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VashtheStampede @ HumanoidTyphoon

Don’t forget to mark your calendars! My newest single, Love&Peace, comes out in three minutes!

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Originally he only debuted as simply Vash. Only after a printing error from a popular website mistakenly thought his debut EP, The Stampede, was part of his moniker did it stick. His agency handled it with grace, making his new debut name Vash the Stampede.

He took the world by storm. Not only had he been one of the more open idols about disabilities and had no shame in showing off his prosthetic, but his entire idol campaign banked on the word ‘wholesome’. His music videos were never provocative, his outfits were always layered to where he rarely showed any skin. His rare live streams were bubbly and sweet, not an ill comment or swear word in sight.

His fanbase was dedicated and enamored by the idol. Within hours of his releases, his songs hit the top charts and stayed there for months at a time. His concerts always sold out instantly. Meet and greets had to be dealt with delicately, the idol always swarmed by men in black suits and intimidating sunglasses.

Vash the Stampede was loved by any who watched him. So loved, in fact, that it was a trending meme on the internet about how hard it was to get any new merch. Unless you had connections, you wouldn’t see any of the merchandise for at least several months after their release.

He only picked up the nickname Humanoid Typhoon after a disastrous first time on a live talk show. To this day, the embarrassingly chaotic scene was snipped and used in compilation videos and reaction videos no matter how long it’d been since his appearance. Interviews and invitations to other shows never let him forget it, either.

He’d been walking out onto the talk show stage from off to the side. His clunky boot had snagged on a loose wire and he’d pitched forward. In his panic, arms pinwheeling, he’d reached out for the first thing that could steady him.

Unfortunately for him, his gloved hands had twisted into the decorative curtains encasing the center stage. His weight had yanked the material off the rungs and it came tumbling down. The weight of the curtains blanketed one of the metal poles holding up overhead lights and it teetered, tipping to the side. It slammed into another pole and, in a horrifying mockery of tumbling dominos, continued on until almost all the overhead light fixtures had shattered onto the floor.

Chaos surrounded him. Stage hands and crew members were fluttering around. The cameraman was swiveling, trying to capture the moment but also keep a safe distance from any projectile. In the center of the hollers and cries, sat Vash. He was hunched over, hands covering his face.

“I’m a human typhoon,” he choked out, unaware that his mic was still connected and the audio was heard to any viewer who couldn’t look away from the car-wreck of a live show.

Since that show, Vash couldn’t run from the Humanoid Typhoon that the fans dubbed him. He took it with grace, embracing it almost as an inside joke.

Vash being a cinnamon roll for 13 minutes

Vash the Stampede dating crew member???!!!

Love&Peace lyrics |Eng|Rom|Han|

Compilation of every time Vash licks his lips during an interview

Million Knives hovered his thumb over the screen, icy eyes narrowing in intent as he surveyed the videos on his feed. He swiped up, scrolling through more videos. He pauses when his phone pings with a notification.

Vash is LIVE!

Knives raised an eyebrow, tapping on the message. His phone blanked for a second before entering the live stream. His other eyebrow followed as he stared at the focusing camera angle.

Vash was perched up on his wide bathroom sink like some sort of gremlin, knobby knees tucked up and over the side of the counter, the pajama sweats doing nothing to hide how slim his waist was. His oversized turtleneck long sleeve was hanging off his frame, baggy in all the right places to keep any prying eyes from lingering too long.

After the one and only time Vash ever wore skin-tight clothes, his clothing crew were paid handsomely to make sure such a mistake was never repeated.

Knives made sure of it.

Focusing back on Vash, he watched as the man used his black cat headband to push back his bangs.

“Hiiii~,” Vash cooed to the screen. Knives was unable to stop the scowl from forming as the comment section exploded. “I’m bored and doing my skin routine so I thought I’d let you all join me!” His smile was sweet, dimple parallel to his beauty mark.

“I’m probably going to get in trouble,” the idol muttered, eyes sweeping across the numbers of viewers watching his LIVE. Knives smirked. Of course he’d be hesitant. He usually wasn’t allowed to do anything media-related without Knives explicit permission.

“With who?” Vash read the repeated question. “My manager.”

Knives snorted. Manager.Yeah, sure.

Knives settled back to watch as Vash began to walk his audience through his routine, showing off the name brand products of moisturizers, lotions, hydrating masks - the list was endless. His fingers, both real and metal, worked the liquids into his skin, humming one of his songs under his breath as he did so.

“So my manager was thinking I try appearing in a TV show,” Vash said. Knives frowned. Vash had no filter or zipper when it came to what he should and shouldn’t say. “I dunno, though. I’m pretty content with just singing right now.”

The commenters were having a field day, spamming the chat with suggestions of what shows he could try and star in. Vash laughed, not even attempting to read them all.

“Instead of that, you can’t believe what happened today!”

Knives settled his phone down to lean against his coffee mug, letting Vash’s voice wash over him as he went back to work. His brother’s soft words lulled him into a serene state. Faintly, he wondered about Vash recording an ASMR video. He had the voice for it and the fans would love it.

In a good mood, Knives leaned back in his chair, ignoring the guttural sob from the body bleeding out at his feet.

It’d been an accident.

Vash had been LIVE, showing off his dance work-out to fans to follow along too. He’d just finished the last of his moves, chest heaving against his baggy long sleeve and sweat glistening as it trickled down his face.

Without thinking, Vash had lifted the hem of his shirt, using it as a towel to mop up the moisture coating his chin and upper lip. He rubbed at his face with the damp shirt and then seemed to realize what he’d just done. He dropped his shirt but it was too late.

Those six seconds were all the internet needed to explode.

The fans knew from that one time they collectively pretended didn’t happen that Vash had a well-toned body. It’d be weird for him not to have lean muscles with how often he was active. They weren’t surprised by the flash of abs and chisled pecs.

No, they were shocked by the discolored flesh that stretched down his sternum and slipped under his waist-band. They were focused on the blurred black tattoo that rested above his heart, looking like a metal grate that cross-hatched over his skin. They were zeroed in on the scars that ran down his stomach, prominent against his glistening skin.

He flailed, nearly tripped over his own feet, and ended the stream.

The damage was done.

“You have such a lovely voice.”

Vash beamed, leaning into the warm touch that cupped his cheek. Soft fingertips brushed back his bangs, nails scratching along his temple as they were tucked behind his ear. Beside him, Nai watched like a hawk, unblinking as he tracked the movements.

“I think it’d sound lovely with Nai’s playing,” Rem hinted, nudging Nai beside her with a brush of her elbow. Nai’s stony expression brightened, unable to hide the excitement of his piano music being accompanied by Vash’s sweet vocals.

“That’s a great idea!” Vash clambered up onto the stool and Nai was quick to join him, the two pressing as close together as possible.

“I’ll make this song for you!” Vash, ever so sweet and pure, wanting to please and be praised for his love for all. Nai allowed a brief moment of bitterness to dampen his tongue before he swallowed it down.

“How sweet of you two,” Rem cooed as she settled down to listen. Nai didn’t correct her mistakes. Even though sometimes his heart hurt and his blood boiled by how often Vash talked about the woman, Nai couldn’t help but also feel warmth when her hands carded through his hair.

He’d allow her to assume he’d ever make music for her. It’d make Vash happy if it did.

He began slowly, fingers dancing across the keys in feather-light kisses. Vash swayed side to side, humming softly as he memorized the tempo Nai was building for him. Gently his voice filled the air, soft like a whisper that built up with the steady pace.

Rem’s awed expression shuttered and crumbled as she watched the two. Unaware to them, so lost in their own world of melodies, they never noticed the faint blue lines appearing across their flesh. They didn’t see how the potted plants along the side window seemed to bloom alive by the music, thriving as if the song was water to revive them.

She held her breath long enough to exhale at the end of the song. Her smile was strained as the twins turned to her, expecting praise and applause. She clapped, her hands meeting in rhythm with her hammering heart.

The door opened to the rec room and the three looked to see one of the doctors standing there. Rem’s chest felt heavy as she watched how Nai gripped at Vash’s hand, keeping him anchored to his side on the piano bench.

“Plant 2,” the doctor intoned and the hand gripped tighter, “you’re up today.”

Vash’s eyes flashed from Nai to Rem before going back to Nai. He grinned, fighting away the trepidation. He had to put on a brave face. Showing Nai he wasn’t scared and wasn’t about to be hurt was for the best. Nai’s tests involved books, puzzles, riddles, and computers. Vash’s tests involved needles, liquids that made his head spin and sound have color, and endless pain.

Vash begged Rem not to tell Nai. He was always healed by the time he went back to their shared room. It was okay, Rem, really, it never hurt.

Vash gave a good-hearted shove at Nai and bounced off the bench, skipping his way over to the doctor.

“Want to hear my newest song today?” Vash asked innocently, trying to keep the light tone. The doctor humored him, allowing the young plant to begin singing a random tune as the door closed behind them.

Rem looked away from the door and met steel blue. Nai looked at her like one would a dying bug on the side of the room. Disgusted and indifferent. It was during these moments when Rem did nothing to keep the two from separating, that Nai seemed to close himself off to her. As if her silence and reluctance to go against any of her superiors caused her to diminish in value to the boy.

Nai turned his head and settled back on the bench. He lifted his hands, straightening his back.

The notes that wailed from the piano buried deep in Rem’s chest like a cold knife.

The news came out that he’d gotten all his scars from a childhood car wreck. It added up. It was a terrible accident and with some internet sleuthing, fans were able to pull up the public police report of the incident.

With the reveal of all the scars Vash had been hiding, fans rallied to have Vash start wearing a more variety of wardrobe. No more pants, long-sleeves, and layers upon layers. They wanted shorts! They wanted leggings! Crop tops!

#ShowustheStampedeSkin trended for an embarrassingly long time, if you asked Vash. Not that anyone did. They knew to keep their mouths shut if it involved anything even remotely related to Vash’s lack of fanservice.

“I personally think you’d pull off this crop top wonderfully,” Meryl said as she dusted more blush along Vash’s cheek bone. Beside her, Milly was applying a subtle amount of lip-gloss to his lips.

Vash let his eyes drop to the open spread of clothing sketches Meryl had worked all night on, feverishly possessed to do the hashtag justice. He eyed the sketched crop-top, finding it a bit too revealing. It hooked along his neck like a turtleneck but left his collarbone to his navel exposed, only connected along his sides to cover his ribs and underarms. The back was the same, giving clear view to his tattoos that covered his scars. It was also sleeveless, which would allow fans to see his scarred, burnt arms and where his flesh met his prostethic.

Though, the longer he looked at it, the more he grew curious.

“Y’know,” Vash’s eyes flickered up to meet steel blue in the mirror’s reflection, “this doesn’t look that bad. If you have the time-”

“I’ve already made it,” Meryl blurted and flushed, chancing a glance at her boss. Knives glowered at the two before he huffed. He knew when to chose his battles. Experience told him that going against the two women would have losing be inevitable.

