Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's been one thing after another, today.

Vash is listening on as Wolfwood swears to himself, currently trying and failing to pry open the canned hash that was intended to be dinner, but is now probably full enough of little tin shards from Wolfwood's prying to be if not inedible, at least sort of metallic tasting.

He pretends not to notice, instead turning his attention back to the dress shoe that's seen better days sitting in his lap; one of Wolfwood's that had it's sole peel right off as they were leaving town for a trip to stock up on supplies.

First his shoe falling apart, then the general goods store not stocking anything remotely close to what they actually need (no needle and thread, sure, but what store doesn't stock bullets on this planet?), and then a slow leak found in Angelina's back tire discovered shortly after heading out.

But whatever, they can deal with being short on their more niche supplies for a few more days, and Angelina's tire has already been patched. Wolfwood's shoe should be sort-of good as new in just a bit, too, once the glue has finished drying.

It happens; Vash has lived through days like this more than he can count. Sometimes everything goes right, sometimes everything goes wrong, and sometimes there's days where shit isn't necessarily bad, but everything is just a mess. With all his years on him, it's become easier brush off the little things.

Wolfwood seems to get a bit more hung up on them, though.

The suns are beginning to set, but the small campfire is still going strong. Aside from Wolfwood's grumbling and the sound of scraping metal-on-metal, the atmosphere where they've decided to make camp is kind of nice. A small area cradled under a cliff side, away from the worst of the winds and out of eye sight- their bedrolls laid out side-by-side, warming by the fire.

Vash startles, the temporarily peaceful atmosphere broken.

"For the love of all that's holy," Wolfwood mutters, tossing down his pocket knife. "What's the point in sealing this shit so goddamn tight that you can't get it open when you need it?"

Vash can tell from his tone that Wolfwood is close to throwing the can straight into the fire, or maybe Vash's head if says something cheeky in response. He hums to himself, tying off a strip of fabric holding the sole of the shoe in place while the glue finishes drying, and sets it down carefully.

Time to step in and takeover, or there won't be dinner at all, he guesses.

He stands up, limbs protesting after their long trek today, and makes his way over to crouch down where Wolfwood is perched on the ground, knees dug in the sand. He glances sideways at Vash through the dark shadow of his sunglasses. His bangs are mussed up, still windblown from earlier.

"Takin' a break. Pretty sure I almost got it open that last time," he says, feigning non-nonchalance and not at all like he was about to lose his wits over fighting with a tin can. He cracks his knuckles, a small try at looking collected.

Vash bites the inside of his cheek, rocking back on his heels. "Y'sure? I can give a stab at it while you go organize the supplies we picked up today." he tries, subtly eyeing the sharp jagged edges of the can. Yeah, there's definitely going to be at least a few metal bits in there… "On second thought, maybe you should go take it easy for a bit. It's been a day, after all."

Wolfwood scoffs, looking over at him. Vash feels a small pang of pity at his current state; one shoe on with the laces starting to come undone, face smudged with dark grease from messing around in his tool box earlier, five o'clock shadow coming in patchy- and now fighting with a can of what's supposed to be their pretty mediocre dinner.

Of course, Wolfwood is already bristling at the suggestion. "I've got it, Needles. Just gimme another minute-"

"Wolfwood, really, I can manage this much and you can go rest for a bit- here, let me try," Vash says, reaching for his multi-tool abandoned on the ground.

Wolfwood's socked foot appears in a flash, kicking the tool to the side out of Vash's reach.

Rude!

It's a petty attempt, especially coming from Wolfwood of all people who hates being helped more than anyone- a flicker of sympathy lights in Vash's chest at the thought. Something about the display is tugging at his heartstrings, seeing Wolfwood finally at his limit, bested by a stubborn can, caked in sand and dried on sweat.

It slips out so naturally that he doesn't even notice until it's too late.

"C'mon, Sweetheart, please just let me help-"

He catches himself- can feel the blood draining from his face- what did he say just now? Was that an out-loud inside-thought?

He forces his gaze to move from the ground to Wolfwood's face, his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows pinched in a mix of shock and… confusion? It looks so out of place on him, that Vash almost can't place it- it's weird seeing the look on someone like him, who always has a snappy comeback at the ready.

More importantly, Vash notices, is that he's blushing. It's a rare sight on his friend, to say the least; a shade of pink spreading across his tan face, just under his glasses.

Sweetheart.

Vash can get himself out of this, he can come up with something- anything, but what other word rhymes with Sweetheart? Maybe pretend to choke, or faint-

Wolfwood ends up making the decision for them both, standing up in silence, awkwardly uneven from his missing shoe. He walks over to the abandoned multi-tool, kicking it gracelessly back in Vash's direction.

