alone, but less presumptively. He asks, tentative, instead of assume. The things he'd wanted hidden had already been unearthed, albeit remained not fully addressed. He tells himself he'll be fine if they never are.
There are selflessnesses that are selfishnesses, and he's never stopped caring for the brother, martial or adopted, he was raised with. Through the harsh words, the whipping, the righteously aimed angers, or the less understandable ones. That he'd only objected when Jiang Cheng had aimed his anger at Lan Wangji, or anyone else, says more about his personal feelings on his actions than on Jiang Cheng's, in these cases.
So he stops, still a half step behind, but closer than he'd been trailing. )
Yes.
( No hesitation, staring up at familiar buildings, feeling the presence of familiar ghosts. Remembering another homecoming, years ago; the one where everyone lived, and the one after everyone had died. When he'd been worth boasting about, and later, when he'd been hiding every reason why he was no longer boasting. Growing up is a long and painful process, he supposes. Better to forget about it, live up to what he'd told Jiang Cheng in the temple, in letting go, in moving forward.
It's something they all need to do, without forgetting why it'd mattered. Remembering the people, but not being stuck on the details. What Jiang Cheng has built, he built with his own hands. What core sits within his chest doesn't define the ways in which it's been used.
But Wei Wuxian doesn't say that, least of all right now. He has his own filial piety and respects to pay to Jiang Cheng's parents, and a heartfelt respects to pay to their sister. He blinks away the water in his eyes, trying not to let it matter once again that he stands here, tentative or otherwise. No confidence in it, but trust in the things Jiang Cheng says, even now: both what's extrapolated, and what's stated in plain terms.
He meets Jiang Cheng's turned head with wet eyes he's ignoring are damp at all, and swallows again, nodding his head. He's already said yes.
He's still waiting for permission. The reassurance that he, for too often after his resurrection, has needed. This is really okay. )