Instead, Knives said, “Not in public. No photos and if I don’t like it, it’s being burned.”

Vash laughed and let Milly tilt his head up to apply a faint layer of glitter along his temples. Meryl mentally fist-pumped and promised to bring the clothes next time he had a shoot.

Knives and Vash shared a top-floor penthouse. They actually shared the entire top floor, Knives unable to cope with the idea of sharing a space with humans. The bodyguards on his payroll were housed on the previous floor, on duty 24\7 for free lodging and decent hotel food. Only one or two of the bodyguards were allowed in their room, and that was only during the times Vash was dropped off or Knives returned home from work.

Their pent house was as standard as any that could be bought with money from questionable sources. It was large, it was furnished, and it housed a dangerously dark secret.

In the back room, locked by three bolt-locks and a thumb-print reader, was where Knives kept his darkest secrets. Vash wasn’t allowed in and after the first months of curiosity waned, never bothered to figure out what exactly was in the locked room. It was Knives and Knives alone. Vash couldn’t deny his brother his own space after having to put up with him for the rest of their lives.

The bodyguards who knew of the exstence of the room made their bets, hushed and snickered during the late nights when the lack of action made them bored and drowsy. Maybe that’s where Knives kept his murder weapons. He kept his victims locked up in that room, sound proof and easy to lock in any smells.

Legato glared at them when they made their guesses, unable to stop the scrunch of his nose when Wolfwood jokingly said, “Maybe it’s where he keeps all his Vash memorbilia.”

The bodyguards laughed, amused, imagining their boss collecting posters and acrylic stands of his own brother. He followed Vash’s activities as much as any manager would to their charge.

It was a good joke though.

Behind the closed door in the back of the penthouse, Knives allowed himself to unwind. He fell into the pile of blankets adorned with his brother’s smiling face, each blanket a limited addition with tiny chibis of Vash on the inside lining. The walls were covered in posters, not a speck of the plaster to be seen. Each one was autographed and signed with a heart from Vash, posters that fans had sold on the internet. Knives had bought every single one, unable to fathom the idea of any other person putting their hands on posters that Vash had touched himself.

The bookshelves that lined the room were almost overflowing with album covers, vinyl records, acrylic stands, buttons, charms - all and more displaying Vash. The room was absent of dust or grime, Knives painstakingly dusting and cleaning the room every single day to keep it immaculate. Only the best for his little brother.

On the plush shrine was a collection of little Vash plushies, the deformed and adorably round designs allowing them to be easily stackable. Knives didn’t know how many he had at the moment - at least over fifty. They were tiny and adorable and if he hugged them all, it felt like hundreds of tiny Vash hugging him back.

He would die before ever showing Vash his shrine. He just couldn’t bear to imagine the idea of Vash walked into a room covered in his face and not think his brother had a few loose screws.

So what if he bought out the first five rows at every single concert so no fan was close to Vash? So what if his phone’s gallery was just screenshot after screenshot of Vash from interviews, paused dance videos, music videos, and the like. So what if he regularly prowled the various marketplaces online to see what fans were selling that had anything to do with Vash.

It was normal, healthy, and wholesome support for his brother.

The blurry image seemed to have been captured by a moving person, the focal point nonexistent as the edges carried no details. It showed Vash, wearing a thick red hoodie and sweatpants, climbing out of a non-descriptive black car. The man who’d offered his gloved hand to Vash was not one of the internet-famous bodyguards, but instead someone with a tall and bulky physique. 

The image spread across the internet like fire, burning any ships to the deep dark depths. Because with that photo, two more cropped up. One showing Vash hanging off the mysterious man’s arm like a glorified trophy, and another showing the man leaning in close to Vash to whisper something in his ear. 

Rumors spread. Was Vash gay?! Was he dating some hot sugar daddy? 

Could Vash hook a sis up?

Vash scrolled through his twitter feed, cheeks a sunburnt red as he continued to look at all the comments. 

“Someone wants your info leaked so they can ask you to pay off their student debt,” Vash read, looking over his shoulder to Knives. The man looked up from his salad, lips pulled into a disgusted snarl.

“Turn that thing off. You’ll rot your brain,” Knives chided. 

“But Naaaaaai,” Vash whined as he dropped the phone screen-down onto the table, “the fans want to know who this mysterious money bag is! We have to answer the people!”

“I don’t understand how they can assume I’m a sugar daddy,” Knives scoffed. 

“It’s because someone was able to make out your stupidly expensive Italian suit,” Vash pointed out. Knives shot the idol a sour look and stabbed viciously into his cucumber. 

“It was specially made,” Knives mumbled in defense. Vash laughed. 

“I’m surprised none of your employees have come out to reveal your identity,” Vash said, stretching out onto the table top. Knives used his free hand to run his fingers through the idol’s product-coated locks. 

Knives shrugged. Those under his boot knew better than to risk being squashed. For some unfathomable reason, Vash assumed Knives was some sort of successful businessman. He never bothered to correct the man, finding it easier in the long run. Still, how had the internet taken a look at him and wrote him off as a sugar daddy? He was the same age as Vash. 

He allowed a moment longer to keep his fingers in Vash’s hair before pulling away. If any strands caught on his rings and kept to him, only he would know that he’d later seal them in an airtight bag in his treasure room. 

Loud thumping alerted the bodyguards on duty, Livio and Wolfwood, to something happening on the top floor. The two wasted no time in hauling up the stairs to burst out of the fire exit. The front door to the penthouse was wide open and both Knives and Vash could be heard inside, yelling and crying out in hurt. 

Wolfwood and Livio stopped in the living room entrance and stared. 

Knives and Vash were tumbling on the ground, Vash holding one arm out above his head while Knives tried to climb him like a koala to grasp at the item in his hold. 

“GIVE IT TO ME!” Knives all but shrieked out. He shoved a hand in Vash’s face, trying to push the man back into such an awkward angle, he’d have to drop the item. 

Livio blinked. In Vash’s prosthetic hold was a tiny plushie. Unlike Vash’s normal plushies, it had black hair, black coat, and black eyes. 

“Get off me!” Vash snapped, teeth sinking into Knives’ wrist when the man nearly dug his fingers into his cheek. 

“Calm down, calm down!” Wolfwood broke out of his stupor, easily hauling the two off each other. Vash hugged the plushie to his chest, hair tousled and clothes overstretched from pulling. Knives heaved for air, eyes burning in manic desire as he eyed the plushie. 

“What’s going on?” Wolfwood felt like a parent all of the sudden. The others would never believe this. 

“He tried attacking me!” Vash accused, inching further back when Knives took a threateningly quick step forward. 

“He was going to throw it away!” Knives snarled. “That’s an ultra rare Black Night Vash plushie! Only 50 were ever made due to a manufacturer error.”

Livio shared a look with Wolfwood, a wordless, “are you shitting me?” 

“It’s not even supposed to exist!” Vash argued. “The other ones got trashed too!” 

Knives looked ready to draw blood. Back when the plushies were first made, the factory mixing up the color pallets with another commission at the time.. Only 3 crates worth were created before they caught their mistake, and the factory was quick to trash any that they could. Some, however, were able to escape the purge by the pockets of workers who knew it’d fetch a pretty penny. 

Knives always felt like he was a failure for never acquiring one of those Vash plushies. Only for Vash to come home with a gift from one of his costume designers to unveil the plush. 

Knives wanted it. He was going to get it, dammit. 

“Just give him the damn doll.” Wolfwood looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. “You two are grown ass men, the fuck.” 

Vash pursed his lips before tossing the plush at Knives. Knives snatched it out of the air quickly and tucked it into his pants pockets, protecting it from Vash. The two glared at each other before turning on their heels and parting. Knives to his secret room, and Vash to the fridge to drown his anger in sweets. 

Wolfwood and Livio left quickly, not wanting to handle childish sibling fights after having to referee their own siblings at home. 

Not even an hour later, Knives emerged from the room and locked it back up. Vash sat sprawled on the couch, zoned out eyes staring blankly at the TV with a half melted tub of ice cream settled on his stomach. 

Knives sighed and sat down next to Vash, pinching the carton of ice cream between his thumb and index finger to move it over to the coffee table. 

“Sorry I freaked out,” Knives said softly. 

“Sorry I bit you,” Vash grumbled. 

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Knives showed off his wrist, raised little red bumps. Thankfully Vash hadn’t broken skin. “There is a time and place for our kinks, Vash.”

“Nope.” Vash grabbed the closest projectile, a throw pillow, and pelted Knives with it. “Shut your mouth!” Knives allowed the laughter to rumble out as he tried to shield his face from the blows. 

Even with the love and the wholesome displays the two showered each other with, sometimes that instinct embedded into their DNA called for petty fights and half-assed apologies.

Chapter Text

The ping for the Live Stream was a pleasant surprise. Knives clicked on the notification, instantly switched to the tab. 

Vash was in the dancing studio his agency owned, dressed in a tank top and tight jogging pants. His hair was tied back into a bun, giving a clear view of his perfect face and perfect smile and the brown face of his hair. His scars seemed to stand out under the fluorescent lighting, the man no longer worried about exposing his past. 

Judging from the camera angle, someone other than Vash was eagerly recording the stream using the idol's phone. Looking closer, Knives could make out Wolfwood holding up the phone as he lounged against the mirrored wall that encased the entire room. 

Beside Vash, Milly and Meryl were dressed in active wear and looking a bit self-conscious. Vash was talking in low whispers to the two before they nodded. Vash flashed Wolfwood a thumbs up and the grainy, echoing tone of one of Vash’s more fast-paced songs began to play from the radio set up next to the recorder. 

None of the fans viewing, Knives included, could have anticipated the following showing. Instead of Vash’s usual reserved but still enticing moves, the choreography was more teasing. Milly and Meryl framed Vash, their movements in sync as they twisted their bodies around like it was nothing. 

Knives’ grip on his phone tightened as he watched Vash roll his body as if it were liquid, shoulders and hips moving in unison to the beat. Beside him, Milly and Meryl copied with nervous laughs on their lips. Vash’s face broke out into a giddy smile as the three turned to their sides, giving the audience clear view as the three bent down at the waists to slowly lift up. 

The camera seemed to shift, jerking to the side as Wolfwood momentarily lost grip of the phone. Vash laughed loudly, covering his face with his hand as the three fell away from their dancing positions to crowd each other. 

The comment section was chaos, people throwing out fire emojis or drooling emojis or heart eye emojis. There were no coherent words, just keyboard smashing and long lines of ‘ah’. 

Vash, cheeks red and smiling permanently on his face, waved quickly to the camera before the stream cut off. 

Knives sat in silence, fingers tapping heavily on the wood of his desk. He breathed in. Held it. Exhaled. 

