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Wolfwood is slow when he has the chance to be.
It’s almost strange to witness how different he is when he can let his guard down, but Vash appreciates it, lets himself indulge in it.
Between skirmishes and missions, when they’re traveling and not just on the run, they get to play house.
Maybe it’s juvenile. Maybe it’ll hurt them in the long run, make things harder down the road.
It’s genuine, all the same.
In the mornings, when they’re still tangled in each other’s arms, Wolfwood will usually ask Vash what he wants for breakfast, and before Vash can drag himself out of bed, the other man is dressed and heading to a local store or market to find ingredients.
Whatever Vash wants, he gets.
He tries to protest whenever it feels like Wolfwood is giving too much. When Vash feels like he just takes and takes from him.
But Wolfwood always wins those arguments, whether it’s because he says he misses cooking in a kitchen or that he wants Vash to eat a proper meal.
Vash is well-accustomed to days or weeks of canned foods and scavenged worms, but he’ll let Wolfwood bully him into a homemade breakfast. He knows what his “I love you’s” look like by now.
Today, it’s mixed berry pancakes and sausages, and everything is cooked to perfection because Wolfwood can’t stand serving food that falls short of his own expectations.
Vash’s standards aren’t anywhere near as high as Wolfwood’s, he’d eat anything Wolfwood made him.
They even have oranges today, and when Wolfwood laments not being able to afford enough to make fresh juice for them, Vash’s heart clenches.
How silly of him to think Vash might be disappointed by that.
Vash would take half an orange. He’d take no oranges if it meant Wolfwood got to eat something he likes.
They eat in bed today, but they don’t always.
Sometimes, Vash sets the table while Wolfwood cooks, and for a morning, they’re any other couple going about their ordinary business.
Those days, Vash wonders what their chosen professions would be if they were normal. If they didn’t have roles to play.
He, laughing, asked Wolfwood once, though he was genuinely curious. He hadn’t heard Wolfwood talk of childhood dreams before.
Wolfwood had frozen where he stood, trying and failing to erase a heartbreaking expression from his face, before wordlessly heaping another serving of bacon onto Vash’s plate.
They’d finished their meal in silence, and Vash hasn’t asked since.
He knows it wasn’t annoyance or anger, just Wolfwood’s own quiet plea to not remind him of lost chances.
Vash thinks they could make more for themselves if they tried hard enough. It might be a near impossible task, but they could do it.
He won’t bring it up, though. At least, not anytime soon.
Today, Vash sits at the head of the bed, pillow squished between him and the headboard while Wolfwood rests next to him, shoes off, on top of the comforter.
He’s always adamant about not actually getting in the bed in any ‘outside clothes,’ no matter how much Vash begs him to.
But it’s not terrible, with Wolfwood next to him like this, leaning against his shoulder as they eat.
They’re quiet this morning. They’ve had a long few days of travel, and meals have been stretched thin.
When Vash compliments Wolfwood’s cooking, tells him he must have an eye for picking out the sweetest berries, the other man blushes, shrugs it off as always, and struggles to hide his smile.
If this morning unfolds as usual, he’ll finish eating first, and then he’ll wait for Vash, and then he’ll take both their plates to the sink.
Vash will offer to wash the dishes, and then Wolfwood will start on them anyway, telling him he’ll leave them for him to dry if he really wants to do something.
Anything after that depends on their plans.
They may leave right away. Or they might explore the town, go window shopping. Or, if they somehow have no plans, they might laze around the room for most of the afternoon, falling asleep curled around each other.
Those are Vash’s favorite days.
They can’t stay here long.
If they want to make it to their next destination by nightfall, they’ll have to leave within the next few hours.
But right now they’re both in bed, and Wolfwood is eating his orange as slow as a child might, savoring the flavor each piece has to give like he may not ever get to enjoy another.
Vash still has a little less than half of his left, having gotten full faster than he expected to.
He peels away another segment and holds it out to Wolfwood.
The other man turns his head to look at him, hastily finger-combed hair falling into his eyes.
He raises his brows in question when he sees the remainder of the fruit in Vash’s hands, as if to ask, “You sure?”
Vash just smiles and nods, and he brings the piece to Wolfwood’s mouth.
The other man happily takes the fruit between his teeth, and he kisses Vash’s fingers in thanks.
Wolfwood settles closer to Vash, letting his head come to rest on his shoulder.
Vash continues feeding him until both their oranges are gone, and then, with fingers that are just the tiniest bit sticky with syrupy sweet fruit juice, he runs his hand through Wolfwood’s hair.
“Gonna make me fall asleep, if you keep doin’ that.”
The words are barely audible, mumbled. Wolfwood’s eyes are already closed.
Vash hums, kisses his head.
“Would that be so bad?”