"Fine, you wanna deal with it, then you can deal with it. I'm turnin' in early," he mumbles, fussing around with his bedroll. "Not that hungry anyways."

Oh, no- this is not how this was supposed to go, Vash thinks. Him offering to help was supposed to give Wolfwood a reprieve from the events earlier, not be the final nail in the coffin to his shitty day…

He watches on in masked horror as Wolfwood half-heartedly drags his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire. It's not like they agreed to sleeping side-by-side every single night, but it had gotten kind of familiar, and now seeing the sight of them separated again…

"Are you sure?" He calls out, apprehensively. "I can save you some for later…"

"S'fine, Spikey," Wolfwood sighs, and Vash decides then that he won't push it any further.

He's lucky enough that Wolfwood chose to drop the situation entirely- sparing them both the embarrassment of Vash using such an endearment, and so suddenly.

He does save Wolfwood his share of dinner, though; knows that despite what he says, that he'll be hungry and grateful later come morning.

Once the fire's been put out, and Vash is on his back in his bedroll under the stars, he can't help but play the memory of it over and over again.

The embarrassment of it all has already worn off, but the novelty hasn't- the expression he's never seen before on Wolfwood's face, blushing from something so simple, so innocent. It's what he plays over and over again behind his eyelids as he goes to sleep.

It's been a few days now, and Wolfwood hasn't mentioned it even once.

A small mercy really, given that Vash still doesn't know how he would explain himself. He can talk his way out of just about anything, but Wolfwood always seems to see right through him.

Granted, they've been pretty busy, trekking town to town and stopping for the one-off odd job for extra double dollars, and today they're rewarding themselves with at least one cold drink each at the local watering hole.

Wolfwood is in high spirits, chatting up the bartender and shooting the shit with the other patrons who are hanging around this evening, looking perfectly content despite being monetarily limited to a single beer.

Vash watches him from where he's perched at the bar, glasses slipping down his nose. Wolfwood happy, smiling- it's another rare sight, and he's drinking it in while he can. It's something he wishes he could see more often, wishes there was more he could do to see it more often…

He hums contentedly to himself, sipping his own beer, willing himself not to think too hard. It's been at least a week, but the memory of Wolfwood's blushing face is still turning itself over and over through his idle thoughts.

He feels a weird sort of guilt bubbling up, has felt it since that night. Feeling almost selfish that he wants to see him like that again; Wolfwood flustered over something as harmless as a pet name, gently pressing his buttons.

It didn't seem to bother him, exactly, just throw him off kilter a little.

Vash sighs and leans into his palm, watching from across the room as Wolfwood laughs loudly at another patron's (probably unfunny) joke. He's both impressed and suspicious that no one has identified him yet, red duster still on after being here all day, but the worries melt away as he eyes Wolfwood move around the room so loosely.

Tracing a gloved finger over the rim of his glass, he tries to relax a bit. He's been bothered by the whole thing too, has been trying to piece together what caused the pet name to slip out in the first place.

He's usually good about that sort of thing, or he had been, at least. Using little nicknames and endearments at the right moment, on the right person to get things to maybe go a little more his way. That was all typical- planned, strategized.

It's never been something that's slipped out so unwillingly, not with someone he actually likes. But being around Wolfwood lately always has him doing, thinking, saying things without thinking…

The thought of it brings warmth to his face as he realizes with a start where he's been unconsciously staring, and tries to pull his eyes away from the triangle of Wolfwood's exposed chest. Even looking away, trying to distract himself on the way the twilight looks through the window, he can only seem to focus on his companion's voice over the volume of the bar.

Maybe it couldn't hurt to try it again, he thinks. Just once- one more pet name, one more chance for Wolfwood to tell him to cut it out already. Worst comes to worst, he might to get see Wolfwood's shy expression again before he gets a kick to the shin.

He finishes off the rest of his beer, spotting the distorted image of Wolfwood walking over to him through the bottom of his glass.

He swings his long legs over the bar stool, tipping it just a bit closer towards where Vash is sitting. He's smiling, more animated than he's been in days, always happier when a bar has music going.

"The people here are real friendly," he says through a groan, stretching his arms upwards. "Didn't you wanna come talk with everyone? The owner of that one farm was going on and on about how well you fixed his up his fence earlier, figured you'd at least wanna come gloat a bit."

It's a tiny jab, just him poking fun. He's grinning as he says it, pointed canines visible and his eyes scrunching up. He looks so damn content when he can loosen up once in a while, and the sight of it brings that weird feeling climbing up Vash's throat again.

"Ha! Funny, but nah, just wanted to sit back and relax after today," Vash tries to explain, thoughts flooded with the man in front of him. "Think I was out in the heat a little too long earlier. Still coolin' off."

