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Vash decides a few hours in that professional mixers are not his thing.
Or maybe it’s this particular group that’s a bust. He loves Nai, but the people he hangs out with are… something else; one blue-haired guy cornered him about “changing the world” and “showing the way” with his pupils just a bit too wide and his presence far too close. Another guy with a tuba tried to fight him over his senior thesis on UN peacekeeping tactics, and when he’d tried to hide in the bathroom, he’d received a loud “FUCK OFF” from someone smoking in the only closed stall.
Nai is thriving in the competitive, cutthroat future CEOs environment, and Vash just has a stomachache from eating twelve quiches and almost all the dessert charcuterie board.
He texts Nai heading out, meet back home before beating his retreat out the back door. Nai drove them here, so he’s going to either have to Uber or find a viable bus route, but between the peak prices soaring with every second and the “forty minutes of walking” on the shortest routes home, neither really appeal to him. He saw some hipster doughnut shop nearby, so maybe he can at least make the way back more bearable—
“Hey, blondie.”
Vash whips his head up, hand moving instinctively to the small, unused canister of pepper spray Meryl had given him after freshman orientation (“Trust me, you’ll need it; I had to use it on an entire frat, the Gung-Ho... Alpha-Beta-Somethings.”), but pauses when he sees him.
He’s under a streetlight, back against the brick wall, playing with a lighter. It’s not a cheap BIC one, either; it looks like real silver, and the way it flashes through the twiddling fingers makes Vash pause like a moth to the flame.
The guy’s handsome, too, even if he’s wearing sunglasses at night—and Vash, although he’s seen many Dateline episodes that begin like this, emits a “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” the guy says, “escaping the party?”
Vash laughs. “Yeah. I came with my brother for moral support, but he seems to be doing okay on his own. You?”
“Same here—though mine wanted to try to walk around on his own for a bit. I’m here in case he needs to be bailed out.”
Vash smiles. “That’s nice of you.”
“Hey, he’s my little brother; I’d do anything for him. Except maybe stand in the same room as some guy talking about the pros of nuclear and biochemical weapons. ”
Vash laughs awkwardly. “That might have been my brother. But I swear he’s sane. I think.”
The guy chuckles. “I’ll take your word for it. By the way, do you have…?” He gestures to his lighter.
“Oh, no, I don’t,” Vash apologizes. “I don’t smoke.”
“Damn. Well, worth a shot.” The guy grimaces, but sticks his hand out. “Sorry, usually I ask someone’s name before I start shaking them down. I’m Wolfwood.”
“Vash.”
“Vash,” Wolfwood repeats, drawing out the syllable. “Looking good.”
“Have we met before?”
“I would have remembered someone as beautiful as you.”
Oh, a real charmer. Vash isn’t opposed to it, though. “Same here," he begins, lowering his voice, stepping closer—
Then it hits him. “You’re the asshole from the bathroom! You told me to fuck off!”
Wolfwood bursts out laughing. “Did I? Well, I’m sorry about that; I was avoiding that blue-haired guy who was clutching my arm and asking me what faith meant to me.”
“Oh. I get it now. Do you think he’s a Scientologist? He had that energy.”
“Has to be. Definitely something evangelical. I’m familiar with that.” Wolfwood plucks something underneath his shirt, frowning.
“Oh?” Vash doesn’t know if he should pry further, but Wolfwood shrugs.
“Grew up in a cult, actually.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It was a long time ago,” Wolfwood mutters, then flicks off the lighter with a sharp click. “But we got out in the end.”
Vash moves to lean against the wall, feeling the bricks dig into his back. Wolfwood is a comforting presence, somehow, next to him. “It must have been tough, especially with your brother, too.”
“Like I said, I’d do anything for him.” Wolfwood shakes his head. “But this isn’t the conversation I want to be having with you.”
Vash takes the opening: “And just what do you want to discuss? Politics? Etiquette? Global—” His eyes veer to the curb, where an undoubtedly fine motorcycle is parked. “Or that?”
Wolfwood grins, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Angelina? She was rescued from the scrap heap and restored. You know about bikes?”
“No,” Vash confesses. “I haven’t even ridden one.”
“No?” Wolfwood straightens up and slips his lighter into his pocket. Vash mentally sighs; no cigarettes, no bikes, that’s as good as three strikes, he’s out. At least doughnuts haven’t let him down…
But Wolfwood surprises him.
He turns his head and crooks his finger at Vash. “That settles it. Let’s go.”
“Weren’t you supposed to wait for your brother?” Vash asks, heart jumping.
“We can just take a few laps around the parking lot. Coming?”
Yes!
But Vash puts his hands on his hips. “Do you have a helmet?” Some things Rem instilled in him still remain.
Wolfwood snorts. “Yeah. Look in the basket.”
Vash opens it and sees exactly one. “What, nothing for you? Don’t you care about your head?”
Wolfwood sighs. “You’re sounding a lot like Livio. Do you want a ride, or are you going to quote danger statistics, too?”
Normally, Vash would, but… He’s a simple man in the end. “Just be gentle, ” he warns, with a mischievous smile as he buckles the helmet, “It’s my first time.”
Smirking, Wolfwood swings one leg over the seat and pats behind him. “Certainly. Arms around me tight, sweetheart.”
The engine roars to life, seat purring and vibrating underneath his thighs, and Vash grins, nestling his chest tight against Wolfwood’s back. “Like you had to ask.”