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“How much longer are we stayin’ here?”
“You're so impatient!” Meryl huffs, “I told you I'm doing research, not sightseeing.”
“I’m starvin’,” Nicholas grumbles.
“I will buy you the biggest bowl of noodles after, promise!” Meryl pleads, “This collection is only on display for a few more days!”
“I still don't get why an investigative journalist is bothering with all this ancient stuff.”
December's history museum is a maze of artifacts and glass displays. They enter a gallery full of armor and wooden statues of saints staring down at them benevolently.
Nicholas turns in place, taking it all in, then speedwalks after his girlfriend before she can disappear around a corner again.
“Researching the historical use of crystals could help with the rural energy problem!” Meryl argues, “Sometimes you have to look into the past to find the answers.”
“Yes, Ms. Stryfe,” Nicholas sighs, but smiles as she jumps around, squirrel-like, from one item to the next, “I’m pretty sure you were asked to report on the energy issue, not solve it.”
“If it could help people, it’s worth looking into.”
“I get that,” he agrees, “I just feel like I need to remind you that sleep is a biological necessity every now and again.”
“Is that ‘concerned nurse’ talk or ‘concerned boyfriend’ talk?” Meryl inquires as she furiously scribbles away in her notebook.
“Both.”
Nicholas pauses when they reach a display of various weapons. Large, impossibly heavy swords gleam menacingly under the museum's lighting.
He stares and rolls his shoulders as a phantom ache crawls up his arm muscles.
The heft and balance of a clean slice through the air and into—
He shakes his head with a grimace and turns back to Meryl.
She's standing in front of a painting, her pen paused in a rare moment of stillness.
The wooden panel she’s studying is a soot stained and time worn thing that probably once graced the walls of a church.
Nicholas takes in the crude human figure: his blonde hair, his half closed blue eyes. He's dressed in a bright red cloak, one hand raised in a blessing gesture. An intricate woven pattern of black vines and flowers frame him.
His face is a carbon copy of all the other beatific depictions of saints and angels on display, save for the detail of a mole under his left eye.
“This that guy you’ve been talking about?”
“Yeah…” Meryl replies, deep in thought, “This is a rare one. He’s usually depicted as a demon or devil during this time period.”
Throughout Meryl's crystal research, the legend of Vash the Stampede inexplicably crops up over and over. The Typhoon Demon that single handedly destroyed a city 800 years ago.
“Red Brother the Healer,” Nicholas reads off the information plaque, “Doesn't look so demonic to me. Yer sure this is the same guy?”
“Yes, look,” she points, “he's holding a red feather in his other hand. And his cannon symbol, see? It's painted in the background there.”
“So, he completely wipes out a city but is also a saint?”
Meryl shrugs, looking up at the sad, angelic face.
“All of my sources contradict each other. I can't wrap my head around it…”
Nicholas smirks down at her impishly.
“This guy’s been rollin’ around in that noggin’ of yers for months, Short Stack. Makes a man jealous.”
She grins up at him.
“Poor Nico,” she coos, “regretting that blind date already?”
“Hey, don't joke. Setting me up with you was the best thing Milly ever did for me.”
Meryl blushes and lightly hits his arm with her notebook.
“You can’t just say stuff like that!”
“What? I can't sweet talk my girl?” He grins, pulling a vape out of his jacket pocket.
Meryl's eyes bulge in horror as he takes a hit off of it.
“You can’t vape in a museum! What is wrong with you?!”
“It’s fine,” he insists, exhaling down his shirt collar, “there's nobody in here.”
“You're going to get us kicked out, you—!”
A strangled gasp interrupts Meryl from the room's doorway.
They both turn to see a man in a red sweater. There's an employee lanyard around his neck.
“Oh shit,” Nicholas coughs, turning away to exhale the last of his cherry flavored nicotine.
“Sorry!” Meryl pleads, “Sorry, he’s being an idiot! Please don’t throw us out, I’ve been trying to get time off work for weeks to see this collection!”
The man doesn't respond, just stares.
Like Nicholas and Meryl are ghosts.
“Hey, uh,” Nicholas tries, “sorry about the vape, I’ll go. Don't kick Meryl out though, she didn’t—”
“Meryl?” the man repeats. The tone of his voice is almost…distraught.
Meryl inhales sharply.
Do they know each other?
There's something. Like when you try to remember a dream, slipping away the more you focus on it.