He wants to tease him again, deliberate this time, so he can watch for his reaction. It's selfish, but it's so low stakes; and with the volume of the room, if things go south he can play it off.

He smiles, turning to look at him from the side. "I'm glad you're having fun though, baby."

He wills himself to look at Wolfwood after he says it, and finds that he's rewarded with that same stunned expression as before, a flush already starting to stain the highs of his cheeks.

He braces himself for a comeback, or for Wolfwood to outright up and leave- to go back to enjoying himself in the warm welcome of strangers, so Vash can't help but feel surprised when nothing happens.

Instead, Wolfwood exhales loudly through his nose, as if trying to calm himself. He drags one hand over his face, eyes scrunched shut, before making a big show of patting down his pants pockets, (even though Vash knows that Wolfwood knows he always keeps his smokes in the back left.)

He shakes out a cigarette and puts it between his lips before lighting it, leaning himself forward on the bar top. Vash feels half bad, half giddy with the sense that this is Wolfwood's poor attempt of trying to play it cool.

Vash is about to spare him and throw in an excuse, a 'Just kidding! You should have seen your face!' but Wolfwood, again, beats him to it.

"Wanna get out of here? If we can't buy another drink, might as well get on back…" he says, the faint shade of pink still coloring his ears betraying his stable voice.

Not one to push his luck, Vash decides to drop it, signaling his agreement by swiveling off of his own chair and dusting off his coat.

"Fine by me, preacher man."

"Watch it."

"You're an idiot, but you don't need me to tell you that, huh?"

He deserves that one, Vash thinks, teetering precariously on the edge of a tub that doesn't look entirely free from being a tetanus risk.

He's still actively bleeding out from a slower-healing gunshot wound to the side, and even though his biology has already wriggled the bullet out and kick-started it's abnormally fast healing process, it's still oozing a steady trickle of blood.

It's not like the wound is putting him in immediate danger, but it's still enough blood to alarm Wolfwood to rush to pull out their meager first aid kit once they make it back to their room, so Vash lets him dote. The proximity to Wolfwood and Wolfwood's hands on him is simply an added bonus.

(He does find Wolfwood's habitual need to patch him up rather sweet, but he won't admit that part out-loud.)

The bathroom lighting isn't great, not a single window- only a lone dull yellow bulb flickering uselessly as Wolfwood finishes wiping down the wound at Vash's side with a scrap of cloth drenched in alcohol. It stings, but Vash refuses to fuss, doesn't want to make this anymore of a hassle for his companion.

Wolfwood's not so subtlety mumbling to himself as he digs through the first aid kit again, looking for something.

"First you forget how to dodge, and then you try and hide this from me- you're goddamn unbelievable sometimes, you know it, Needle Noggin?"

He clicks his tongue in disdain as he continues his search, until he finds what he's looking for. He holds up a small sachet containing a needle and thread pinched between his fingers, and Vash can't stop himself from wincing when he realizes what it is.

"Looks like you're gonna need a few stitches, turn more towards the light so I can see what m' doin'," he says, already carefully trying to angle Vash by the hips.

"Wait, Wolfwood, I'll be fine, really- and I can move on my own, you know!"

"'It's fine this, it's fine that-' it's not fine, you're getting blood everywhere and that-" he says pointedly, nodding at Vash's wound, "-looks nasty. I don't wanna hear it, we're stitching you up."

Vash suppresses a grimace, mostly because he's been stitched up by Wolfwood once before, and if his memory serves him right- he's not the most light-handed.

Wolfwood shoves their supplies aside, shuffling closer on his knees between Vash's legs.

It makes for quite a look; his jacket and shirt are off, Wolfwood's earlier effort at trying to avoid getting even more of Vash's blood soaked into his clothes. Up close like this, Vash can see how long his eyelashes are, the small cowlick on the side of his head…

He jumps a fraction when Wolfwood grips his thighs, manhandling a leg further out of the way so he can move in closer.

It's a bit much; it's not like they've never been this close to each other before, but something about Wolfwood's current… position is really getting to him. On his knees for one, and the earnest expression on his face is really doing something to Vash's insides- or maybe that's the blood loss.

Cute isn't really a word that Vash would think anyone would have come to mind when it's Wolfwood, but then again, most people haven't seen him like this; focused on keeping his hands steady, brows knitted in concentration and biting at his lip, voice going all soft when he says "Hold still, would you?"

He's sharply pulled out of his thoughts at the pinprick of the needle touching his skin. It doesn't hurt, but it does feel uncomfortable; Wolfwood's free hand heavy and secure on his ribcage to keep him in place.

"Stop tensing up, it'll make it hurt more."

Easy for him to say. He's not the one being threaded together.