“Legato,” he spoke after he was sure his voice wouldn’t come out as a jumbled ‘sdlfhnersf’, “make a note that Wolfwood is on probation for the foreseeable future.” 

It’d been a single comment lost in the sea of other comments. Just a few words and nothing else. It was easy to miss. Easy to ignore. Forgotten just as quickly as it flew across the screen. 

You’re too perfect. 

His agency had set up a Postal Office box for his fans, feeling the monthly unboxings kept his fans engaged while also boosting his popularity. After all, Vash was more than happy to bend over backwards to let each and every single fan of his know how much he adored and appreciated them. It was a win-win.

Most gifts came in the form of fanart. Each piece was handled with such care as Vash unwrapped the envelopes and showed off the works. His hands were always gentle and his eyes always wide in amazement as he looked at each piece. Sometimes, when he did the unboxings in his living room surrounded by the agency employees to keep things clean and safe, fans could catch each and every gifted art hung in frames on his wall like tasteful masterpieces displayed. 

Sometimes the gifts were stuffed toys, plush bunnies or golden retriever dogs with custom-sewn collars and tags that read, “Vash”. 

(Sometimes those plushies disappeared, never to be seen again. Last time Vash saw them, Knives had been cleaning up his spoils to take to his bedroom. Maybe he put them somewhere and Vash kept on missing them  -behind a locked door-?)

Some fans gifted him clothing after his reveal, little notes with the hashtag scrawled out as if relaying a inside joke. Most of the clothes were tasteful, colors Vash himself said he liked. Some were enough to cause a dark red burn to travel from his ear tips to his chest and the clothes were shoved back into the box without completely unfolding. 

A few hand-sewn plushies of himself in his various concert outfits were also common. Again, most times they went missing. Vash personally didn’t mind, secretly feeling a bit relieved he didn’t have to see his chibi face everywhere he went. He found the idea of seeing himself as a plushie a bit creepy. 

Knives was usually in an excellent mood after those unboxings. Vash decided ignorance was bliss. 

One notable unboxing, Vash flipped a singular flat envelope in his hands, attempting to look for the return address. He always called each and every sender by name before opening the gift, making it more personal and affectionate. 

There was none. 

He opened the envelope and tipped it upside down, letting a single earring fall out. It was a small stud with a thin chain attached, a white feather charm dangling at the end. Along with the earring was a note. 

Heaven weeps at its loss. A little reminder of your home. 

Vash laughed, his tone hiding the sudden twist in his stomach. He didn’t like those words, how they immediately catapulted him back to windowless walls and painful tests. His smile was a bit tight as he lifted the earring up to show, making a show of attaching it to his ear. He quickly thanked the anonymous gifter before proceeding, trying to push the dense ball of sour citrus floating in his chest. 

Behind the camera, watching the unboxing with crossed arms and a deep frown, Knives narrowed his eyes. 

He’s perfect. 

Gorgeous.

An angel.

A god. The perfect human. Breathtaking.  

His smile is my sun, his eyes the gateway to eternal bliss.

My angel. 

Mine.

Meet and greets were probably the most stressful part of babysitting Vash. All the bodyguards could agree to it. If it wasn’t because of Vash’s many beloved fans attempting to breach the acceptable bubble of space set, it was because Knives had made it clear that the moment Vash had even one hair out of place, they’d all die and no one would get their retirement money. 

Wolfwood and Legato stayed posted behind Vash as he waved and smiled to his fans. He sat on a plastic folding chair, posters and albums set up around him with several markers to sign anything presented to him. The two men kept hawk-like eyes on the fans as they came up one at a time, stuttering out greetings and shakily taking Vash’s hands in theirs. 

This routine went on for a good few hours before one of the last fans came towards Vash. Baseball hat, mask (which wasn’t unusual during the pollen season), nondescript clothing. Vash smiled brightly and reached his hands out for the fan to shake. 

The fan clasped Vash’s hands in both of theirs, fingernails bitten bloody and skin a sickly pallor. No words were exchanged and Vash’s smile faltered. Just as he was turning his head to look questioningly to his two shadows, the fan yanked Vash forward. 

Nearly toppling over the folding table, Vash barely had time to react as a razor blade came right at his face. 

One second he was about to be flayed, the next he was on the ground, Legato planting a foot on his chest to pin him down and the fan slammed onto the table as Wolfwood bodily held him down. 

The fan’s wrist made an audible crack as Wolfwood squeezed the wrist holding the razor blade. It clattered to the floor and Legato kicked it away. 

Vash stared up at the ceiling, white noise filling his ears instead of the sudden crescendo of screams and yelling. 

He nudged Legato’s foot and winced as the man let up. His neck felt raw, skin chaffed red from where Legato had jerked him back by the collar of his shirt. He rubbed at the smarting skin and finally looked up to the detained fan. 

The fan was screaming, yelling something about sending Vash back to Heaven. 

The idol couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. Seeing the faint motion, Wolfwood glanced at him, only to do a double take. His lips parted before he sucked in a panicked, “shit.” 

Before Vash could question his change in demeanor, the doors to the venue banged open and more bodyguards filed in. Knives stormed in like a tornado made of ice, knives, and death. In a matter of seconds the remaining fans were bustled out, leaving Vash, Knives, the fan, and the men working under Knives. 

Silence hung in the air as steel blue fell onto Vash, looking smaller than he was on the floor. His shirt collar was outstretched, crumpled awkwardly around the red flesh of his neck. His hair was messy and a small stream of blood trickled down his cheek, courtesy of the small cut near his cheekbone. 

Knives zeroed in on the cut. For a moment, everything was white. The rage settled in fierce and hungry, bubbling in his chest like a rolling pot of water under the hottest temperature. 

That filth had the audacity to touch what was his. Had the nerves to draw blood. 

“N-Nai,” Vash stammered out as Knives bypassed everyone and knelt down in front of him. “Hi. Um, uh, it’s okay! I’m okay! Everything’s okay.” Bless his poor, innocent, pathetically good heart. 

“No,” was all Knives could muster past his lips. His teeth grinded to the point of pain, no doubt stirring his TMJ up to a 11 by the time night rolled around. He smoothed a thumb over the cut, something dark and tiny purring at how Vash didn’t even flinch. His tolerance to pain was skewed, warped and diminished from too many years under the hands and eyes of humans. 

Bringing the thumb up to his tongue, he stuck the appendage in his mouth as he flashed a glance to the fan still under Wolfwood’s firm hold. Vash’s blood tasted like strawberry jam against his tongue and teeth, no disgustingly metallic hint anywhere like humans loved to whine about.

“Nai,” Vash called for attention, “it’s okay. I’m okay. They must have just gotten over excited.” His hands reached up, tugging on the sleeve of the man’s expensive suit jacket, easily pulling the hand out of his mouth. “I don’t want to press charges.” 

“What?” Knives wanted to all but dig his thumb into the cut, stretch it deeper and wider, as if the stimulus would clear Vash’s stupid head of stupid thoughts. 

“Charges,” Vash repeated slowly. “I don’t want to. It was an honest mistake. They probably regret it, right?” He reached out the olive branch to the fan who’d fallen silent, muted by Vash’s melodic voice. When the fan didn’t respond, Vash’s shoulders slumped a bit. He’d been giving the fan an easy out, too.

Knives looked at Vash, studying him. His brother had too much of a bleeding heart, always wanting to forgive. 

Forgive the doctors -that tore chunks of him out without guilt or concern-

Forgive that woman -who cowardly hid behind warm smiles and gentle touches even as she watched her two sons spill their own life essence-

Forgive the humans -for deciding they were too important of an existence to not keep under lock and key, an anomaly compared to their sisters who weren’t as sentient as the twins were-

Forgive that filthy speck that dared to raise a weapon to his other half, unconcerned with the blood they’d shed or the pain they’d inflicted. 

“Okay,” Knives said after a tense beat. “Okay.” He stood and easily helped Vash up, eyes moving along his collar bone. “I won’t force you to press charges but if the venue owners decide they want to, that’s completely up to them.” Not that they’d get the chance. 

He watched how Vash inched around Legato, shoulders tucking up to protect more of his neck. 

“Legato,” Knives said, “what happened to Vash’s neck?” He saw, out of the corner of his eye, how Legato seemed to stiffen up like a statue. Vash rubbed at his neck and laughed. It was all the confirmation Knives needed. 

“Let’s get you home,” Knives said. Vash casted a glance at the fan. 

“What about them?” Vash asked, concern layering his voice. Knives wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him silly until maybe his empty head would be filled with more than hot air.

“Don’t worry.” Knives met eyes with Wolfwood. “We’ll take him to get treated and then release him.” He made sure his smile was genuine. Vash searched his eyes for a moment before he reluctantly nodded. Satisfied, Knives shrugged off his jacket and draped it around Vash’s shoulders. The idol made no protest, drawing the fabric closer. 

Knives nodded to Wolfwood, a silent conversation passing between them. He guided Vash out of the venue and into the awaiting car. He signaled to move and the car started off. 

The car ride was silent. Vash wiggled a bit to get comfortable, body tilting to the side to rest his head on Knives’ shoulder. He breathed, mind slipping away as his vision blurred. A gray film encased his line of sight, everything growing fuzzy and numb as his consciousness took a back seat. 

Knives, catching the signs of Vash retreating, just smoothed a hand over Vash’s flesh one and began humming. 

Their first time in a car was terrifying. Vash clung to Knives as the car swerved and lurched over potholes. Rem kept looking at them from the rearview mirror, her usually peaceful expression shattered into one of unfiltered terror. Knives peeked out the back window and watched as three large SUVs drew closer. Against his chest, Vash sobbed. His newest wounds weren’t healing as fast as usual, panic and adrenaline slowing the process. Knives soothed a hand through his hair, hushing him with a hum that was drowned out by Rem slamming down on the horn to alert drivers to get out of the way. 

“Don’t worry,” Knives whispered against Vash’s temple, soaking his cries into his shoulder, “I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His eyes slid to Rem who jerked the wheel sharply enough to cause the two in the back to slide into the door. Knives braced Vash and glared at the woman. If the men chasing them didn’t end up killing them, Rem’s dangerous driving would. 

Breathing in and focusing, Knives closed his eyes and hummed louder. He could feel Vash’s mental walls slip, eager for the mental comfort as they linked up. Knives never told any of the doctors about their bond, all but forcing Vash to do the same after a rough-house that ended up with him sitting on Vash’s back. 

Using the bond, he drew in that spark that Vash seemed to have an abundance of. It was hot and sparked rapidly, like the flickering of a wind-blown flame. He imagined that spark as a tangible thing, sturdy and solid to protect them. 

Distantly, he heard Rem make a noise and yell something. His grip on Vash tightened. 

He was going to protect his other half. Even if he had to make some sacrifices in the process.

