Chapter Text
This place felt like an oasis in the middle of a burning desert.
Seeing Vash again aboard the 3th Ship finally gave Wolfwood a chance to take the Punisher off his shoulder, if only for a while.
The tension that had coiled tight through his nerves for the entire journey began to loosen when Wolfwood found himself among people he judged he could, at least, trust.
The 3th Ship was far better equipped than he had expected.
Three proper meals a day, good food that could be carried out and eaten in a flower garden. Showers with real bathtubs where he could sink into the water. A soft bed in a private room so quiet it made his ears ring. After endless days crossing the desert, everything about the place felt almost like heaven.
There was only one serious problem.
Smoking was strictly forbidden anywhere inside the ship. And Wolfwood was the one who suffered most for it.
At first, he managed to endure it. He kept a full pack of cigarettes hidden in the pocket of his jacket and said nothing. But as the days went by, the craving no longer stayed in his lungs alone. It lodged deeper, somewhere in the center of his chest, turning into a restlessness that never truly faded.
His mouth ached with longing. Now and then, Wolfwood braved the sandstorms outside the ship just to smoke.
The storms, however, rarely gave him the chance.
Sand lashed into his mouth and his nose as he stubbornly forced white smoke down into his lungs. In the end, he always had to give up.
Wolfwood flicked away the half-finished cigarette and ran back toward the ship as fast as he could, barely in time—before a fresh wave of sand could scour his face raw and leave his vision burning and blurred.
“You look like hell. Like you just came back from a war.”
Jessica’s voice rose from beside him as Wolfwood brushed the sand from his clothes.
"Yeah. A war. Against a million damn grains of sand, and guess who lost."
He groaned as grit spilled from the creases of his clothes and his black hair, sharp and dry as it hit the floor.
“Huh?”
“I just went out for a smoke, that’s all, Little missy.”
“Going out like that, with nothing to cover you? You’ve got to be insane. Do you really love cigarettes that much?”
Wolfwood clicked his tongue in irritation. Sand rattled faintly inside the cigarette case at his chest.
Jessica must have felt a little sorry for him after all, because she turned back and returned with a handful of lollipops stuffed into her pocket.
The sweetness helped hold the craving at bay for a while. It was good, sure—but as time passed, candy could not replace what was missing. Wolfwood found himself longing for the bitterness of nicotine, the taste that used to cling to the tip of his tongue and his lips.
Tonight, luck was strangely on his side.
The sandstorms that usually raged around the 5th Ship had vanished without warning. Outside, everything was quiet in a way it almost never was. It was the moment he had been waiting for ever since he first set foot here, and he had no intention of letting it slip away.
Wolfwood lengthened his stride out of habit, his footsteps soundless, like a great black cat slipping through light and shadow across the plaza beneath the glass dome. He passed through the tall doors and stepped out into the darkness beyond.
The night air was cool and clean against his skin, washing some of the tightness from his chest. Two moons hung together above the horizon, their light braided across the sky. Stars scattered overhead, bright as spilled diamonds, bathing the distant dunes in blue touched with silver.
Wolfwood pulled a crumpled cigarette from the pack and set it between his lips. He flicked his lighter and caught the tip, then drew in smoke three or four times in quick, hungry breaths before pulling it away to hold between his fingers.
Once his eyes adjusted to the dimness around him, he finally noticed that someone else was already out there.
About three meters away, Vash sat cross-legged on the ground beside the hull, looking up at him without a trace of caution.
Moonlight mingled with starlight. It washed over his pale, shoulder-length hair and caught along his cheekbones and blue eyes, making them glow strangely bright against the surrounding dark.
Wolfwood flicked the ash from the tip of his cigarette. His fingers tightened around the filter. A sudden warmth rose in his chest for no clear reason, chasing away the chill of the night.
He walked closer until he was leaning against the cold wall of the ship, leaving only an arm’s length between them.
Vash lifted a hand in greeting.
“Nice weather tonight.”
The wide, familiar smile was offered without hesitation. Wolfwood let out a quiet breath before he could stop himself, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little.
…You really haven’t changed at all.
Wolfwood turned his gaze back to the deep blue, glittering sky. He drew on his cigarette slowly and let the smoke slip from his lips in a thin stream. The tightness that had been lodged in his chest for days loosened all at once.
“I’m sick of sandstorms,” he muttered. “Haven’t had a proper smoke in three days because of them.”
His voice was low as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, savoring it.
Vash replied easily, unbothered.
“Sandstorms around here come when they feel like it. And they stop the same way. Hard to predict.”
Hah. Just like you, then. Wolfwood breathed out through his nose.
A sandstorm, a gust of wind, the humanoid typhoon. Stories spread across the continent of a storm in human form—tearing through everything, then vanishing without a trace.
Wolfwood had never liked chasing after a storm. Still, he had found his humanoid typhoon in the end.