And that's not even the problem; feeling the warm puffs of Wolfwood's slow and controlled breaths against his stomach, fingers constantly adjusting their slight grip on his side, it all has Vash forcing himself to look up at the dull light bulb dangling from the ceiling and plead within to think about anything else but this.

The overwhelming fondness he feels for Wolfwood is beginning to stir together with shame; Vash again taking every bit of kindness that Wolfwood gives him and selfishly hanging onto it, hoping his lack of rejection means something more…

Like him indulging in Vash's stupid little antics means anything other than Wolfwood having the patience of a saint.

The hand at his side slides up just a fraction, a clinical motion that feels anything but, and Vash shivers involuntarily at the sensation. Wolfwood pauses his hand, looking up at him with his grey eyes full of such genuine concern that is makes Vash's heart squeeze.

"Am I hurtin' ya?"

He keeps his mouth shut, worried instead something ridiculous will come out, something like 'Can you do that again?', and instead simply shakes his head.

Wolfwood eyes him warily before turning his attention back to his side, shifting on his knees. "Almost done, just hang in there."

The small attempt at comforting him stings a little more than it soothes; Wolfwood's open kindness almost pains him, sometimes.

Vash closes his eyes, trying and failing to focus on the cold metal of the edge of the tub, the pinch of the needle- anything to get his mind away from the feelings threatening to spill over from inside him.

He can finally begin to breathe again when Wolfwood's hands pull away too soon, and sighs in relief.

"All done," he says, shifting back to sit on his heels. He tilts his head, examining his work. "Looks better than whatever I did for ya' last time. Good job."

"Good… job?" Vash asks, confused. Wolfwood's beaming at him, and the room feels a little brighter for it.

"Yeah, for sittin' still," he says, like it's obvious. "Know how hard that is for you."

It's just a joke, but it moves something in him, makes him want to pull towards Wolfwood on an invisible thread.

The shame comes flooding back to Vash in an instant, the need to give some other part of himself to Wolfwood in exchange for all he's taken from him today. He looks down at his side, and sure enough, the stitches are neat and tidy. He swallows back surge of gratitude he feels at the sight, and watches Wolfwood pull himself off the ground and move to wash up.

"Hey, Wolfwood?"

He glances from over at the sink, already rinsing the blood and residue off his hands. "What?" he says, voice unusually light. "Got a complaint about my handiwork?"

"No, they look great-"

"Do they hurt or something then? S' gonna hurt, at least for a little bit."

Vash flusters under his doting, wonders if he even notices when he does it. "No, no, everything feels fine. You did a great job, really." He says, and he means it. "I was just curious about something…"

Wolfwood raises an eyebrow at that, suspicious, and Vash stumbles on.

"Did… did you ever have any nicknames growing up?"

Wolfwood freezes momentarily, wiping his hands off on his rumpled slacks, before turning to face him. "Huh?"

"Y'know," Vash starts clumsily, suddenly second-guessing himself. Maybe just going with a simple 'Thank you for the stitches, Wolfwood!' would have been a better choice.

"Uh, like, a nickname? Our guardian, Rem, she uh, used to call us by these silly nicknames sometimes…" he trails off, gauging Wolfwood's reaction.

He's got his arms crossed now, gaze expectant. He nods a bit as if to say 'well, go on'.

"She used to call Nai and I her 'little flowers', or sometimes she'd use 'sugar peas'- y'know, something like that? At least when we were really small," he says sheepishly.

Wolfwood laughs a bit at that, moving to pick up the supplies scattered on the floor from earlier. "Well, I sure wouldn't go calling either of you 'little flowers', but what the hell's a 'sugar pea'?"

Vash snorts a laugh at his bluntness, pushing himself up to step over Wolfwood and get his bearings, leaning lightly against the doorframe on his good side.

"An earth plant, I think she mostly just meant for it to sound cute, though," he explains. "But don't distract me- did you have anything like that?"

Wolfwood finishes packing everything away and closes the first aid box with a click, his back turned to Vash. He's quiet for a long while, as if really trying to remember.

"…Nah, never had something like that."

"That so? Nothing at all?"

Wolfwood turns his head back to look at him, a stoney expression coloring his features.

"Didn't really get the chance to…" he trails off, voice unreadable. He pivots the subject back on Vash in an instant, "You sure don't seem like a 'Sugar pea', though. Definitely more like a 'Spikey' to me."

Vash grins, taking the bait. "Aww, you seem like a sugar pea to me, though," he sing-songs, inwardly delighted at how Wolfwood immediately turns his face away, embarrassed.

"And you seem like a pain in my ass," he snaps, lacking any real bite as he nudges his way out of the cramped bathroom. "Finish getting cleaned up, I wanna shower sometime today, too."

