Chapter Text
Wolfwood has always known himself to be an asshole.
He's no ray of sunshine. He tells people things as it is without sugar coating his words. He doesn't ask people how their day is going because he doesn't care. Hell, whenever people stop him in the street to ask him to donate to charity, he always says no. He's also rude and judgmental, cynical and sarcastic to a fault.
He's self-aware enough to know that nobody would find him rather pleasant to be around. Not even Livio—saint that he is—can tolerate being around Wolfwood for too many hours.
And yet, when someone as sweet and kind as Vash attached himself to him, he took it in stride. He didn't understand why someone as angelic as Vash would cling to a guy like him, but he figured it must have to do with the sex. He's pretty damn good at it, so that must be the only reason.
He was good at pointedly not thinking about things he shouldn't be thinking about anyway.
But then Wolfwood felt a tangible shift when he walked in for that tattoo appointment. There was a tenderness to the way Vash's touch lingered against his back, stitching his art onto his body with deft, skilled fingers reminding him of the careful way he'd run his fingers over the strings of his guitar. The rawness in Vash's voice as he opened up about his life in a way that Wolfwood knew wasn't the norm for someone like him, who while was amicable and friendly, seemed to hide behind several walls to protect himself.
He also mentioned heartbreak, which put everything they are—or, more accurately, aren't—into perspective. They weren't lovers, and Wolfwood didn't do romance, but they're far too sweet on each other despite those platitudes. For the first time since this whole thing started, he had to ask himself: how does Vash see their relationship? And if Vash were to see them in a romantic light, how would he feel about that?
Wolfwood has never been loved before. He's had a few relationships, fucked a lot, but none of it meant anything. Nobody ever managed to attach themselves to him, and neither did he. The relationship would be transactional until it wasn't anymore, and that worked for them. But if Vash, for whatever reason, liked him in a romantic sense… well, that was uncharted territory for him. While sitting on that tattoo table, more attuned to Vash's touch than he was to the dull sting of the needle inking his skin, he couldn't untangle the ball of tangled emotions in his chest to decipher what any of it meant.
So, in his efforts to bury that complicated mess of feelings, he decided to deal with his feelings the one way that was familiar to him. By using sex to deflect. He fucked Vash until he came, and then fucked right off, hoping that Vash wouldn't notice anything off with him. He thinks he may have even succeeded at that, too.
In the comfort of his own home, shirtless because his back is stinging with the pain of a fresh tattoo and alone with several hours to ruminate over his thoughts, he still doesn't know what to make of that conversation. Doesn't know what to do with the implication that Vash might like him more than he ought to. More than he deserves.
He doesn't know how to decipher the strange feeling welling in his chest at the mere thought of it.
He's still just as confused, but the guilt has started to settle in. He shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have used Vash the way that he did. He shouldn't have started something so intimate with someone so pure without ever straightening out the boundaries of their relationship, or lack thereof, knowing full well how emotionally unavailable he is as a baseline. He shouldn't have slept with Vash in the first place.
This was all one big mistake.
"Fuck, I really am the biggest asshole," Wolfwood whispers, taking a drag of his cigarette. "But, also, now what?"
He doubts that he'll be able to stop. Even if Vash did catch feelings, why should he have to stop as long as nobody is getting hurt? It's not like he would go about intentionally breaking Vash's heart. He's not that kind of guy. He's never broken a heart before, he wouldn't know how to. Sure, he may be a grade A asshole, but surely, he's not that bad. Right?
Besides, unless Vash actually verbalizes those feelings to him, then that means it's all fair game, right? Yeah, totally. There's also the very real possibility that he's reading way too deeply into Vash's words, inferring feelings that likely aren't even there in the first place. He doesn't even have to feel guilty in that case.
Naturally, the guilt doesn't magically dissipate just because he wills it away, remaining heavily in the base of his stomach like a stone. Not only does his stomach tie into knots, his chest is unreasonably tight, constricting around his heart that suddenly feels too big for it. It's annoying, feels the same way he did when he first started smoking when he was eight, his chest too tight around his lungs that were struggling to inhale the tobacco into its airways. Wolfwood stubs his cigarette in the ashtray, because the last thing he needs right now atop everything else on his already full plate is a trip to the doctor.
He doesn't even know how he should next face Vash. If he should be normal, pretend nothing changed between them—because truthfully, nothing has changed but his own perspective of their dynamic—or should he try to approach him with more care and attentiveness? Would Vash even want something like that or would it offend him? There's also no way he could address something that was never brought up in the first place because then he'd be making a total ass of himself if he turned out to be totally off the mark.
Wolfwood throws his head back, groaning into his hands. Fuck, why does everything have to be so complicated?
A full day later, and Wolfwood still doesn't know how he should face Vash, so he decided to take the coward's way out, and avoid him. Sure, they had band practice, but he doesn't have to actually talk to Vash any more than he needs to.
It'll be fine. He bets Vash won't even notice.
But then Vash goes and bats his pretty blue eyes at him, asking him advice, and he couldn't help but melt despite himself. Nobody ever asks him advice, and whenever he offers it, they always looking annoyed or exasperated at best and murderous or on the verge of tears at worst. Vash is the first person to ever ask him for advice, to actually listen to him when he gave him tips, and tried to implement them without getting hyper-sensitive about it.
Wolfwood doesn't know why it meant a whole lot more to him than it should have. He pats Vash's hair after band practice, offering him a lollipop, which Vash accepts dubiously.
"What's this for?" Vash asks.
"Don't have anything else on me but ciggs." Wolfwood shrugs. "You deserve something nice, though."
"No catch?" Vash squints at him behind his sunglasses. "You're not gonna ask me to do something embarrassing because you gave me this lollipop, right?"
