[It's clear before Stiles has even spoken that the confession has weighed heavy through the days of their separation—another burden in addition to all of the rest. Itachi is not surprised to hear it, had accepted this eventual outcome since their agreement months past, but his own reaction is a shock. Where he anticipates cool, clear resignation is instead a dark and murky well miles deep, broiling with an emotion that feels disembodied for the fact that he can't recognize it as belonging to him. He's never experienced it before. It hits hard: an excruciating pressure in the chest like a hand has reached in and taken hold of his heart, gut turning with nausea, disorienting dizziness as though the floor has dropped out beneath his feet. The keen feeling of loss, too, as acute as a blade between ribs but easily tempered. More easily understood than this alien sensation of something else, strangely shaped and volatile, triggering his body with a stress response impossible to immediately process.
Though not choosing to engage Synchrony in that moment, the bleed between them is as unconscious as always—and Stiles will feel some of that hard, sinking feeling as Itachi attempts to smother it down. Where he was about to sit on the edge of the coffee table, he redirects himself, agitated energy used to collect both of their water glasses and carry them to the attached kitchen still in Stiles' line of sight. He refills both. Brings them back. Sets them down together on the table. Moving again, picking up a pillow that tumbled to the floor sometime in the night, uncharacteristically unable to keep still, unable to look Stiles in the face.]
It's all right. [It's not.] You did nothing wrong. [I don't like this.] …
[What else can he say? Making the attempt is somehow excruciating. This is what he expected. This is what is meant to be, what will always happen, because Stiles belongs to another world with someone else.
Yet sick, unrecognized jealousy continues to eat him alive.]
That is the nature of dimensions like these, it seems. Memories are not kept. We should expect it to be a reoccurring trend.
[ Even without Synchrony active, the bond between them proves powerful enough that Stiles is afforded a clear, unobstructed view into Itachi’s internal reaction to the unwelcome news. As he processes the jealousy filtering through their connection – incorrectly identified as grief – Stiles watches his boyfriend quit the living room in favor of the kitchen. The rattled, restless energy exuded from the man is disturbing, so unlike the frigid composure that Itachi typically holds himself to a standard of. He doesn’t know what to make of it, honestly. But obviously, whatever the shinobi may claim, it isn’t alright. If Stiles were feeling more confident, he might have reached out to catch a hand and steady the absent movements Itachi tries to distract himself with. Instead, the boy remains where he sits on the edge of the couch, huddled in the soft folds of the blanket and looking smaller than he is.
There’s a separate thread of discussion possible here on the topic of memories, tied inextricably to Jonas and Sasuke’s promise to save the young man upon escaping Aefenglom. If losing memories of these dimensions is a common rule – which it would need to be in order to prevent spawning alternate universes of home worlds – then Sasuke will not remember that promise. In fact, the younger Uchiha brother won’t remember Jonas or Stiles at all. The reality of these dimensions is crueler than Stiles imagined. But he suppresses the desire to bring this up in response to his boyfriend’s comment. During the month they were estranged, he had the time to mourn the sad fate of Jonas. Speaking up on the topic now will only serve to distract them both from the current pressing matter: Lydia. ]
It might mean nothing, but…
[ Stiles glances at the water, eyes tracking a bead of moisture as it slips down the side of the glass. ]
If she was here, I’d tell Lydia I’m with you. I wouldn’t change our relationship for anything. Not even her. [ An admission that does not come easily; either way, he’s betraying someone. While it’s true that he’s in love with Itachi, that love does not detract from his feelings for Lydia Martin. The two sentiments sit heavily in his heart, impossible to reconcile. ] It’s like what I said in my vows. I chose you. I’d still choose you.
[It doesn't mean nothing. Neither does it bring the hot, sinking sensation inside him any relief. If she was here—here in this impermanent place, this murky in-between that would not last forever. It's not the place where Stiles belongs, yet they are fated to remain for an indeterminable time. The binding nature of their vows had dissolved with the Bond; Stiles is no longer under any obligation to stay with him. Looking at him, Itachi can only see the negative impact he has had on the boy—the weight loss, the dark and sleepless circles around soft brown eyes, the childlike huddle beneath the blanket. Stiles would choose him, but would it not come with regret eventually? Would he not see the potential of a relationship with someone from his own world easier, better? Someone who would understand him, who would be able to meet his needs for affection and reassurance? Itachi has always known that he would not be good at this. And living in the moment, to make the most of what little they have together before it is inevitably lost, is too unnatural for him to do with any ease.