With Wolfwood gone, the bathroom feels already darker, and Vash tries to press the memory of his careful hands at his side into his heart.

The fourth time, it only happens because Vash has lost his ability to care all that much.

Wolfwood is hot, dirty- Vash should be grossed out by being pressed up so close against him, but he's faring no better. He feels the warm dampness of sweat through the thin fabric of Wolfwood's suit in multiple places where he's got him pinned against the wall behind the combination town hall and post-office.

They had lasted all of maybe two hours before someone whispered something to the right person at the wrong time, perhaps waved around a certain flyer of a particular human typhoon and his accompanying bounty in the face of the town sheriff, and then the chaos began.

It's not exactly the fastest that Vash has been recognized, but it is the fastest that it's happened in a while.

Wolfwood was the one who had made the split-second decision to run instead of fight back this time, much to Vash's delight. Vash can only guess it's because of how small this town is, so it can't be that much of a risk, and Angelina wasn't parked too far away from where they were currently, anyways. Getting out would be a breeze.

But for now, they're biding their time until the townsfolk either turn direction or give up, leaving Vash with his back to the wall and surrounded by wooden crates with Wolfwood leaning over him, haloed by one of the twin suns that shone over this time of day.

It's a nice view, and Vash is finding it hard to look away, taking advantage of Wolfwood's current task of watching the side of the building in case someone came too close.

His side profile is outlined in a near glow, little tufts in his dark hair highlighted by the warm sunlight behind him. Vash maps a trickle of sweat that makes its way down from his forehead, gracefully curving around his brow bone and down his cheek before clinging to a stray whisker from his just-showing five o'clock shadow.

He should be more alert, looking the other way to help and take some of the stress off of Wolfwood- it's his fault they're in this situation after all, but the selfishness is winning out.

It's not like he hasn't looked at Wolfwood's face openly before- he thinks back somewhat shamefully; but in those moments, Wolfwood is always asleep- eyes closed, face slack. It's so different to gaze at him like he is now- alert and serious. Expressions that Vash isn't as privy to, because he's usually standing back-to-back with Wolfwood when there's a reason for him to look like this.

He can't stop himself from gawking at the plush muscle that just keeps going down, down, down the far-too carelessly unbuttoned vee of his shirt, coarse hair peeking out just from behind the dingy white fabric. From the steady rise and fall of his chest, Vash can tell that he's not too worried by their situation, and relaxes a little more himself.

He's getting lost in the closeness, the noise from the town fading into a distant static, his eyes tracing over different fleeting little details he hasn't noticed before- he's following along the soft lines of his ear, is that a freckle?- when Wolfwood shifts and snaps his fingers quietly right in front of his nose.

"You paying attention, Needles, or am I the only one that cares about getting out of here?" He asks quietly, a rough almost-whisper. Looking down at him through the dark lenses of his glasses, he looks almost menacing, but Vash knows better.

But he jumps a fraction anyways, anything to make Wolfwood feel as intimidating as he thinks is to Vash, and finds that Wolfwood's focus is already pulled back to the alley entrance. He feels stupid for missing his attention already, just a flash of it- he wants more of whatever Wolfwood will give him. Wants to poke and prod and maybe it's not the right place, right time, but…

"Sorry," Vash exaggeratedly mock whispers, "I just keep getting distracted."

Wolfwood bristles at that, leaning back in to bicker just like Vash knew he would. Sweetly predictable, always so endearingly easy.

"And what exactly could possibly be distracting you from wanting to get out of here right now?" He mutters, eyes narrowed at him in exasperation. "There's boxes, sand, more sand-"

"You look like an angel with the sun behind you, like that," Vash cuts him off quickly. He says it quietly, a near-bashful grin on his face. "Just made me lose focus a little, s'all."

Wolfwood's face turns unreadable, lips parted in something akin to disbelief, like he couldn't have possibly heard that right, or maybe just dumbfounded that Vash is saying something as ridiculous as this when they're currently backed into a wall, a metaphorical corner.

He cocks his head just so, sweat-stiffened bangs shifting slightly across his forehead.

"…You're full of it sometimes, y'know that?" He asks gruffly, not expecting an answer. He knocks the tip of his shoe against the toe of Vash's boot, before holding out a hand at him. "I've had enough of waiting. If we run now, we can make it back to Angelina before they know what hit 'em."

Vash reaches out and grips his hand, warm and calloused, and tries to memorize exactly how it feels when Wolfwood squeezes and pulls him up effortlessly, like he's weightless.

Breathing away the dizziness of it all, Vash nods at him and smiles big and open, and swears he sees Wolfwood give a small grin back before he turns away.

They've only been in this new city for a few hours, and Vash is impressed with Wolfwood's restraint.