The man’s fine features are framed by dark black hair tied back into a messy bun. Large blue eyes behind round glasses flit from Meryl to Nicholas, back and forth with shock.
The tense silence stretches on to a concerning degree.
“You, uh, you alright there?” Nicholas asks, stepping slightly in front of Meryl.
She rolls her eyes.
There he goes again, my ever protective bodyguard.
The man blinks, shaking his head.
“Ah. Um, sorry! I must be tired!”
He beams at them apologetically.
“You, uh, you two look just like some old friends of mine. Startled me for a sec!”
He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.
Nicholas tracks the stiff movement of his arm, noting how the hand is gloved in black leather.
A prosthetic, he mentally notes, a really good one too.
“Yer not gonna kick us out?” he asks.
“No! Please stay!”
He says it so quickly, almost pleading.
“Y-yeah, okay,” Meryl agrees, still reeling from the overwhelming feeling that she and this person know each other.
Was it at university? Some random bar years ago?
“So, do you work with the collections…?” she asks and points at his name tag, “Eriks?”
Eriks points at himself in bewilderment and then down at his badge.
“Oh! Yes! But—also no,” he stumbles, “I'm here temporarily as a consultant.”
“Oh, what's your field?”
“Ha, um, it's pretty broad. Wow, that sounded really arrogant, sorry. It's—I just really like history!”
Puppy dog, Meryl thinks.
She glances at Nicholas, noticing how his jaw clenches, trying not to smile.
“I came in here to check the humidity monitors,” Eriks explains, wringing his hands, “But I can help if you have any questions!”
“Shorty here is wondering about this guy,” Nicholas says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the painting.
Eriks glances behind them and his face contorts into a kind of blushing frown.
“Oh really?” he asks, voice rising into an endearing squeak.
“Yeah, he’s all she talks about,” Nicholas teases, bumping Meryl’s shoulder with his arm.
She glares up at him and Eriks chuckles.
“Are you two together?”
“Yup!” Nicholas states proudly, placing his large hand on Meryl’s sleek, black hair. He playfully ruffles it until she swats him away.
“He tests his luck everyday,” she complains with a dramatic sigh.
“She hasn't kicked me out yet! I gotta be doing something right.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
Eriks beams a smile at them that’s full of so much affection that Meryl feels herself blushing.
“You make a cute couple.”
“Thanks…” Nicholas mutters, bashfully shifting from one foot to the other.
Blinking, as if breaking out of a daydream, Eriks shakes his head.
“So, you’re researching the medieval era?”
“Sort of...”
Meryl tells Eriks all about her investigation into crystal usage in rural and impoverished areas, how she thinks the key to help them run more efficiently could be found in more traditional practices.
Eriks nods along, excitedly adding his own knowledge and input to her theories.
“And I don’t think the current science pays enough attention to the work that Dr. Von Homeland did in the 30’s—”
“The Dual Crystal Resonance Theory?!”
“Yes! No one ever considers that study!”
“You’re so right!”
At any other time, Nicholas would have piped in and complained about his growling stomach, but he finds himself enraptured by the back and forth.
It feels natural, oddly familiar…
“She tries to explain this stuff to me all the time,” Nicholas admits, “but it just goes right over my head.”
“It’s a lot!” Eriks sympathizes, “But the basic idea is that crystals get ‘lonely’. They just need a companion crystal to chat with, or resonate with, sometimes. Maybe that’s why we used to keep three or four smaller crystals in towns instead of the large ones like today.”
Nicholas scoffs in Meryl’s direction.
“Why don't you ever explain it like that?” He demands.
“I did!”
“No, you threw some numbers and percentages at me and then got mad when I couldn't do advanced calculus in my head.”
“Well we all understand things in different ways!” Eriks councils, “But your theory of adding internet ports to the crystal connection mechanisms is fascinating Meryl!”
“Do you think it's worth trying?”
“Absolutely!” Eriks nods excitedly, “Especially if it helps people!”
Meryl clutches her notebook to her chest, her round face bright red, but determined.
Nicholas shares an appreciative smile with Eriks.
That's our girl, he thinks.
…Our?
Brow furrowed, mind buzzing with intense deja vu, Nicholas gestures between himself and Eriks.
“Do we know—?”
An announcement chimes through the museum speakers, startling all three.
“The museum will be closing in ten minutes. Please make your way to the exit hall.”
Meryl checks her watch and gasps.
“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you!”