Locking Vash’s face into the junction of his neck and shoulder, Knives sunk his materialized knives deep into Rem’s chest. 

The car jerked. 

Rolled. 

Flash.

Vash screaming. 

Flash. 

Metal grating and bending as they burst through a side barrier. 

Flash.

A piece of the sheeted side barrier breaking off, cutting through the windshield. 

Flash.

A splash of warmth, a blood-curdling wail. 

Flash.

A spark of heat as the car tumbled to a stop against a bed of foliage and trees. 

Flash.

Knives blinked at the floor of the car that splayed out above him, blood painting the upholstery in a sticky, wet red. Gasoline clung to the air heavily, burning his nose and watering his eyes. He felt a heavy weight on his waist and legs and forced his body to move. He could feel his bones straightening out as his skin stitched back together. Reaching down, he touched Vash’s shoulders. Slid his hands down. 

Froze as one of his hands met a slick, warm stump. 

Vash came back to himself in his bed, changed into the fuzziest PJs he owned and surrounded by the five stuffed animals Knives had purchased for him throughout their years of freedom. He blinked sleepily at the blurred black cat stuff and drew it to his chest, nuzzling closer. 

The house was silent. Vash couldn’t even hear any of the bodyguards. He wondered if Knives had left him alone to go handle the fallout of the incident. No doubt it’d be all over the media later. He’d gotten attacked by a fan at a meet and greet. 

The front door clicked, opened, closed, and locked. Footsteps lightly tapped along the wooden floor as the people walked through the living room and paused. A click and the TV came on. The footsteps continued until they stopped at Vash’s door. 

Knives opened the door and slipped in, cracking it back closed as Vash looked up from his pillow. 

He settled down at the edge of Vash’s bed, hand finding his hair to sink his fingers into. 

Vash caught a hint of cigarette smoke and mint. He only ever smelled like that when he took a shower at his office and then had Wolfwood drive him home. 

He curled closer to Knives, eyes slipping back shut as the man began to hum. Vash sleepily tried to echo his hums, catching a note or two. 

His little cactus on his desk opened into a pink bloom. Knives stared at the flower intently, a smile spreading across his lips.

Chapter Text

Roberto De Niro questioned his change in job more often than he’d have liked. People always asked him, “Why did you quit being a detective to be an independent journalist?” 

He still struggled to come up with an answer sometimes. Sure, he was his own boss, but the pay wasn’t anything to write home about and the actual jobs came sporadically. It was always an intense game of musical chairs when it came to if he’d have rent money that month or not. Sometimes one article could get him through for two cycles, sometimes he had to crash on his niece’s couch. 

Yeah, he really questioned his poor decision making sometimes. 

Roberto looked up from his notepad, unable to let go of the traditional means of recording information along with his tape recorder. Sitting across from him in a kitchen that was straight out of a minimalist’s dream, sat Vash the Stampede. He was twisting his glass around in circles, waiting patiently for the interview to begin. Beside him, Meryl was sipping on her iced latte, pointedly glaring at Roberto. 

“So,” Vash began softly, “you’re Meryl’s uncle?” He looked between the two, unable to spot any physical similarities. 

“Not by blood,” Meryl grumbled. “He’s a step-uncle.” Vash nodded along, unsure as to how to comment on such an awkward fact. Roberto jotted down a note, Easily intimidated by those with strong presence, and Meryl who’d trained herself to read upside down, glared daggers at him. 

Roberto couldn’t help it. Old habits die hard. 

“Alright,” Roberto exhaled, “this is going to be really informal. We’re just going to talk, alright? Just to relax.” He reached into his suit breast pocket and pulled out his worn and beloved flask. Before he could even move to twist it open, Meryl lurched across the table and snagged it. 

“You don’t drink in front of your interviewee!” Meryl chided, face flushing. Vash’s shoulders came up to his ears as the petite girl huffed and sat back down. 

In the background, settled on the couch with Milly, Wolfwood hooted in laughter. Milly smiled sweetly before pinching Wolfwood’s arm, effectively silencing the bodyguard. 

Roberto wondered just how he ended up in Vash the Stampede’s kitchen with a bodyguard and two women who knew how to move mountains and make anyone fear for their lives. 

“Let’s begin.” Roberto clicked the side of his recorder, starting it. “How did you get into the industry?”

Standard questions and answers followed. He was scouted out of high school, he never went to college, he liked to sleep in late on his free days and loved the occasional sweet.

The questions were noninvasive, polite while still opening up possibilities for further pursuing. During their interview, a knock had sounded at the door. Wolfwood had gotten up to answer it, talked to the person for a few moments, and then closed the door. When he came back, he set down a platter of donuts on the table, the different pastries laid out in an appealing way. 

You could see the stars in Vash’s eyes as he stared intently at the donuts. Meryl looked alarmed, expression paling as she looked between the donuts to Wolfwood to Vash. Roberto scribbled out ‘loved the occasional sweet’ and replaced it with, ‘weakness for donuts. SEVERE weakness.’

The idol’s guard lowered, Roberto struck fast. “So, are you in any sort of relationship with  Millions Knives?” 

Millions Knives, CEO of KNI Industries. The company focused on eco-friendly manufacturing of products, determined to replace any and all hazardous plastics and chemicals in everyday-use products. Millions Knives had also donated a hefty sum to the healing of the rain forests around the world that were being ruined. Unlike many companies that kept empty promises about ‘going green’, KNI Industries started green and weren’t changing it for an easier means for profit. 

Good reputation and charity aside, Millions Knives was also one of the most highly sought after bachelors of their era. He had it all: looks, smarts, money, power, personality. Any and every single person looking for a date drooled over him. 

And Vash the Stampede had been caught on his arm like a trophy wife and his agency has yet to make a public statement about it. 

The photos had been blurry and hard to discern but Roberto had years of experience and connections to be able to properly put a name to the pixelated face with Vash. 

Vash choked on his coffee, pushing the glass away. A beat. Two. Roberto opened his mouth to ask the question again, hoping Wolfwood’s poor attempts at stifling his laughter wouldn’t get caught on the recording. 

A hand shot out, grabbed a donut, and Vash shoved the entire thing into his mouth. 

“...”

Roberto wished his niece hadn’t confiscated his flask. 

Vash made muffled noises behind his hands, gesturing to his bulging cheeks with a sheepish, “oh man, what can you do?” expression. Roberto leaned back in his seat. 

Vash chewed, swallowed, and took another sip of his drink to clear his throat. 

“Millions Knives? Who?” Vash had the audacity to play stupid. He shoved another donut into his mouth. 

Meryl smacked her forehead. 

“Moving on,” Roberto circled the unanswered bullet point, “your public records show you were in foster care from the time you were twelve to high school. You got into your car accident right before that, didn’t you?”

Roberto knew he was treading on thin ice. These weren’t questions a reporter asked - these were questions a detective inquired about after smelling blood in the water. Because when he’d sat down to do his research prior to the interview, a lot of things didn’t add up. With his connections, he found that there was no solid evidence of Vash’s birth certificate. There was no documentation of any hospital visits prior to when the EMTs carted him in from the mangled car. No paper trails from Vash’s first twelve years of life. 

It was sketchy at best, concerning at worst. Was he an undocumented refugee? That would have been a huge scandal - his agency would have had to do a thorough background check. 

He’d also found it highly unusual that the attending doctor for Vash, Dr. Luida, had ended up fostering the teen until he was of age. A lot of the public information concerning the accident had been redacted. Certain vital information, like his blood type, his birth parents, etc had been carefully removed. 

Vash the Stampede was a mystery gift wrapped in sunshine and smiles and tied together with a shockingly red bow. What Roberto felt he was sniffing out wasn’t a minor dating scandal. No, he felt it in his gut (which had saved his life many times) that this was something more. 

“Yeah,” Vash said, relieved to change topics, “I got real lucky that my doctor had been a foster parent. It was a cool coincidence.” Meryl sent Vash a comforting smile. 

“Coincidence.” Roberto flipped back a few pages in his notebook to a few key bullet points he’d made. “Is it also a coincidence that your foster mother, Dr. Luida, was a former colleague of the woman found dead in the driver seat of the car you were in?” Behind him, he heard the door open and close again. Must have been more snacks. 

Vash’s smile froze on his face and Roberto saw how the sparkles in his eyes dimmed.

“What was her name…” Roberto stared Vash dead in the eyes. “Rem Saverem. Her and Dr. Luida both worked under a William Conrad for a time-”

An arm slipped past his shoulder, gloved hand easily stopping the tape recorder. Roberto looked away from Vash and met eyes with Millions Knives, his smile and gaze as sharp as his namesake. 

“This interview is over,” Knives spoke and tossed the tape recorder over his shoulder. Wolfwood, suddenly hovering by the man, easily caught it. “I didn’t realize interviews were now treated as police interrogations.” 

“Sir,” Meryl greeted as she hastily got up from her chair, “this is my uncle, Roberto-”

“I don’t care,” Knives said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He walked closer to Vash, placing a hand on his shoulder. It reminded Roberto of an owner heeling their pet. “That’ll be all.”

“I need my tape recorder,” Roberto said. He stood up and began to collect his things. Wolfwood was quick in confiscating his notebook. Meryl looked worriedly between the tense men. “You can’t keep my belongings.” 

“What belongings?” Knives smoothed his hand up Vash’s shoulder, rubbing circles along the idol’s throat, near his pulse. Vash was staring at the kitchen table, a dull gaze focused on the plate of donuts.

“I’ll publish this.” Roberto knew he had to play it cool. Safe. Wait until he could contact his connections on the force. 

“What will you publish? You have nothing.” Knives waved a hand and a new bodyguard grabbed Roberto by the arm. 

“You can’t silence me,” Roberto gritted out as he allowed himself to be manhandled towards the door. Meryl followed, Milly hot on her heels with the camera bag she’d brought. 

“There’s nothing to silence,” Knives said from Vash’s side, “since there was never an interview.” The smile didn’t reach his face as he waved tauntingly to the man. They were ushered out of the penthouse and the door slammed on their faces. 

Roberto exhaled and was inwardly relieved when Meryl passed him his flask. Yeah, he should have kept being a detective. Looks like he was crashing on Meryl’s couch again this month. 

At least he knew that Vash the Stampede did, in fact, know Millions Knives. 

“Just wait in here until we call for you,” the crew member said and gestured for Vash to sit. He settled into the plush couch and smiled at the two children opposite him. 

Zazie the Beast, an up and coming social influencer who was all over the media, looked up from his gaming console. Beside him, watching over his shoulder, Elendria Scarlet gave a sharp-toothed smile. 

Elendria Scarlet, daughter to the famous trans model Crimson Nail, did small acting roles. Her presence wasn’t as known as Zazie’s but Vash could see why they were chosen for the commercial. 