There's hearts covering practically every surface, and Vash knows why; this particular area of No Man's Land celebrates Dears Day, an unofficial once a year holiday where lovers or soon-to-be-lovers exchange small tokens of affection.

He recalls hearing about it a few decades into his time here, and distantly remembering with a fondness of Rem talking about a similar holiday back on earth, presenting him and Nai each with a single small chocolate wrapped in red foil shaped like a heart.

And the town is sprinkled in them- pink cut-outs of hearts, almost translucent and hung in store windows; small red hearts on streamers between sign posts, stalls selling bouquets of small paper flowers alongside their usual wares, cards expressing sentiments of eternal love perched by their tills.

They're sat in a diner when Wolfwood finally cracks, brows knitted upwards as he tries to make sense of the omelette rice placed in front of them both, each carefully adorned with a perfect heart drawn on in ketchup.

He looks at the ketchup heart, then at Vash, back to the ketchup heart again to make sure it's real, before looking up at Vash again in what he can only describe as horror.

"What the fuck is going on?"

Vash can barely contain his laughter, pursing his lips together before trying to muster a response.

"What do you mean 'what's going on'?" He asks coyly, digging a spoon smoothly into the omelette to avoiding damaging the heart. "Did they mess up your order or somethin'?"

"Don't be dumb," Wolfwood retorts, examining his omelette rice made with love like it's going to jump off the plate and bite him, before picking up his own spoon in defeat.

"Y'know… the hearts that are everywhere. Since we've gotten here, they're on damn-near everything, there's no way you haven't noticed."

Vash chews slowly, tilting his head in mock curiousness as if he has no idea what Wolfwood's talking about.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he lies, giving Wolfwood a chance to almost flare up in frustration (or as Vash sees it, pouting), before swiftly finishing his sentence. "Hah, kidding! It's a local holiday, 'Dears Day'."

Wolfwood looks at him boredly, like the answer to this mystery is a lot less exciting than he thought. He's taken to smearing around the ketchup heart on his own omelette rice with his spoon as he continues to pry, "And it's a holiday about putting hearts everywhere because…?"

Vash snorts at Wolfwood's apparent disdain for the holiday already, waving his spoon at him. "It's not that serious, it's just a holiday to spend with your sweetheart, y'know? Your lover, someone you want to hopefully be your lover, that kind of thing. Tell them how much they mean to you, go on a night out, exchange gifts…"

Wolfwood stiffens at that, shoulders hunching up by such a minuscule amount that only Vash could notice. He clears his throat awkwardly before shoveling up another mouthful of rice, looking down at the table.

Vash wouldn't be honest if he said he wasn't enjoying Wolfwood's reaction to something so mushy, but then Wolfwood swallows and declares his verdict on the whole thing.

"Sounds dumb," he says with finality. "Shouldn't need a day for somethin' like that, people should just tell each other stuff like that normally- don't need a whole day for it, seems like a waste…" He trails off, shifting in his seat.

Vash decides to spare mercy and not point out Wolfwood's obvious lack of experience in the matter, only because he doesn't know for sure if Wolfwood has actually had any romantic exploits, but he has a strong feeling the answer is close to zero…

"I dunno, I think it's pretty cute," he says, and he means it. "A whole day dedicated to love, you don't think it's romantic? Now we just need a whole day dedicated to peace," he tacks on, throwing up a gloved peace sign at Wolfwood from across the table, finally getting a small laugh out of the man.

"You would want a holiday dedicated to peace," he says lightly, awkwardness slowly leaving him, usual joking cadence returning bit by bit.

They eat in silence after that, Wolfwood's curiosity satisfied. Vash is finishing up his last bite, a perfect split of fluffy egg and rice, when he feels something brush against his ankle.

Hm?

He looks up, and it's only Wolfwood in front of him, so what could be…

Vash doesn't startle, but carefully moves his leg to feel out whatever's touching him, and catches Wolfwood jump- barely perceptible, out of the corner of his eye.

What.

He's about to open his mouth, say something stupid like "Ever heard of personal space, Wolfwood?" When he feels a second leg bracket his other foot.

What!!

There is absolutely no way that Wolfwood is sitting here in a diner with him, alone together, after he just stumbled through a very stilted explanation of 'Dears Day', and is now trying to play… footsie with him?

Vash looks up subtly, and sees Wolfwood has half his face covered by his palm that he's leaning into, gaze glued to the old clock ticking away above the diner's hostess stand.

It's kind of cute, mostly confusing, it's making Vash's heart feel like it's being squeezed dry; it's absolutely not possible that this is Wolfwood's attempt of trying to make a move on him, that would be absurd.

He's simply reading too much into this. Maybe the ketchup heart did something to his brain.