He had business with Vash, a gun to return. Yet he could not help thinking that the past two and a half years had been… unbearably dull.
Thinking about it, this was only the second time in three days that he had been alone with Vash, without a third, fourth, or tenth person wedged between them. His instincts told him clearly enough that Vash had been avoiding moments like this on purpose.
Of course he had.
Vash had never given him a straight answer about what he planned to do with the source of the catastrophe that destroyed Lost July— and whatever cities might follow. Back then, they had not even finished that conversation before Meryl and Milly barged in and cut it short.
But right now, Wolfwood wanted nicotine in his lungs more than he wanted answers. He had no desire to grab Vash by the collar and shout the same questions at him again, even if it was something they would have to settle properly one day.
“So,” Wolfwood drawled, stretching out his leg to tap Vash’s knee. “How long you planning to stick around on this ship?”
Vash yelped and pushed the undertaker's leg away, looking far more lively than before.
He rubbed his injured left arm with a sheepish smile. “Not sure. Long enough to get my prosthetic fixed, I guess.”
Wolfwood let out a low chuckle. “Guess I get to enjoy the high life for a while before I go crazy chasing you around again, freak.”
Vash hesitated, his voice dropping lower.
“You… still want to come with me?”
Wolfwood snorted. “What, and let you wander off with those naive ideals and blow up another city again?”
Then he grinned sideways at him. “Yeah. You still need a babysitter.”
Vash studied him for a moment, his blue eyes bright with something unreadable. Then he gave a small, quiet smile that stirred something inside Wolfwood.
“…I’m glad.”
Without another word, Wolfwood pulled a lollipop from his pocket and tossed it at him.
Vash caught it on instinct, turned it over once, then unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. His expression brightened.
“Mmm. Sweet.”
“Jessica gave it to me,” Wolfwood muttered. “Said it could replace cigarettes during sandstorms.”
Vash tilted his head slightly, laughing under his breath, light and easy. “Doesn’t seem very effective.”
“Yeah,” Wolfwood replied at once. “It’s not the same thing.”
He took the last drag and dropped the cigarette near his feet, grinding it out with the toe of his leather shoe before kicking it down into the sand below.
Then Wolfwood tapped a new one from the pack but only held it between his lips without lighting it, letting his mouth and tongue linger on the familiar, warm bitterness.
It had been a long time since he had felt this. Two and a half years, give or take.
Vash looked at the unlit cigarette and spoke slowly. “Looks like you don’t really feel like smoking.”
Wolfwood paused for half a second. His answer came sharp and teasing. “I’m just not in a hurry.”
The night wind swept past them again, carrying the soft rasp of sand shifting against sand. Vash nudged the lollipop into one cheek and rolled it around with his tongue, looking quietly pleased before he spoke.
“Sorry for making you worry.”
The apology was so light. It nearly vanished into the wind. And yet, it was too sincere to ignore.
“Yeah, no kidding, you idiot,” Wolfwood snapped, striking his lighter with unnecessary force to hide the thoughts rising in his chest. “You know how hard it was to track you down? Try not to next time.”
…At no point had he ever truly believed Vash was dead. Not for a single second. They were bound to meet again. Wolfwood had been certain of that.
Vash was not something he needed to survive. Neither were cigarettes. Neither was nicotine. Without them, Wolfwood could still breathe.
On days without them, his body would still move, his legs would still carry him forward.
And yet Wolfwood hated that truth.
It left him restless, as if something essential were missing, even though he could not name what it was.
“Buy me a whole carton of cigarettes and I’ll forgive you right now,” Wolfwood tried to dodge the subject.
“Don’t squeeze me for money like that. Where am I supposed to get it?” Vash smiled, his face softening beneath the pale curtain of his hair. “Oh, but…”
He glanced at the cigarette in Wolfwood’s hand, then lifted his teasing gaze to meet his eyes.
“Why not take this chance to quit?”
His tone was light, almost joking.
"Maybe you just smoke because you’re used to it."
Wolfwood shot him a sideways look. “Don’t go psychoanalyzing me now.”
Vash laughed, tipping his head back. “Hey, if it means I don’t have to buy you cigarettes, I’ll try anything.”
…But damn it, the idea lingered.
Wolfwood did not want to admit that he had grown used to smoking with someone close by. Used to their occasional arguments. Used to their pointless, stupid conversations filling the day.
He didn’t know which was harder. Quitting cigarettes, or stopping himself from imagining that Vash might disappear again.
Wolfwood lifted the cigarette to his lips again. Pale smoke drifted away and dissolved into the bright starlight.
Beside him, Vash sat with a lollipop tucked into his cheek, close enough that he couldn’t pretend not to notice him. Even his thoughts kept circling back to the same person, unchanged.
Wolfwood forced himself to calm down, to savor this small comfort for as long as he could.
The sweetness of the candy might melt away at any moment.
But at least… the bitterness of the cigarette would stay with him.
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