“It’s no problem!” Eriks assures her, “It was lovely chatting with you!”
“You were so helpful,” Meryl beams, “Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome, Ms. Meryl!” Eriks takes her small hand in both of his, shaking it politely.
He turns to Nicholas to do the same.
“Very nice to meet you, Nicholas.”
“Likewise.”
Their hands stay joined for a beat too long. Oddly, Nicholas finds that he doesn’t mind.
Eriks is making his way out the door when he pauses, turning back.
“D-do you two want to…um.”
A multitude of expressions form and disappear on Eriks face, too quick to follow. Then, his shoulders droop with a sigh, defeated by some internal struggle.
“Nevermind, sorry. Have a good night!”
“You too, Blondie...” Nicholas replies.
Eriks starts and turns to him, blue eyes searching.
Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it.
He huffs a surprised, little laugh before finally leaving the gallery.
Meryl stares up at her boyfriend in surprise. His expression is confused, almost sad, mirroring her own feelings.
“‘Blondie’?” she asks.
Nicholas breaks out of his trance.
“What?”
“You called him ‘Blondie’.”
“Did not.”
“You so did!”
“Could’ve sworn I've met him somewhere…” Nicholas mumbles over his bowl of noodles.
“You too?”
“It’s weird. I can't shake it.”
With a thoughtful hum, Meryl pulls up the museum’s website on her phone. They don't list the names of their consultants, but she does see an article about medieval medicine mentioning an Eriks Saverem.
Another link leads her to a blurry picture of their Eriks at the museum's Christmas party. Then another of him pointing at an artifact to a group of school children.
“Ha! Found him.”
“You snoopin’?” Nicholas leans over curiously.
“There’s not much. But, he's mentioned a lot in research paper acknowledgements.”
“Damn, he’s young too. Must know his stuff.”
They stare at the pictures in silence.
“Anything?” Nicholas asks.
“No…I can’t remember.”
Later that night, Nicholas pauses while brushing his teeth, brows furrowed.
“Huh.”
“What?” Meryl asks from the bedroom.
“He called me Nicholas.”
She raises an eyebrow in confusion.
“Yeah? That’s your name.”
“I never said it though,” Nicholas stresses, pointing with his toothbrush, “you didn’t say it either!”
“We must have…” Meryl counters, “Or he overheard us talking before?”
“Maybe,” he admits, “it’s just so…”
“Weird?”
“Really weird.”
Meryl's dreams are a confusing whirl of vines, castles and falling stars that night.
She wakes with a start, a name on the tip of her tongue that refuses to make itself known.
Nicholas rolls over with a grunt to turn on the lamp.
“You okay, Mouse?”
“Mmhm. Just a bad dream…”
“Yeah, me too. I think there was something in those noodles…”
Eriks Saverem.
Saverem, Eriks?
E. Saverem?
Meryl sighs in frustration at her computer screen.
She has deadlines, urgent deadlines, to meet. Why is she wasting her time on a background check for a museum employee?
It's become an unexpected puzzle.
Meryl is able to trace Eriks back for about five years and then…nothing.
Saverem. Saverem…
She's seen that name before.
Pulling up her other files, she goes through her Vash the Stampede research once, twice…
There you are!
It's only a few paragraphs, hardly anything, but Meryl reads and rereads the scanned document for clues.
The village of Craterside, on the outskirts of New Julai, has a humorous tradition that many local elders claim dates back hundreds of years. Legend has it that the Typhoon demon, Vash the Stampede, blew in on a storm to save the village from bandits on New Years Eve. A great round of festivities took place thereafter, resulting in a New Years game that is unique to Craterside.
The Saverem Shooting Competition involves, as far as this observer can tell, a great amount of drinking and the use of a donut or round pastry as target practice. The aim, being, to shoot one's projectile through the pastry's hole. If successful, more drinking occurs. Traditionally, a bow and arrow was used, but firearms were later introduced in the modern era. One notable incident involving a cannon in 1809…
How the historical event turned into using a pastry as a bullseye is unclear to Meryl, but it's something at least.
Is Eriks from this village?
Meryl rubs her eyes, leaning back in her office chair. She's grasping at straws now.
“I’m turning into a stalker…”
Nicholas comes back from a late shift one night reeking of cheap cigarettes.
“I thought you stopped smoking those,” Meryl complains, wrinkling her nose.
“S’not me,” Nicholas grumbles, “I had a long, long smoke break with the ER nurses.”