So he does the only thing that makes sense in this situation, and rests both palms on the table before smiling brightly before asking, "Wanna head back to the room?"

Wolfwood glances back at him from the clock, slight blush from earlier gone, looking… disappointed?

Vash doesn't think too hard about it when Wolfwood stands, stretching theatrically before replying in a monotone, "Yeah, gettin' kind of late anyways."

Their motel room has it's ups and downs.

The upsides; it has two beds, a private shower, and the door actually locks.

The downsides; it has two beds, the shower only spits out a small tepid stream of water, and the other occupant has been ignoring him since they returned to their room.

It's late now, the moonlight illuminating the small room just enough through a single small dust veiled window.

Wolfwood is in the bed next to him, an arms length away, really. Vash can tell by the sound of his breathing that he isn't asleep. It's not a weird thing to notice, he thinks, after spending so many nights together. He finds that he likes the rhythmic sound of Wolfwood's quiet inhales and exhales, anyways; lets the steadiness of it lull him to sleep, once in a while.

He shifts awkwardly under the sheets, the room catching a slight chill from the cool night air. He turns away from Wolfwood, instead facing the wall, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't find sleep easily when he knows Wolfwood is hung up on something.

He much prefers to settle it before going to bed so the morning is a new day- but Wolfwood had showered first, already tucked into his own bed and the single lamp turned off by the time Vash had finished washing up.

He curls in on himself, resolving to talk over whatever is bothering Wolfwood tomorrow, and tries to sleep.

The silence lasts for a minute, maybe two, before he hears Wolfwood moving around.

"M' cold."

Vash rolls over at that, facing him; Wolfwood isn't one to talk once he's gone and gotten ready to sleep. In the dark of the room, he can just barely make out the outline of his form.

"It is kind of cold in here…" Vash offers, wordlessly extending an invitation. He wouldn't know it, doesn't ever really feel cold. They've shared sleeping bags and beds on the road plenty of times, chilly nights easier when Wolfwood is laid up next to Vash who runs furnace hot.

He waits, a small moment suspended before he sees Wolfwood's begin to move, rolling out of his own bed and crossing the short distance to stand in front of him.

"Move over already, m' freezin'."

Vash smiles to himself, moving over the small amount he can. The bed just barely fits two grown men, and he's sure he'll be hanging off the side by an inch or two come morning.

He feels the the mattress groan under Wolfwood's added weight as he slides in beside him.

Vash almost considers making a little joke about they splurged extra double dollars for two beds, just to end up using the one before using his better judgment. Instead, he rolls over, content to have Wolfwood close to him like this, and tries again to will himself to sleep.

Wolfwood's motions are careful as he settles in, fitting himself behind Vash, his knees nestled behind Vash's own and already feeling a little warmer. Vash feels his pulse thrum at the contact, tries to brush it off- Wolfwood must not have been lying about being cold.

It's quiet for a moment, both of them easing into the stillness, before Wolfwood breaks it.

"…So why not today?" He mumbles into the back of Vash's T-shirt collar.

Vash freezes, parsing the short statement before trying to think of what Wolfwood could possibly be talking about.

Wolfwood doesn't give him the chance to ruminate, throwing an arm over Vash's side, holding him even closer. He feels his heart stop and start again, can feel his pulse against Wolfwood's own, thrumming quick under his wrist that's pressed against Vash's chest.

"…No names today? Nothing?"

Oh.

Oh…

Vash has earned this, honestly. It's only fair that after all his teasing, all his pushing and prodding, that Wolfwood has his own turn to pin him down.

Unlike Vash, at least Wolfwood has the mercy to do it in private.

"Ah… haha, I've been trying to cut that out," Vash says lamely, trying to keep sort of quiet. "Didn't think you liked it- me giving you a hard time and all. Wasn't right of me, I know…"

He can't bring himself to turn around, wants to savor how it feels to have Wolfwood's broad chest against his back, separated only by a thin t-shirt.

He can feel Wolfwood's body begin to relax against him, bit by bit, exhaling softly as he goes. It brushes over the back of Vash's neck, feather light. He can feel the rumble of his voice, unsure and low against his ear.

"When did I say I didn't like it?"

Vash feels his mouth go dry, feels a little like he's gotten caught red handed somehow, Wolfwood acknowledging this one-sided game he's been pulling.

An apology is on the tip of is tongue, but he's still working through the unexpected admission of 'When did I say I didn't like it?', when he feels Wolfwood's strong hand trying guide him to lay on his back.

He follows the motion easily, would follow along with anything Wolfwood does, but loses all sense of reason when he feels Wolfwood swing a leg over his hips, bracketing him to the bed.