Vash, though, felt so awkward being the only adult in the commercial. He knew the commercial was something promoting candy and that his character he was portraying was some sort of wacky icon to bounce off the enthusiastic children, but still. Why had he let his agent talk him into this again? 

Oh yeah, free candy. 

“Hi,” Vash greeted. “Zazie and Elendria, right?” He knew they were also with his agency, as small as their careers were, so he wanted to make sure they were all on good terms. 

“You’re Vash,” Elendria cooed, mismatched eyes sparkling as she leaned closer. “Is it true you also have a fake leg?”

“Ellie,” Zazie said with a snicker, “you can’t just ask someone if they don’t have legs.”

Elendria pouted and crossed her arms, turning puffy cheeks to the idol. “Well?” Looks like she was going to ignore Zazie. 

“Um.” Vash rubbed the back of his neck. He always kept his legs covered, almost as much as he did the rest of his body. There were many theories he had prosthetic legs along with his arm due to too many social threads about his bird-ankles. Nai thought it was hilarious, more so than the sugar daddy theory. Of course, Vash just didn’t want to have to explain the obviously discolored skin patches from burns and skin grafts. 

(And the stupid tattoo on his inner thigh of an angel wing made of sharp edges and metal that he’d gotten the first time he ever gotten drunk and was released out into the wild of the city night by himself.

Nai had made the mistake of trusting his brother to be civilized and stay with his college friends Meryl and Milly. They were pretty protective of their boy and Nai was inwardly reassured that they’d act as his common sense. After all, he could hold his liquor and couldn’t get drunk, so obviously Vash was the same, right? 

He was wrong. He was so very, very wrong.)

“I think so! Mommy says that you look brittle enough to break,” Elendria said, something in her tone twisting a ball of ice against Vash’s gut. “But she also says that about the Plants, so.”

Vash pressed his lips into a thin line. 

Plants. To be honest, Vash didn’t know exactly what they were or where they came from. Humans claimed to make them but Nai said otherwise. Nai said that they were from a higher plain, a superiority that the humans just couldn’t fathom with their peabrain minds. Nai’s words, not Vash’s. But if that were the case, why did humans use them as power sources? Why were Plants bound to their confinement, unable to survive outside of the special holdings that kept them in a state of continuous sleep? 

And what did that make Vash and Nai, who were not quite Plant but also not human, either. That’s what the tests were for, the ones Vash underwent while Nai bent over books and more books. 

“A wind looks like it could knock him over,” Zazie piped up. Vash’s eyebrow twitched. Okay. One; rude. Two; he didn’t have glass bones or paper skin. He was beginning to feel personally attacked. The two childrens shared matching grins and snickered amongst themselves. Vash never felt so targeted. 

Note to self: never work with kids again. 

Knives tapped a finger on his desk, checking the time. He could leave now, if he wanted to, but knew Vash would chide him in that voice of his that was borderline a whine about how he was setting a bad example as the boss. Not that his brother was even home to whine. 

Vash, himself, was out doing a music video shoot. The shoot was estimated to only take two days but knowing the idol’s luck and two left feet on anything that wasn’t dancing, and it would probably be closer to three. That was fine, though. 

Totally fine. 

Legato, standing still at the door to guard the man, was unabashed in his staring. A knock on the door jolted the man into opening it, expressionless face falling into a scowl. 

“Bluesummers,” Crimson Nail greeted. 

“Crimson Nail,” Legato gritted out. The model shoulder checked him out of the way, Chapel on her heel. 

“What?” Knives asked, finger stilling as Crimson Nail leaned on his desk, long hair falling over her shoulder. 

“Ellie said she was in a commercial with your brother a while back,” Crimson Nail said with a empty smile. “She didn’t get the chance to ask for an autograph. Give me one.” 

“Do I look like my brother?” Knives asked, frowning. 

“No,” Crimson Nail raised an eyebrow, “but I know for a fact that you have more than one hundred signed posters in your bottom desk drawer.” That empty smile turned smug. She held a hand out, demands clear. 

Knives scoffed, appalled that she’d even consider the idea that he’d give her any of his posters. His phone pinged and he checked it. It was a text from Vash with an image attached. He ignored the still outstretched hand and unlocked his phone. 

He opened his messages, read the text, and then allowed his brain to process the picture attachment. 

He dropped his phone. It slipped between his legs and clattered to the floor. Knives soon followed, slamming face first into his desk with a noise akin to a dog getting it’s tail caught in the door. 

Chapel, probably the sanest person in the room, made the safe choice of ushering Crimson Nail backwards while Legato rushed closer. 

Knives shot up, ignoring the red welt on his forehead from his faceplant, and scrambled for his phone. Unable to help herself, Crimson Nail walked around the desk and leaned over his shoulder to catch a glimpse at the screen. 

Vash had texted, “look at my makeup!” followed with a selfie. The selfie was angled downwards, taken from above his head. His usual blonde hair was dyed an inky black, yellow contacts replacing his bright eyes. He had a finger in his mouth, pulling back his upper lip to show off the glistening fangs. 

“Huh.” Crimson Nail swooped down and pulled out the desk drawer. God damn, he really had a fuck-ton. “He looks good in black.”

“He looks good in everything,” Knives responded automatically. Crimson Nail watched as Knives began to edit a copy of the phone in every single filter his phone had to offer. She shuddered. Shoving past Legato again, she waved over her shoulder and handed the poster to Chapel for safe keeping. 

She hoped Elendria never had such fans. 

If Wolfwood hadn’t known for a fact that the dance studio was bugged with cameras, he’d have sworn Legato would be holding a cam-corder to document the entire thing. As it was, he watched as Legato tried to meld into the wall, eyes intense as he tried to telepathically scream his desire to Knives with his gaze alone. 

It wasn’t working too well. 

Vash stood in the middle of the studio, dressing in shorts that hugged his thighs and a simple tanktop. He didn’t have to cover up, not in the presence of his bodyguard and Knives, so it was a nice change of pace. Knives, on the other hand, wore a form fitting t-shirt and sweat-pants that looked too expensive to be loungewear. 

“Okay,” Vash instructed, “we’re going to slide to the left.” He demonstrated. “Slide back a step. Stomp. Twist. Bend down to a 45 degree angle, do this-” he made sporadic and vague arm pumps “-and then this.” Followed by a series of footwork that left Wolfwood dizzy no matter how many times he watched the man dance. 

Knives stared blankly at his brother’s feet, eyes a million miles away as his soul physically struggled not to astralproject to anywhere but the studio. 

“Easy, right?” Vash laughed. Knives had a scary memory, enough that he mastered piano after just watching one tutorial, could recite any book on their bookshelf from memory at any given line, and knew every single detail of Vash’s concerts down to the last second (not that Vash knew this one of course). 

“Yes…” Knives sounded like it hurt to lie. “Easy.” He didn’t move. Vash’s smile began to shrink, waiting for Knives to begin. The longer the two stood there, the more Vash’s expression wilted. 

“Need me to show you again?” Vash asked. 

“No, no,” Knives coughed, “I’ve got it. Just - just give me a minute.” Knives pushed his hair out of his face with both hands, muscles rippling as he did so. They were just useless accessories if he wasn’t even able to follow a simple series of steps. He cleared his throat and took a step. 

His phone rang shrilly and he was suddenly at Legato’s side, snatching the device up. After a few tense moments, he nodded and ended the call. 

“Oh no, business calls.” Knives reached Vash in two strides. “I’ll see you at home. I love you.” He grabbed Vash’s face, gave him a chaste kiss to the forehead, and then all but fled. 

When it was just Vash and Wolfwood, Vash spoke, “He’s actually pretty awesome at the waltz.” 

“Uh-huh,” Wolfwood said. 

“No, seriously, he is.”

“Sure, Needle Noggin, sure.”

Chapter Text

Originally, Rem was only supposed to handle one of the twins. Another scientist had been lined up to take the other one. Rem couldn’t handle two twins - much less two Plant babies. 

But the moment she’d picked up one of the twins (who’d be named Vash a day later), the other twin, who’d been peacefully sleeping, jolting awake with a glass-shattering shriek. His skin shined with plant markings, the light of them pulsing with his wails.

Rem flinched, arms jerking the baby into a startled state of alertness. And then that baby was crying, little arms flailing and chubby hands grasping for air. His own markings lit up like a growing flame, mimicking his brother. Panicking, Rem set the baby back down into the cot and watched as the twins immediately settled. Their markings hummed before fading.

Looks like she had to take them both.

When Luida heard Rem Saverem had been chosen for the FLOWERS project, she’d simply shrugged and went about securing a position at the local hospital. Both of them had worked under the same teacher, contracted by SEEDS in exchange for a full ride through college and beyond. The details for the FLOWERS project had been hush-hush but even Luida heard a thing or two. 

Plants. Babies. Energy. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together once they met Rem. She was the embodiment of all things motherly. Familial. Along with her background in chemical engineering, she’d also minored in child development. She was the perfect candidate, that much Luida could confirm. 

The two had been close before and even after Rem was selected. Every month, they would meet once or twice to catch up on their lives. They sit down for coffee in a local cafe and just chat. Act like old friends, as if one didn’t comment on the blood samples they smuggled to SEEDS and the other wasn’t raising other-worldly dimensional beings. 

Luida could see the love Rem had for her two children. And they were her children. She raised them. Bottle fed them formula (a careful mixture Luida helped create as a favor when human formula did nothing), had changed their diapers, and even gave them names. She carried pictures of them in her wallet, always eager to brag about them and show off the little polaroids. 

She could list every single activity Rem had planned for her two boys for the next twenty-years - Rem was one of those parents who had a plan and a plan they would follow, dammit. Luida would laugh and nod and smile at the genuine love in her friend’s expression. 

The day before Rem’s death, they met for the last time. Luida hadn’t known Rem would die - she’d just felt it in her gut from how her friend acted. She remembered the meeting crystal clear, haunted by the discussion. 

“They’re different,” Rem whispered, eyes downcast and reflected in her coffee. “Not like the Plants.” 

“I know,” Luida said. It was obvious. Rem and Luida knew this. Rem shook her head. 

“Even more than we know,” Rem stressed. “They - I saw them. They…I can’t keep them there anymore.” Something terrifying flashed across the mother’s face. “I can’t do this to them anymore.”

“They’re not real boys,” Luida slowly pointed out. This was one of the downsides with Rem - she got too attached. She couldn’t distance herself like Luida could. 

“They are,” Rem snapped before flushing in shame. “Sorry. Just. Luida.” The two met eyes and Rem smiled sadly. “Thanks for everything.” 

They’d parted ways after that, the entire meetup leaving a bitter taste in Luida’s mouth. She’d regret it. She’d regret that entire day for the rest of her life as during her shift, Rem was carted into the emergency room, barely hanging on by a thread, with Vash and Nai on their own gurneys. 