Meryl hums curiously.
Nicholas’s work as a pediatric nurse usually keeps him far away from the hospital’s emergency department.
“I thought you were terrified of them.”
“M’not scared of them. They’re just cranky all the time!”
“So, why the long, long smoke break?”
Nicholas grins smugly.
“I got intel on the museum guy!”
Meryl’s eyes widen.
“Shower first, then tell me over dinner.”
After, Nicholas explains how he noticed scars all along Eriks’ hand. And that he was certain one of his arms was a prosthetic.
While looking up medical records would certainly get him fired, there was nothing wrong with a little light gossip with the trauma nurses. Just in case.
Sure enough, after showing them a picture, one of the more hard boiled nurses recalled Eriks vividly.
“‘Such a sweetheart’ she said; came in for a stab wound!”
“Seriously?”
“Yup, was being a hero apparently. Saved a group of girls from some creeps.”
“Huh,” Meryl ponders, “He didn’t seem the type.”
“Yeah, right? Lanky, nervous guy like him?” Nicholas agrees, “He did have a strong grip though…”
“You did it again,” Meryl teases.
“What?” Nicholas asks as he sets the table for breakfast.
She points at the number of plates and cups on the table. One for him, one for Meryl, and one for—
“Dammit,” he sighs.
The ‘Museum Guy’ mystery continues.
Meryl’s investigations hit brick wall after brick wall. Nicholas’s sleuthing is putting him at risk for lung cancer.
“I think we’re gonna have to pull out the big guns,” Nicholas sighs.
Meryl nods, resignedly.
“I’ll call Milly.”
“Hi Nick! Any other babies try and nurse on you lately?”
“A little louder Milly, Jesus,” Nicholas grumbles, hiding behind a laminated diner menu.
“Any news from the Thompson clan?” Meryl asks.
“Yes!” Milly confirms after sipping her strawberry milkshake, “My third oldest sister’s youngest son's girlfriend used to work at the museum's gift shop!”
Milly Thompson's family is a gigantic web of siblings, half siblings, nieces, adopted nephews, cousins twice removed, mysterious aunts and eccentric uncles.
You can’t throw a stone in this city without hitting some kind of Thompson relation. As a result, they seemingly know everyone and everything.
Nicholas tilts his head in shocked amazement.
“And she knew Eriks?” he asks.
“Yeah, she said he's a really nice guy, an ‘old soul’.”
“That's…nice,” Meryl nods, “anything else?”
“She remembered him having a big sweet tooth, he was always sneaking into the candy jars apparently.”
Nicholas chuckles.
Yeah, that's our…
He pauses, brows furrowed. Our what?
Glancing at Meryl, Nicholas sees the same strange nostalgia play over her face.
“Did she mention where he came from?” Meryl asks.
“No,” Milly frowns, “and she wondered about it too. Sometimes, she said, he would speak kinda oddly, or, with a kind of accent she couldn't place?”
“Huh…” Meryl mumbles, mentally running through all of her findings, how a global birth certificate search for Eriks Saverem yielded nothing.
Both she and Nicholas have suspected for a while that Eriks isn't his real name, but it's all they have to go on.
Milly taps her finger on her chin, trying to remember any other information she received.
“Uncle Bradley said your museum guy buys donuts from his bakery sometimes. And my cousin Abbey is pretty sure he helped her get home from a pub crawl one night.”
Meryl sighs.
“Thanks for your help Milly, but I think—”
“Oh!” Milly exclaims, “Great Aunt Gertrude said she knew him too! I showed her the picture you sent and she swears she's danced with him before.”
“Danced with him?” Nicholas asks skeptically.
“Well, she was younger then! It was maybe 50, 60 years ago?”
“Oh.”
Milly leans forward conspiratorially, eyes wide.
“What if Eriks is a vampire?” she whispers.
While driving back from the diner, Nicholas suddenly makes a wrong turn.
“Where are you going?”
“We're being idiots,” Nicholas grumbles, “I'm headed to the museum!”
“We can’t just barge in while he's working!” Meryl argues, holding onto the dashboard as Nicholas quickly rounds a corner, “And you can't tell me I'm a bad driver anymore! You're going to run over somebody!”
“What’s the worst that could happen? Either we figure this thing out or he tells us to leave! If he doesn't know us, we can at least move on.”
Meryl crosses her arms, but doesn't have a counter argument.
The jittering nervousness in her stomach turns into something more like excitement the closer they get.