Vash looks up at him in a daze, can make out the messy tufts of Wolfwood's hair still damp from the shower, the soft curve of muscle outlining his frame. Even when he's got Vash pinned down like this, he doesn't make for a menacing picture at all. Like a cat toying with a ball of string, trying to hard to assert an air of dominance but…

Wolfwood is looking at his pillow instead of at him, and Vash knows he must be feeling shy right about now, that he must really be at his limit if he's pulling something like this- never so forward with anything.

He's waiting for Wolfwood to say something, anything, let him lead- but it's like him manhandling Vash has used up what was left of his bravado.

Vash hums at the thought, relishing in the firm weight of Wolfwood straddling his hips.

"Mm, so was that why you were being all touchy earlier?"

Wolfwood scoffs, leaning down over him, almost as if he's challenging him. "Don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Vash laughs a little at that, gently reaching for Wolfwood's hands that are resting on his chest and guiding them into his own. "So you really don't remember playing footsie with me under the table at dinner? It wasn't even that long ago…" He says it playfully; doesn't want to scare Wolfwood off, make him put his walls back up.

"Wasn't expectin' it or anything," he says. "Just thought you might say something, with the holiday and all…"

Wolfwood might protest, kick and fight it, but Vash is always surprised time and time again at just how cute Wolfwood can be. He restrains himself from squeezing Wolfwood's wrists harder, choosing to bite his own lip instead, trying to hold back a goofy a smile.

"Oh, say something like what?" He knows exactly what Wolfwood means, but it's too fun. The thrill is back, he tells himself he won't play with him too long, just enough to-

And oh, it's really too much.

Wolfwood's determined expression has slipped back into something more like embarrassment; biting at his lip and eyes darting back and forth between Vash's face and off to the side like he can't look at the sun for too long. He should look more intimidating like this, having Vash in such a vulnerable position, but instead he somehow seems so much smaller.

Toeing the line between grace and guilt, he releases Wolfwood's wrists and carefully brings his hands up to his face, flesh and blood hand feeling each small pinprick of stubble, gently swiping a thumb over the high of his cheekbone.

Framing his face- not wanting him to look anywhere else, not when he's got Wolfwood right where he wants him.

"Something like… 'baby'?" He says sweetly, tilting his head at him inquisitively. "Or maybe 'angel'?"

Wolfwood slowly shakes his head, not looking away from Vash's face. A silent plea- eyes betraying him, practically asking, 'Can you just say it already?'

"Sweetheart?"

At that, Wolfwood finally looks him in the eye- almost as if looking for confirmation, and Vash feels himself unraveling at the sight.

Wolfwood tries to right himself, taking in a steady breath.

"Yeah?"

He looks so love-struck, utterly entranced- like he's losing himself. Vash slips both hands behind his neck, fingers winding into the soft ends of his hair at the top of his neck. "Want to know what else people do to celebrate the holiday?"

It's a subtle nudge, but he knows Wolfwood is quick on the uptake with most things. A small push, begging him, 'Come on, take something from me for once…'

He knew that he would, but it still takes Vash by surprise when he feels Wolfwood's lips press to his- chapped and warm. Feels the catch of his stubble scratch at his skin, threads his fingers further into his hair- not wanting him to pull away. It's not that he was chasing this- kissing Wolfwood- but chasing after the closeness, needy.

He doesn't want it to end, trying to etch the moment of this in his mind, something to hold onto for as long as he can. He doesn't know if it'll be both the first and last time, once the reality of what's happening catches up to Wolfwood and he decides that maybe he doesn't want this, after all.

Wolfwood finally pulls away, panting- it tugs at Vash's heartstrings; the kiss wasn't even a real kiss, just a press of the lips- something chaste, and Wolfwood's this wound up from nerves.

He's looking at Vash expectantly, like he wants him to finish what he started, take the lead again. They'll have to talk about this, sometime. Eventually. Work out the details, ask all the questions…

It's not something he wants to do right now though, Wolfwood pliant and still settled over him, flushed.

Instead, he wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer. Wolfwood's broad frame tenses at the action before he melts into him andVash loves him like this, when he can release the tension he holds every second of the day, can let himself be 'Nicholas', softening at the edges...

They shift, changing positions, Wolfwood's warm back leaning against Vash's chest, legs slotted back together. He presses his feet closer to Wolfwood's own, still chilled from earlier. It's a small gesture, but Wolfwood sighs contentedly at the motion.

Vash leans in close, nuzzling at the hair he had his fingers in earlier, breathing in the scent of Nicholas and soap. "So… pretty good for your first Dears Day, huh?"

"C'mon Needles, tryin' to get to sleep here…"

Vash huffs to himself, decides he'll give him hell over all of this tomorrow, instead. He brings an arm over Wolfwood's side, tugging him closer, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"Alright, alright. Goodnight, Sweetheart."