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Wolfwood is so certain that anything good he touches will eventually be ruined. It’s why he won’t let them buy him nicer clothes, why he insists on going for the cheapest room when they can’t get one together, and why he’d rather eat prepackaged junk than go about buying and making something decent to eat. It’s also why he’s so hesitant to reach out to touch them.
He wants to, clearly. Both Vash and Meryl have caught his little finger twitches before. The edging closer he does, knee barely touching one of theirs before pulling back into his space. He’s drawn toward connection and closeness like a magnet, even as he tries so hard to rip himself away from it.
Vash always watches with a quiet look of understanding. One Meryl has grown to know the two share it often. But where Vash moves about the feeling with a quiet acceptance, Wolfwood is torn apart by the simple desire to be closer.
Meryl has spent the day watching him dance around both her and Vash, needy but refusing to ask for any kind of physical reassurance, when she finally prods him about it. She’s reading in bed, Vash having slipped away to get a shower, and Wolfwood’s camped himself by the window in a chair to smoke.
“Hey,” she calls gently when he snuffs the last of his cigarette out in the ashtray on the window sill. “C’mere.”
Wolfwood looks at her like she’s grown another head but does so without question, surprisingly. Gets up and shuffles across the room to stand next to the side of the bed she’s on.
“What?”
Meryl peers over her book at him. “You looked lonely over there,” she says plainly. “Lay down with me?”
He goes stiff at the suggestion and briefly Meryl wonders if she’s misread him. But then he cuts his gaze away from her and says, very quietly, “Can’t.”
“I said you could,” she counters.
“I smell like smoke and gun oil,” Wolfwood half mumbles the words like a shy kid. He still won’t look at her.
Meryl shrugs. “Whole room does,” she tells him. “It’s where you just smoked and cleaned your giant machine gun, remember?”
Wolfwood’s fidgeting now, nervously cracking his finger joints like she’s seen him do in the past. It’s a strange nervous tick, but one she finds almost endearing at this point. She reaches out and gently takes hold of his hands and he freezes, eyes nervously darting to her face like she’s about to scold him.
“It’s okay,” she says quietly, squeezing his hand. His hands are rough, calloused from swinging the Punisher around and dragging himself through the hell of a life he’s had, but warm and a little shaky when she’s got a hold of them.
Vash slips back in from the bathroom at this moment and Wolfwood jolts, anxious, but Meryl doesn’t let go of his hands. There’s a brief pause where he takes in the situation, head cocked to the side, and then Vash ambles over to them.
He’s got his own hesitations, worries, but Vash seems more accepting of his belief that things are fleeting. And perhaps this makes it easier for him to enjoy little things, like sitting down on the other side of the bed and folding his legs under him.
“Wolfwood,” Vash murmurs the name in that same painfully fond way he always does.
Meryl feels Wolfwood grip at her hand. He’s looking at the floor again, shoulders tense, but he hasn’t pulled away. Hasn’t run off, too afraid of destroying whatever form of fondness they all have for each other. She squeezes his hand back.
“I’ll ruin it,” he says quietly. Gestures with the hand not gripping Meryl’s to the bed. Or maybe to her and Vash. Maybe to nothing at all.
She vouches for it being the bed. “It’s a hotel,” she tells him gently. “They can handle a little gun oil and smoke.”
Vash reaches over her and takes Wolfwood’s other hand. Starts to very gently pull him in closer until Wolfwood is forced to crawl up on his knees over her legs and into the bed between them. He doesn’t say anything more but he keeps his hands on theirs, even once they get him to settle back into the pillows between them.
Meryl goes back to her book, holding it open with her free hand, and Vash settles down next to Wolfwood with a content hum. And perhaps after a good night’s sleep, Wolfwood might actually believe he’s not about to ruin them by getting closer.