“Eriks?” the receptionist asks, “Oh, sorry, he resigned about a week ago.”
“Resigned? ” Meryl and Nicholas ask simultaneously.
“Yeah, it was real sudden. He was supposed to stay for another year. Some kind of family emergency I think?”
“Did he say where he was going?” Nicholas asks.
“No,” the receptionist says, frowning sympathetically, “I was so sad to see him go. Real sweet guy.”
Meryl swallows, darting a frantic glance at Nicholas. Something is slipping away through their fingers, something, someone, so important—
“Do you have his contact info?” she tries, “An email maybe?”
“I wish! Mr. Saverem was kinda private. I don't think he even had a cellphone!”
Despite his stoic face, Meryl knows Nicholas is upset when he wordlessly hands her the car keys.
They sit in silence in the parking lot for a moment before Nicholas says what they're both thinking.
“He left right after he met us.”
“That's not necessarily true…”
Nicholas rubs his face, sighing through his fingers.
“Let's go home, Mouse.”
It's dark as they drive back to their apartment, a small drizzle of rain adding to the gloomy mood.
“I feel so stupid.” Meryl mutters.
“S'not stupid.”
“What was our plan anyway?”
Nicholas shrugs, fidgeting with his old silver lighter. He claims it’s still useful and keeps it close, despite having given up cigarettes.
“I thought, maybe…I dunno what I thought,” he huffs, “I just couldn't shake it. Meeting him felt…”
“Right?”
“Yeah. Like we found him again…like when I met you, actually.”
Meryl feels tears welling in her eyes. She wipes them away with frustrated swipes of her fingers.
He’s right, and she hasn't been brave enough to voice it out loud. Meeting Eriks felt like watching Nicholas walk through that bar door again, meeting his eyes and thinking Ah, finally, there you are.
“It sounds so crazy, Nico,” she sniffs, “are we crazy?”
“Not you, Short Stack,” he soothes, “maybe I am and it’s catching.”
She hiccups a small laugh, squinting through her blurry vision.
“I say we keep looking,” he proposes, flicking his lighter closed with a decisive click.
“He could be anywhere!” Meryl objects, turning to look at him incredulously, “What if he changes his name agai—?”
Nicholas suddenly sits up, pointing frantically.
“Brakes! BRAKES!”
Too late, Meryl whips her head back around to see a pair of wide, impossibly blue eyes in the car’s headlights.
It all happens in a blur.
Tires squeal as Meryl hits the brakes. A body clad in a red raincoat tumbles up the hood, up the windshield and falls down on Meryl’s side with a horrible thump onto the asphalt.
The car hasn’t even come to a full stop and Nicholas is already running out, snapping on emergency gloves he always keeps in the dashboard compartment.
“Shitshitshitshit!”
Meryl’s knuckles are white as she grips the steering wheel.
I just hit Eriks. With a car.
“Hey! Are you okay?!”
Nicholas’s tone urges her body to move. She practically falls out of the car, scurrying on her hands and knees to the man’s prone form.
His eyes are open, blinking up in dazed awe as Nicholas and Meryl loom over his face. He looks remarkably uninjured, just slightly disheveled with his glasses askew.
“Oh,” he gasps, “Hey, you two!”
For someone who’s been hit by a car, he looks incredibly happy.
“Uh. Hi…” Nicholas frowns, checking his pupils for any sign of a concussion.
“Am I dead?” Eriks inquires.
“No!” Meryl assures him, “No, you’re alive!”
Nicholas flips open Eriks’ coat, checking his body for any injuries.
“That tickles…oof, ouch. That doesn’t tickle.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a fractured rib,” Nicholas sighs as he leans back on his heels.
Meryl squeezes one of Eriks’ hands in both of hers, tears of guilt pooling in her eyes.
“I am so so so sorry!”
Eriks looks at her with a very similar expression, tears also threatening to pour from his wide, blue eyes.
“Aw, nooo, don’t cry Meryl!” he sniffs, “It’s only bruised! See?”
With a grunt, and a concerned noise from Nicholas and Meryl, Eriks sits up and adjusts his glasses.
“You’re gonna make it worse movin’ like that!” Nicholas exclaims.
“I know what a fractured and broken rib feels like, it’s okay!”
He holds his head more in embarrassment than pain.
“I guess that's what I get for not looking both ways!”
“No, it was my fault!” Meryl insists, “I wasn't watching the road! Ugh, god, I'm so sorry!”