He won't abandon Stiles again, knowing the cost of that decision. He is certain now that he would not live much longer without him. An acceptable fate—if only it could happen in a vacuum where Stiles didn't have to suffer as a result. He will cling to this for both of their sakes until Stiles is returned to his father, Lydia, and his friends. Then he can die in peace.
It will just take some time to convince the irrational part of him mind, still burning over the thought of Stiles with this unknown woman, to accept it.
Decided, Itachi finally calms and crosses back over to the couch, sinking down at Stiles' side. His weight barely depresses the cushion; they're close, arms almost in contact through the woolen blanket.] Making that choice right now isn't necessary, but I believe you. [He believes Stiles would do it, at least, even at the cost of his own happiness.] I would not blame you for your lack of memory. It's fine.
How much time do we have before the shuttle arrives?
[ Lambent brown eyes, reflecting the light of the rising sun from the windows, flicker away as Stiles swallows an objection. Making that choice is necessary, whether Lydia is here or not. He simply can’t continue to lead two lives. The Mieczysław Stilinski of Beacon Hills, lacking memories of these dimensions, doesn’t represent his real self anymore. It’s a crossroad he’s stood at for some time now – has even broached in topic with various acquaintances for advice on. Who is he? Where is home? ]
Not long. We can probably head over.
[ Hesitantly, he eases his hand over Itachi’s, a question in the gesture. But he knows the answers before his boyfriend reciprocates, twining their fingers. He’s Stiles, and home is wherever Itachi is. The rest? They can figure out together. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Though not choosing to engage Synchrony in that moment, the bleed between them is as unconscious as always—and Stiles will feel some of that hard, sinking feeling as Itachi attempts to smother it down. Where he was about to sit on the edge of the coffee table, he redirects himself, agitated energy used to collect both of their water glasses and carry them to the attached kitchen still in Stiles' line of sight. He refills both. Brings them back. Sets them down together on the table. Moving again, picking up a pillow that tumbled to the floor sometime in the night, uncharacteristically unable to keep still, unable to look Stiles in the face.]
It's all right. [It's not.] You did nothing wrong. [I don't like this.] …
[What else can he say? Making the attempt is somehow excruciating. This is what he expected. This is what is meant to be, what will always happen, because Stiles belongs to another world with someone else.
Yet sick, unrecognized jealousy continues to eat him alive.]
That is the nature of dimensions like these, it seems. Memories are not kept. We should expect it to be a reoccurring trend.
no subject
There’s a separate thread of discussion possible here on the topic of memories, tied inextricably to Jonas and Sasuke’s promise to save the young man upon escaping Aefenglom. If losing memories of these dimensions is a common rule – which it would need to be in order to prevent spawning alternate universes of home worlds – then Sasuke will not remember that promise. In fact, the younger Uchiha brother won’t remember Jonas or Stiles at all. The reality of these dimensions is crueler than Stiles imagined. But he suppresses the desire to bring this up in response to his boyfriend’s comment. During the month they were estranged, he had the time to mourn the sad fate of Jonas. Speaking up on the topic now will only serve to distract them both from the current pressing matter: Lydia. ]
It might mean nothing, but…
[ Stiles glances at the water, eyes tracking a bead of moisture as it slips down the side of the glass. ]
If she was here, I’d tell Lydia I’m with you. I wouldn’t change our relationship for anything. Not even her. [ An admission that does not come easily; either way, he’s betraying someone. While it’s true that he’s in love with Itachi, that love does not detract from his feelings for Lydia Martin. The two sentiments sit heavily in his heart, impossible to reconcile. ] It’s like what I said in my vows. I chose you. I’d still choose you.
no subject
He won't abandon Stiles again, knowing the cost of that decision. He is certain now that he would not live much longer without him. An acceptable fate—if only it could happen in a vacuum where Stiles didn't have to suffer as a result. He will cling to this for both of their sakes until Stiles is returned to his father, Lydia, and his friends. Then he can die in peace.
It will just take some time to convince the irrational part of him mind, still burning over the thought of Stiles with this unknown woman, to accept it.
Decided, Itachi finally calms and crosses back over to the couch, sinking down at Stiles' side. His weight barely depresses the cushion; they're close, arms almost in contact through the woolen blanket.] Making that choice right now isn't necessary, but I believe you. [He believes Stiles would do it, at least, even at the cost of his own happiness.] I would not blame you for your lack of memory. It's fine.
How much time do we have before the shuttle arrives?
/fin
Not long. We can probably head over.
[ Hesitantly, he eases his hand over Itachi’s, a question in the gesture. But he knows the answers before his boyfriend reciprocates, twining their fingers. He’s Stiles, and home is wherever Itachi is. The rest? They can figure out together. ]
Let’s go.