She’d called Rem’s death. Shooed away the nurses and doctors and onlookers who’d notice Nai had no wounds on him while Vash looked like a piece of swiss-cheese. She called Vash’s death, Nai’s shortly thereafter. She turned away the facility men who came to question the car-crash victims. 

Luida called her husband and spoke before he could even say, “hello”. 

“Two birth certificates,” Luida ordered. “Vash and Nai. Give them your mother’s maiden name. I’ll have their medical records by the end of my shift. Money’s in that cereal box on the top of the fridge.”

Brad was silent for a moment. 

“How many rooms?” Brad asked. 

“Three,” Luida said after little thought. “Big backyard. I’ve been wanting to get back into gardening.” God bless the man she’d found and married. 

“Alright. I’ll make some calls, get some people over here to clear house. Also, the cereal box? Really? I knew you didn’t eat whole-wheat!” 

They ended the call and Luida turned to Nai. 

She could tell why Rem always called him her little knife. His gaze was sharp and ready to draw blood as he hovered over his unconscious brother like a feral beast. Luida smiled awkwardly. 

“What,” Nai rasped, voice cracking and nasally from his sobbing, “what’s in this for you?” 

Luida smiled sadly. 

“I’m your boys’ aunt,” Luida whispered. “Even though Rem didn’t say it.” 

He sat hunched over the bed, hands clinging to his brother’s limp hand like a lifeline. His forehead was bent over his brother’s prone body like a prayer. Hot tears scorched down his blotchy cheeks, swelling his eyes and making them bloodshot. Along with his red, leaking nose, he looked like a absolute wreck. 

Luida had left, excusing herself to get more blankets. Nai tuned her out, eyes trained on the red bandages covering his brother’s arm. His face. His leg.  

He’d done this. 

A noise shook his chest and he tried not to choke around another sob. 

His beautiful brother, blemished and tainted by his own hands. He’d spilt his brother’s blood, desecrated his holy being with pain and loss. He was meant to give and give to Vash, not take. Never take. Never draw blood, paint his brother’s smooth skin in red and blues and purples. Vash was never meant to know the loss of his own self. 

Nai blinked his tears down his cheeks. Why wasn’t he healing himself? They were superior to humans - their healing was more enhanced than the average adult’s. So why wasn’t his arm or leg growing back? Why weren’t the scars and burn marks stitching themselves back together and smoothing out? 

Why did Vash have to suffer? 

This was all his fault. Nai released one of his hands to snag it in his hair, tugging harshly. He’d been the one to confront Rem, fury boiling through his body with a ravenous hunger, unable to believe that his Vash had been poked and prodded and soiled without him aware. How could he claim to protect Vash when those disgusting scientists took skin and blood samples, forced him to sync with their sisters to compare energy waves. 

How could he claim to love Vash when the body laid prone before him, his tiny body looking all the more fragile with the blood covering him. 

Nai reached a hand out to smooth it over Vash’s cheek and stopped. What if he hurt him again? Did he even have the right to touch his brother anymore? 

He drew back as if burned, chest clenching tight and vision spotting. Static replaced his blood in his veins, fingers and arms feeling like styrofoam as he curled into himself. He felt like he was outside of his body, a spectator to a gruesome nightmare. He’d recalled what some of the white-coats whispered when they thought Nai couldn’t hear them. Monster. 

 He’d only hurt his brother more, draw more blood and inflinct more pain. He was as dangerous as Rem said, during the times she couldn’t hide her fear of him. If he bled, would it be red like Vash’s or would the essence be something unnatural, something otherworldly that further contrast himm from his brother? Because Nai and Vash were two halves of a whole, one soul split into two, but Vash had received all the humanity, leaving Nai with only a love and longing for his other half. Did that mean that while Vash was lovable, sunshine incarnate, without a single fault to his name, that Nai was all the negativity that the two could have shared, mashed up all into one twisted individual?

Vash twitched and jerked, tiny little whimpers escaping his mouth. Nai flinched, eyes wide as his brother’s eyes fluttered. 

“Nnn,” Vash slurred. He could barely keep his eyes open but his only hand shook and twitched, fingers curling at air. Even though he hadn’t spoken a name, let alone a discernible word, Nai knew. He felt it in their bond, in the flash on intent that Vash all but slammed through the tether connecting them.

Nai, Nai, Nai. 

Nai could never refuse his brother. Not an hour ago, and not even now even with his guilt coiling tight around his heart like a conviction to a death sentence. He reached for Vash’s hand and squeezed. Vash exhaled and slipped back into unconsciousness. 

When he slipped away into blissful nothingness, Vash took something with Nai, never to return. Even when Vash would awaken to face a new day, that small sliver of Nai would forever remain dead, slumbering eternally. It left a gaping hole in his chest, right under his sternum. In it’s wake, a blackness to twine itself between his ribs and in the marrow of his bone, amassing against his muscles and sinew. 

Nai took note to the foliage cultivating in the emptiness of his heart, cut away along with Vash’s limbs. Where once was a budding nursery of roses, daisies, and sunflowers, now was a desolate patch of withered undergrowth. The weeds crawled up his throat and suffocated him, spouting out of his mouth, his eyes, his ears, from under his fingernails. He was buried under the greenery, his body and soul devoured by the invasive emptiness that had become his very being.

He would notice until years later that his garden, which had only housed flowers that were the bleak comparison to his Vash, had sprouted little bulbs of unbloomed tuberose. Those bulbs would bloom, spread wide to encompass all that existed in Nai’s carefully crafted makeshift fill to his void. Parched and dehydrated from the sweet essence of life and attention. 

Because when Vash fell back to the world of dreams in that hospital bed on that day, he took with him the remaining of Nai’s humanity. He burrowed that tiny, pitiful little patch of warmth in his own chest, leaving Nai to refill the hollow crevice that’d been his heart with whatever he could reach for. 

And that void was filled with a ice-cold rod of metal, impenetrable, sleek, sharp. A trellis for the growth of the mockery of a heart he’d planted deep in the soil of his soul. It was filled by Vash’s existence, his anger, his laugh, his smile, his tears - Nai turned each and every significant (and insignificant) noise, breath, touch, look, taste into a trellis, building up the posts that shaped the weeds holding his body together. 

On that day, when Rem’s body chilled and Vash learned the meaning of phantom limbs, Nai uprooted his very being and allowed new growth to replace the upheaved soil. 

He would never allow Vash to feel pain ever again. Even if he had to burn the entire world to the ground, his beloved brother would never weep in anguish. 

Nai died with Rem. 

Million Knives breathed anew.

The shallow breathing was just as faint as the ticking of the grandfather clock nestled in the corner of the room. The hands ticked on like a cackle, mocking her. Her eyes slid to the side, chest tight as she tried to catch the tell-tall sign of the rhythmatic up and down motion from her husband. 

He laid face down, turned from her, unmoving. Blood soaked him and the surrounding rug, making a halo of red that stained the fibers. From where she knelt, arms bound behind her back and head forced into a bow, she could make out the cracks and chips of cement flooring underneath the rug. The room was lightly lit from a dimmed bulb hanging overhead, casting long shadows and hiding too much details for her to discern. 

The hand holding her head down nudged her, fingers tangled in her hair to yank her around. A door opening sounded and footsteps echoed, unsettlingly loud against the silence that’d blanketed them. The footsteps came into view of her eyes. 

They were expensive and pristine. 

A chair was dragged from somewhere and the shoes shifted as the person sat down, crossing their legs one over the other. 

The hand yanked her head back and her neck nearly snapped from the sudden jostle. 

“...Nai,” she whispered, swollen eyes widening at the man. 

“Luida,” Millions Knives greeted, the shadows making his sharp features all the more imposing. 

Even though she hadn’t personally seen him since the twins were sixteen, she’d know the Plant anywhere. She’d kept every news clipping of the two, ranging from Vash’s debut to the most recent business deal KNI Industries sealed. 

Her eyes watered, tears trickling down puffy cheeks. The salty liquid burned at the cut splitting her lip, bringing her a comfort against the chaos rolling along her mind. 

The man’s eyes were steel, cutting into her just as sharply as the knife that’d pierced Brad’s throat. She sniffled. Knives leaned forward, elbow bearing his weight against his knee, and got to her eye-level. A knife materialized in his gloved palm. He idly tapped the handle. 

“Why?” Luida forced out, her broken nose throbbing in time with her heart. “After everything we’ve done-”

“And I’m grateful,” Knives cut off, “really.” His expression revealed nothing. “You gave Vash a chance to experience what he’d been deprived of. You gave him prosthetics for his missing limbs. I am in your debt for that.” 

There was a silent ‘but’ and she waited for the shoe to drop. 

“Some pests are snooping around and they’ve gotten a bit too close for comfort,” Knives exhaled, as if the entire thing was beneath him. “It’s nothing personal.” 

Judging by how his eyes gleamed when he stared her down, she begged to differ. 

Luida closed her eyes, shoulders slumping in resignation. Brad was already gone. She knew she wasn’t getting out of here alive. Might as well not keep her husband waiting. 

“Besides.” The tip of the knife touched against her chin, tipping her head up just the slightest bit more. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sharing data with old colleagues.” 

Luida pressed her lips into a thin, bloodless line. She would admit - she didn contact some old co-workers when Rem’s research (which had been hidden under heavy lock and key and nearly impossible security code)had finally been revealed. Brad had spent years trying to decrypt her files and once he had, Luida had been privy to all of the secrets Rem had documented. 

These two were Independant Plants but unlike their sisters whose existence was a means of survival and power, their abilities could create or destroy the human race. 

“Vash will find out about this,” Luida spoke softly, “and he will never forgive you.” 

The smile Knives gave her was humorless. 

“Everything I do, I do for him,” Knives whispered as if sharing with her a secret, “though he’ll never find out.”

Chapter Text

It’d been something they’d worked on in secret, away from the prying eyes of the bodyguards or the agents or even nosy social influencers. During the late hours of the night in Vash’s personal studio, Nai and he would spend hours upon hours practicing. 

Vash had made a comment about wanting to post a fun dance video for April Fools’ day. Something his fans wouldn’t be expecting. Something so different from his brand that it would blow up the internet.

When he’d brought the idea to Nai, it was immediately rejected. Nai was adamant about letting such an idea crash and burn. No. Way. 

Until Vash explained how he wanted Nai to be a part of it. After that, his brother’s tune changed drastically. They had 3 months to practice. Nai needed every single second to be able to handle the rigorous physical demand. 

It paid off, if Vash could say so himself. It was perfect.

It was uploaded silently onto his channel with just the title ‘:)’. No description, no tweet to forewarn fans, no fanfare. Just a sudden upload on April 1st. 

The video showed Vash’s private studio. Vash stood in the center of the room, letting the blank scenery draw more attention to his black skin-tight sleeveless crop top and form-flattering jogging pants. 