“It’s okay! No harm done! Cars really have great braking systems these days—Oh, hello!”
Nicholas gently holds Eriks chin and runs his fingers through his hair.
Meryl watches in fascination as a blush blooms from under Eriks’ turtleneck, making its way up to his cheeks and ears.
“I’m not seeing anything…” Nicholas notes, surprised, “But you should still go to the hospital.”
Eriks giggles nervously, moving away from Nicholas’s hand.
“I don’t have insurance, actually! And hospitals make me queasy— Eep! Ah, my neck is fine!”
“Is there somebody I can call for you?” Meryl asks, “Family or a…partner or anything?”
“No,” he shakes his head with a casual smile, “It’s just me.”
It's a well practiced expression, hiding something that Meryl can only guess at.
Some faint memory, a random comment about real smiles versus a plastered on grimace…
Nicholas catches her eye, an unspoken conversation passing between them as Eriks moves to stand up. He does it remarkably fast, brushing his pants off with a casual air that makes Nicholas wonder how many collisions this man has walked away from.
“We can at least drive you back to your place,” Nicholas offers.
“Oh, uh,” Eriks suddenly glances around, “About that…oh there it is!”
He tries to lift a large duffel bag that’s been thrown behind the car, but Nicholas beats him to it.
“Jesus,” he grunts, “Yeah. No. Yer not carrying this right now.”
“It’s not that heavy…” Eriks insists.
“Are you leaving?” Meryl asks, not bothering to try and hide the disappointment in her voice.
“I just checked out of my hotel,” Eriks explains, “I was headed toward the train station.”
“So, you don’t have any place to stay?” Nicholas clarifies.
“I’m sure the hotel would find another room for me, it’s only 20 minutes back that way—”
“Stay with us tonight!” Meryl insists.
“Yeah, just come home!” Nicholas pleads.
Eriks stares at him, his cheeks and ears turning pink again.
“O-our place,” Nicholas corrects himself, “At least stay the night at our place.”
That same inner battle plays over Eriks’ face. Meryl feels something disappearing, a final opportunity fading away like mist.
“Please,” she begs, taking his hand again, “We’ll worry otherwise!”
Eriks looks down at her hand in surprise.
“It’s no trouble,” Nicholas chimes in, “and we can get you somethin’ to eat!”
“Yes!” Meryl agrees, “At least let us buy you dinner!”
For a moment, she thinks they’ve gone too far. Eriks suddenly looks up, like he’s trying not to cry.
“You two make it hard to say ‘no’,” he croaks.
“Then don’t?” Nicholas urges, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
With a shaky sigh, Eriks looks into their eyes, searching again.
This time, he finds what he’s looking for.
“Okay.” he says with a sniff, “I am a little hungry.”
Later, much later, Nicholas is setting the table for breakfast.
Three plates, three cups.
Vash is still sleeping, so Meryl keeps her laughter to a quiet giggle as she enters the kitchen.
Nicholas catches a glimpse of the paper she's just printed.
“Oh damn,” he snorts, “he's gonna hate that!”
She nods excitedly, placing it next to the other photos, artwork and crayon drawings from Nicholas’s patients on the fridge.
“When is that from?” Nicholas asks as he flips a pancake.
She wavers her hand, uncertain.
“Around 1650, but he might remember the exact year.”
“That's the best one so far!”
“What is?” Vash asks with yawn, shuffling toward them.
He clocks their mischievous grins and notices the photocopy of a painting depicting a reclining male nude.
Vash groans.
“First of all—” he starts.
“I knew it!” Meryl laughs triumphantly.
“They paid a lot of money back then to model!” Vash explains defensively.
“I'm framing this one,” Nicholas declares.
“You two are terrible,” Vash grumbles.
“What if I put chocolate chips in yer pancakes?” Nicholas barters, “Is that so terrible?”
Vash sleepily kisses his cheek.
“Mmm,” he considers, “s’not so bad I guess.”
Meryl hugs both of them from behind.
“Am I forgiven?” she asks with an over dramatic tone.
“I request two baby Meryl pictures as recompense.”
“Damn.”
“I can't cook with ya'll clinging on like that, sit down!”
They plan out their weekend over breakfast, stealing bites from each other’s plates.
“What about a trip to the ocean? Could grab some good seafood.”
“I've always wanted to try sailing!”
“Have I ever told you two about the time I got into a duel with a pirate?”