Beside him, a stranger to the channel and Vash’s videos in general. Face hidden with a black cap and black mask, the only distinguishing feature shown being their piercing blue eyes outlined in red eyeliner. His broad and muscular form was barely restrained in a black v-neck shirt (reading PILLOW that clearly was talking about his massively plush looking pecs) and leggings that left nothing to the imagination. Next to Vash, the man’s distinct and tall physique looks all the more dramatic, highlighting the sharp differences between the idol’s lithe frame and the stranger’s tank of a body. 

Vash beamed at the camera, waving his hands wildly while the other man just tipped his hat brim down lower to hide his face. The idol pushed up his signature orange sunglasses, the eyewear unable to hide the clear look of mischief on his face. 

Without a preamble, the music began playing. 

They were in sync, movements fluid as they matched the tempo of the beat. It was obvious from the beginning the stranger seemed to be a novice, his movements a bit more stiff. His eyes were constantly flicking over to Vash, making sure he was mirroring his actions. Even with that, it was clear to see the chemistry between the two. 

The dance wasn’t like anything Vash normally performed. It involved more hip movements, more gyrating that brought attention to his nimble body. 

And it was so suggestive. Him and his partner danced like lovers at a club who wanted to make sure everyone knew they were taken. There was no room between them, bodies flushed as they moved to the beat. 

If it wasn’t for the constant contagious laugh on Vash’s face, the fans would have been murdered from sexual tension. When they danced chest to back, heads turned to touch foreheads, there was a small flash of blue. 

It was gone just as quickly but Vash’s smile softened at the edges. 

When the song ended, the two bowed to the camera. Vash flashed a peace sign at the viewers, cheeks an appealing shade of red. 

“Happy April Fools! I wanna thank my dance partner! It’s his first time actually doing a dance like this. He’s better at piano than actually dancing-”

The man wrapped an arm around Vash’s neck, clamping a hand over his mouth. Vash laughed behind his hand, leaning into his touch as the two waved to the camera one last time. 

Within 7 hours, the video garnered 7M views. It trended for 3 weeks straight. Gifs were made of the more suggestive dance moves. Reddit threads were dedicated to figuring out who the dance partner was. Recreations of the stranger’s PILLOW shirt floated around the web, crafted with love (and a bit of blood, sweat, and tears). 

Vash beamed to Nai, who refused to look at him but couldn’t hide his red ears. 

Conrad Williams exhaled loudly through his nose as the elevator dinged, signaling he’d reached his desired floor. He exited it and paused instantly, taking in the tense air and the unnerving silence. Employees looked up from their monitors at the entrance before turning back to their screens.

Conrad walked through the rows of cubicles, ignoring the curious eyes that lingered on his back. 

Letago looked at him as he drew near, stationed like a guard dog in front of the large double doors to the CEO office. 

“How is he?” Conrad asked.

“On a scale from one to ten, I’d say an eight.” Legato looked almost reluctant to admit it. Conrad nodded and allowed himself to be ushered inside. 

Knives sat slumped at his desk, knife repeatedly stabbing into the surface of the wood. In front of him, all three computer monitors were playing the live feed of Vash’s current concert. The idol was on tour for the next three months. Due to their current project, Knives couldn’t take a leave of absence to go with. 

Conrad stared at the independent plant. Reminisced at the memories of younger boys and innocent smiles. Wondered just where it went wrong for Knives to have grown up to…this. 

Not for the first time, he wished Tesla hadn’t decided to study abroad, leaving him floundering with the two Plants. Maybe he should try contacting Chronica or Domina. The women knew how to handle Knives better than most (only coming second to Vash) seeing as they had similar emotional attachments to each other as the twins did. 

“I should be there,” Knives grumbled as he glared at the screen. He’d probably said this more than twenty times already that day. “I bought out the entire floor seating.”

Of course he did. Conrad wondered how the employees would feel to know the immense fortune Million Knives accumulated went to funding a ridiculously unhealthy idol obsession. 

There would probably be strikes. 

As it was, Conrad just sighed and stepped further into the office. Knives glanced at him before focusing back onto the screen. 

“I wanted to discuss the current state of the FLOWERS project,” Conrad spoke. Knives gave a hum, signaling to continue. “From the files Rem left behind and what Luida continued, it seems-”

Knives silenced him, leaning towards his monitor as Vash’s voice sounded. 

“It’s actually a never before released song!” Vash’s voice explained. “This will be the first time anyone is hearing it. I hope you all enjoy it too!” 

The first note of the piano had Knives jumping from his chair, knocking it over. Conrad took a step back as he watched the man all but gawk at the screen. Conrad knew this song. Knives played it for Vash so many times, almost all of the man’s associates knew it by heart from how many times they had to endure the echoing notes. 

“ Can we be the same way together? ”

Knives just stared, in a trance, as Vash’s angelic voice carried him away to an Eden only he was privy to, drowning in eternal peace with each note of the piano. His fingers dug into the desk, nails carving lines. This was Nai's heart to Vash, vocalized and condensed into a song of longing and melancholy. 

When the song ended and the crowd exploded, Knives nearly toppled over.

“That’s our song,” Knives breathed. He looked like a child, wide-eyed and lost. “He performed our song.” 

The song had never had lyrics. Vash always just sang a note or two along to Nai’s playing, the harmonious music causing their plant marks to brighten enough to make the room glow. 

The lyrics buried deep into Knives’ chest, nestling in his empty chest cavity like a squirrel finding a burrow for the winter. Snug, warm, and ready to stay. Any time Vash carried a note, it sent a shiver down Knives’ spine and seized at the pit of his stomach. 

Vash beamed, eyes looking suspiciously wet. 

The audience was losing their minds and the idol gave a watery laugh, patting his cheeks to try and keep a handle on his emotions. 

Knives turned off the livestream and stared at the homepage of his browser. He breathed heavily, eyes gazing into nothing. 

After several seconds too long of uncomfortable silence, Conrad cleared his throat. 

“Knives, your nose is bleeding.”

Yeah, Conrad needed a map of the boys lives to see just how the fuck they got to where they were today.

The photoshoot spread across his official social media account, his agency’s account, a behind the scenes Youtube video, and a 10 page magazine article. 

His features were barely touched up with photoshop, his skin already flawless and body lithe in a way that was appealing but not overly sickly. His hair had been gelled back and to the side, giving view of the crystals hanging from his ears and connecting to the hoop on his bottom lip. His makeup, deep greens and glittering gold, fanned over his eyes like a mask, touching down his sharp cheekbones to highlight the angles. 

His outfits varied between pictures, some loose fitting to sneak slips of skin, some sheer to peek at the scars he now wore with pride. One pose had him sprawled on top of a piano, camera overhead to catch how his hair haloed around his head, limbs positioned just so to give a suggestive taste. 

His clothes had no gender, just flowing and complimenting his thin waist and long legs. The tops, if he even wore any, were cut deep to almost fall completely open across his scarred chest. His bottoms, sometimes pants, sometimes nothing but slits of fabric, bellowed around his thighs and presented the notable inner thigh tattoo.

 The photographer took a lot of overhead shots or ground shots, making Vash’s limbs longer from the angles. It flattered the idol in all the right ways. 

Nai paused in cutting out a page of the magazine (one that was a close up on Vash and his parted lips encased in rhinestones and glitter) and looked over his shoulder. It sounded like the front door had opened and closed. He frowned, putting down his scissors and the magazine, settling it on top of the framed images already neatly presented. 

He got up from his desk and made his way out of his room, closing it with a sharp latch of the locks. There was noise down the hall, in the living room. None of Knives’ men would dare enter his home without his permission. That could only leave-

“Vash?” Nai called out. A muffled yelp and a thud. Nai padded down the hallway and stopped at the sight of Vash sprawled out on the couch face-down, luggage toppled by the entryway and coffee table knocked over. 

“You’re home a week early.” Nai walked over, easily picking up the tornado of chaos Vash caused in the five seconds he was home. Vash made a vague grumble noise into the cushion and turned his head. He looked ready to pass out, eyes bloodshot and expression barely hanging on. 

“One of the venues had to cancel due to some sort of issue,” Vash said in a slur. Nai made a mental note to investigate the venue and punish those responsible for the canceled concert. But also, it got Vash home 168 hours earlier than he’d been expecting. 

Nai sat down on the couch next to Vash’s hip, displacing the weight and making Vash teeter into him. Vash gave a low groan as Nai’s fingers began to comb through his hair, catching on tangles and smoothing them out. 

“Want me to make you anything?” Nai asked. Vash shook his head and burrowed into Nai’s thigh, reminding the man of when they were children and Vash would stubbornly stay awake to the point of crying while he waited for Nai. His heart melted. 

“Sleep,” Vash grumbled. “I’ve got the next few days off. Sleep, please.” He cracked an eye open and weakly tried to lift his arms. Getting the message, Nai scooped him up easily into his arms. 

Vash exhaled, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in Nai’s all natural body wash. He missed this. Nai. The calm of their home. No bumpy roads, stiff flights, the constant pump of adrenaline as they went from one concert to the other. A constant go-go-go with no pause. 

Nai walked back to their bedroom, kneeling down on the mattress to gently lower the exhausted idol. Vash shifted, clinging to Nai’s shoulders. He sat down back against the pillows and loosened his hold on his brother, letting him inch back. 

“I’m home,” Vash smiled sleepily and leaned in, pressing his lips to Nai’s. 

Blue screen. Dial-up tone. 404 page. ERROR. ERROR. ERROR. 

Vash pulled away and slumped back onto the bed, instantly asleep. Nai hovered there in the air. 

Okay. 

Okay. 

OKAY.

Nai’s body moved on autopilot. He nearly crashed into the doorway and stumbled his way to his locked room. It took an embarrassingly long time for him to get through all the locks and codes. Once inside, Nai face-planted onto his giant Vash body pillow. 

Vash kissed him. Vash kissed him? VASH KISSED HIM. It was like every single fanfiction Nai had read involving [Y/N], sleepy demeanor and all. Nai rolled onto his back, locking eyes with the poster of Vash on his ceiling. 

“Hey Siri,” Nai called, “how can I peel a layer of skin off my lips to preserve it?”

A pause.

“You need help,” Siri responded.

Chapter Text

Millions Knives was a force to be reckoned with. His business made headlines all the time for breaking world-records on sustainability and his name was uttered in awe when discussed at high-end parties. 

Millions Knives was also a name whispered in fear, deep in the dark shadows of the city. Those who only ever saw him as the man befitting his sharp and cold name knew never to cross him. His patience and acceptance was as thin as the knives he carried on him at all times, ready to be disposed of along with the bodies he cut down. 

He was feared. Respected. Revered. 

First!Born ur a dumbass lol

Nai scoffed at the message, abandoning his documents to squint at the screen. Near the door, Legato made a note to set up an appointment for a vision exam. 

Million_Utensils I’m anything but. Take that back, scraps

First!Born u literally had the chance to make out with bby boi and instead gay panicked lol

Chronicle Be nice. He’s trying his best. Badly, but still trying 

Girls I think it’s sweet that he gave you sleepy kisses! Now just give him not so sleepy kisses

First!Born Dom, whose side are you on?

Girls The gay side

Chronicle we’re all gay

Girls yes

Millions_Utensils this is a riveting conversation and all but I want to go back to me? And Vash? aND THE KISS I GOT TO KISS VASH THIS IS GOING ON MY BLOG

Girls you have a blog? Do you write fanfics? Lemme follow

First!Born see if u don’t crush his ego he’ll just keep rambling. Pops was right - that boi aint right

Millions_Utensils so you and Conrad talk shit about me behind my back? Noted

First!Born less shit and more of questioning where the fuck u fell off the sane train. Did Vash get all the brain cells?

Girls lolololol

Chronicles actually…

Millions_Utensils if you say Vash is stupid, I’m murdering you in cold blood

Chronicles if you’re a 0 on the emotional intelligence scale, Vash is a 100. Unfortunately that doesn’t equal actual intelligence. Boy’s thicker than a bundle of rocks. I think there were too many experiments. 

First!Born hey we all lost a few brain cells being tested on. Besides Stabby here

Girls nah, he just lost all sense except how he wants to smash Vash 

Millions_Utensils Why do I even bother conversing with you wenches?

First!Born because you murder every maternal figure in your life that you can turn to during your internal conflict over your emotions for your twin so you have to come to us to whine and bitch when you get emotionally overwhelmed?

Chronicles Damn

Girls Okay Tesla maybe pump the brakes

First!Born I’m right and I should say it. Besides, this dork is just bragging

Millions_Utensils This is pointless. Bye. 

Nai locked his phone and shoved it away from himself. He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. 

So what if he was bragging to Tesla, Domina, and Chronica? He got to KISS Vash. It was every dream of his come true. Sure, they were more physically affectionate than the next set of siblings, but they never pushed the boundaries too much. Mostly because Vash was wary of paparazzi and the fear of outing Nai’s existence to fans. 

Nai could say that fans were a different breed of horror. That, he could say with certainty. 

“Sir,” Legato spoke softly, “you have a video conference in three minutes.” Nai scowled and pushed back on his desk, stretching. He fixed his posture and hair, clicking on the necessary icons to open the video app. 

He could worry about this later. For now, he had to make more money so he could buy out the entire new line of merch Vash’s agency was releasing in three months.

Grinders gotta grind.

For them, they were not two separate individuals. They were two halves of a whole, split apart by forces beyond their control and developing into two sentient beings. They were not siblings, they were not twins - they were Nai-and-Vash, born into this world connected by sinew and Plant juices. To Vash, he only ever felt complete when he was with Nai. 

Nai, who breathed in the same rhythm as him. Nai, who bled the same shimmering red color that shined blue under the right circumstances.  Nai, with markings that echoed Vash’s own glowing lines. Nai, who created life with Vash and only Vash. They needed each other. By themselves, they were nothing but harbingers of destruction. Together, they brought rebirth and rejuvenation to everything in their path. 

The fact that their full potential was only met when together spoke volumes on how even the universe seemed to agree that the two were meant for each other. Vash couldn’t be without Nai, and vice versa. 

Luida tried to separate them, once. A year after they’d been taken in by her and Brad, she’d tried to send Nai to a private school that housed the students. She said he’d do well to broaden his horizons and increase his social development. 

(Everyone in the house knew it was a lie. Luida couldn’t settle peacefully when Nai’s sharp eyes trailed after her. Brad always felt like a knife was pressing against his jugular when he and Nai were in the same room. If either of the adults were near Vash, you sure as hell knew Nai was watching them like a hawk, ready to strike without warning.)

It hadn’t been Nai that’d reacted badly. Sure, he threw a tantrum and argued and smashed any objects his little fists could get ahold of, but he hadn’t been as bad as Vash. 

(He’d, of course, would have been as bad as Vash. Give him enough time to gather money and a plan and he’d have shown the adults what-)

Upon seeing the uniform and the news of Nai’s departure for a whole year, Vash had gone ballistic. He screamed until his voice was nothing but a squeak. He ruined all of Nai’s uniforms and clothes and his school belongings. He refused to eat and lashed out at anyone, even Nai, when they tried to reach out to him. He threw himself on the ground, into the walls, slammed his limbs against any hard surface to bruise and bleed. 

He’d been trying to manifest a physical representation of how it felt to have a piece of himself torn from his core. Because tearing the two from each other was essentially ripping Vash’s heart in half with no consequence to the blood loss. 

Nai, who was with him from his first breath. Nai, who held him tight during the nights after especially bad tests. Nai, who was the first one he saw when he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling and a lost limb. 

Luida and Brad thought it was perfectly reasonable to tear him away from the only person he’d ever consistently known. While he put up a fight, even Nai was tolerant of the idea.

(Nai was not.) 

Vash? Vash would rather die. 

When it became clear Vash would not settle down, they retracted their decision to separate the two. Vash had instantly calmed down. He’d wiped his eyes, rubbed his cheeks, and went back to acting like the sun personified. 

(In the quiet of their bedroom when the boys were asleep, Luida would sit and think of Vash and Nai. Think of the experiments they went through. How Vash seemed to have kept his innocence. Think of the words Rem had used when talking of the younger boy. Bright. Sweet. A ball of sunshine. 

Luida saw something different. She saw Nai in the way Vash would tilt his head and sweetly ask for something. She saw the sharp blades on Vash’s tongue when he laughed and helped someone, cementing his kindness in their minds. 

She’d wonder, late at night with only the stars to keep her thoughts company, just who was worse between the two. Nai or Vash.)

It was one of the rare off days for both Nai and Vash. No concerts, no dance practice, no meetings, nothing. Vash took the time to sleep in, snoring away against Nai’s pillow while the man scrolled through his phone. 

Nai paused at an ad. It showcased Vash’s newest line of glow sticks. They were shaped like stars and donuts, lighting up either blue or red. He went to the website selling them and ordered ten. 

Just to be on the safe side, he made an additional purchase of 20. Y’know, just in case. 

Satisfied, he let one of his hands card through Vash’s hair. Vash made a noise between a snort and a hum, and drooled onto Nai’s pillowcase. The case was made of Egyptian cotton and mulberry silk (unbelievably expensive) but that was fine. Its value went up with the bodily fluid. He made a mental note to air-seal it before laundry day so he could forever memorialize the saliva-infested cover.  

He took a moment to eye the idol. Without the makeup caked on his skin, the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent. It seemed like it would be a lazy day in bed. Nai scrolled to another tab on his phone and quickly set to order breakfast from a nearby bakery. 

Vash made a sleepy grumble and turned his head, wiggling his way closer to Nai’s side. He shoved his face against Nai’s thigh, nearly suffocating himself against the mattress, and sighed deeply. Nai continued to massage his head, humming their song softly. 

He could feel Vash’s flesh hand moving, wiggling its way between his back and pillow. He felt those fingers curl around his side and squeeze innocently once. 

“Vash,” Nai began as he locked his phone, “just know you’re currently not wearing your prosthetic. Do you really want to initiate a tickle-fight?” 

Vash laid still, seemingly thinking. Nai rolled his eyes fondly as he used the hand in his brother’s hair to tilt his head up. 

Sleepy eyes blinked up at him, bleary and soft. 

“I can take you,” Vash mumbled, smiling lopsided. 

“I’m pinning your arm down,” Nai pointed out with a bemused eyebrow raise. “Whatcha gonna do now, partner?” 

Alertness freshened up Vash’s expression and he gave a quiet laugh, always caught off guard by Nai’s ability to sound so serious when he was playful. It was always so unnerving, hearing his twin make jokes and tease silly pet names. 

“Weeeeellll,” Vash began and Nai had no time as Vash blew a wet and obnoxious kiss against the exposed skin of his waist. 

“!!!!” Nai shot off the bed, nearly crashing into the side table as Vash hooted in laughter, propping himself up on his arm. 

“Watch it, Stampede. I make men cry for a living.” Nai pointed threateningly at his twin. Vash’s laughter stopped short. 

“I didn’t know you were into bondage.”

“ VASH !” 

“No, no, it’s fine! We all have our kinks-”

Nai grabbed a pillow and attempted to smother his brother. In the name of love, of course. It wasn’t love if you didn’t attempt to suffocate your soulmate for being perverse first thing in the morning. 

Vash laughed, head turned to the side as Nai clambered back onto the bed, putting no weight on the pillow smothering the idol. After his cackles tapered into breathless chuckles, Nai removed the pillow. Vash beamed up at him. 

One of Nai’s hands slid up to brush back Vash’s wild bangs. The other hand moved to his neck, thumb smoothing over his adam's apple. The flesh under his hand was warm, thrumming with a heat Nai could never produce, always the colder of the two. Vash’s eyes fluttered as he exhaled softly, leaning into the touch as Nai combed through his hair.

(Nai was very conscious of how he was settled on Vash’s stomach and how those ab muscles contracted at the new weight. He knew Vash’s body was gangly and thin but GOD DAMN-)  

These were the moments Nai loved more than anything - existing in a bubble with his Vash, the air between them soft and warm and unblemished by every and any taint from the world. When Vash was putty in his hands, eager for contact and so trusting. Even with Nai’s hands so fully on his throat, pressing into his pulse, Vash had no sense of danger. 

Nai leaned down and pressed a kiss to Vash’s nose. Feeling bold, he pressed another to each of his eyes before leaning back. Satisfied with himself, he squished Vash’s cheeks until the man’s lips puckered like a fish. 

“Breakfast is on its way,” Nai said and swooped down, blowing a raspberry on his exposed forehead. Vash flailed, trying his best with one arm to knock Nai off him. Nai rolled off him and off the bed, quick as a cat to reach the doorway. 

“Not fair! I’ve only got one arm!” Vash pouted, tossing the pillow at Nai. 

“I thought you could take me,” Nai teased as he caught the pillow. He slipped the casing off, launching the uncovered pillow back to the bed. Neatly folding the cover, he draped it over one arm and smirked at Vash. 

“I can…after some coffee and donuts,” Vash grumbled, falling back onto the bed with a huff. He continued to grumble as Nai’s laughter trailed down the hall and towards his locked room. Hearing it open and close, Vash let his eyes drift back shut. 

These were the best mornings. 

(Later, Wolfwood and Legato would be called to break up a fist fight between the two over Vash accidentally finding the soiled pillow case and washing it. Legato would fervently take Nai’s side because of the audacity of washing Nai’s stuff without permission while Wolfwood would just blankly ask for a raise. Or a transfer. Or a new identity in another county. This shit was getting old.)