"Your low opinion pains me, Needle-noggin." Wolfwood clutches his chest. "But no, this one is free of charge."
"Really?" Vash's eyes widen. "Thank you, Wolfwood!"
Watching Vash unwrap the lollipop, popping it in his mouth with a smile so bright that he has to look away lest it blind him, he feels a tightness in his chest. Something akin to endearment swelling inside of him, but something else, too, that he can't name.
"Don't sweat it," Wolfwood mumbles. "I can also be nice when I wanna be."
"You say something?"
"Nope. Nothing."
Wolfwood still doesn't have any answers to his predicament, but he also realizes that there's no way that he could avoid Vash even if he wanted to, so he'll have to figure out something different.
Oh well, he always supposes things could always be worse.
At first, Wolfwood tried to tell himself that he was imagining things. That there's no way that Vash liked him like that. There's simply no way anyone could ever like him romantically, let alone someone like Vash who could do so much better.
So, he analyzed Vash's behavior. He tried to find the platonic within the framework of their dynamic, and cling onto that.
Except he didn't find it.
Vash would talk to Livio sweetly, bordering on cordial as they discussed a new pop album they both liked. With Legato on the other hand, he'd be reserved, awkward even. He doesn't even know how he ever thought that there may have been a thing between them, because there clearly isn't. More so, Legato seems to enjoy antagonizing Vash for breathing while Vash just takes it because he's more saintly than mother Teresa herself. But then, when it came to him, Vash's blue eyes always twinkled when he turned his attention on him. His raspy voice would be inflected with something saccharine sweet, and he'd always hover around him, lips tilted upwards into a permanently fond smile irrespective of Wolfwood's bitchy attitude.
After band practice, when they'd inevitably fall into his bed, he'd be more pliant than usual. Vash would stare up at him with that same adoration he aimed towards him at band practice, but amplified to a hundred in the bedroom without anyone else there to clock it. He'd cling to his shoulders like he never wanted to let him go, his prosthetic arm digging painfully into his flesh. His voice raspy as he called out his name while Wolfwood fucked into him like it was a prayer. Desperate kisses like he couldn't get enough of him, kisses that continued even after Wolfwood pulled out, and they were lazing in bed for far longer than they ought to be for something casual. His fingers tracing his cross tattoo as they lay in bed together, even more obsessed with it now that he had inked it in himself.
All those things, while questionable, weren't quite damning either. The reason he says this is because he's admittedly not much better himself. Now that he's trying to be more attentive, he can't help but notice how his attention is always fixated on Vash whenever they had jam practice. So attuned to his every fluctuation in mood or even tone, the dynamics he has with each member of the band. Picks up on how he holds Vash close to his body as he fucked him, how he couldn't help but mark him all over his body like it was his canvas to paint as he pleases. He'd try his utmost best to pull those pretty moans out of Vash, so addicted to his voice, not just when he was on stage, but also in the bedroom as well. And whenever Vash pulled him in for those mind-numbing kisses, he never wanted to pull away, making out with Vash lazily until they were both rendered breathless. It was the kind of intimacy he never shared with any other partner prior to Vash.
But most notably, the singular act that convinced Wolfwood that he wasn't making up shit in his head, was when he asked him to stay the night, fully expecting him to say no because of his crazy ass brother. It was also another breach of the red lines they definitely shouldn't be crossing, but he hates how terribly he crashes after Vash leaves, feels like he'd be able to preserve his sanity if Vash stayed the night. But instead of saying no, Vash only nodded, and said okay. No hesitation, no sign that he was pressured into it, but a light happiness to him. He then stood by as Vash take a call from his psychotic brother, his shitty flat too small for him to offer him any real privacy.
It was somewhat shocking to see Vash take the call from his brother, telling him firmly that he wasn't going home that night. That, yes, he was fine and safe, and he would see him the next morning. And, yes, he is with the guy, and not to worry because he's a good person.
Once he's hung up, Vash's hand is trembling, his bottom lip quivering a bit.
"I never said no to Nai before," Vash says slowly, processing what just happened in real time. "Not outright like that anyway."
Wolfwood sighs, running his fingers through his hair restively. He doesn't know how to deal with all this. He grew up an orphan, the closest thing to a brother he has is Livio, and he could never imagine either of them micro-managing each other's lives the way Nai does with Vash. It's something he'd picked up on a while ago—would be kind of hard not to with how often Nai blows up Vash's phone whenever they're together or even during band practice—but never brought it up because it wasn't any of his business to.
Emotional support has never been his forte, but he can tell Vash clearly needs it right now. Is he supposed to offer validation? Apologize? Say nothing at all? Where is the handbook that comes along with situations like these to tell him what the hell he's supposed to do.
"Do you regret it?" Wolfwood ends up asking carefully, offering Vash a cigarette.
Vash chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head as he denies the offering. More for him, he guesses, places it between his own lips instead as he deftly lights it.
"I thought I would, but I really don't actually." Vash hums, tapping his prosthetic arm pensively. "Of course I don't like making Nai upset, but I'll figure out things with him later. I think he also needs to learn to give me some space, to respect my decisions." Vash smiles, fondness blooming on his face as he looks up at Wolfwood. "But while Nai's controlling behavior always bothered me, it was never enough to put a stop to it. I guess I never had a reason to before."
Wolfwood's chest tightens, the tobacco filling up his lungs not the only reason behind that tightness, breathes out a cloud of smoke so he can breathe again.
"And now you do?"
"Well, you asked me to stay." Vash intertwines his pinky finger with Wolfwood's. "So, yes, now I do."
And that's the moment where Wolfwood knows definitively that Vash is probably very much into him, and not at all in a platonic way.
This is the moment where Wolfwood should sigh, extricate himself from Vash, and say maybe it's better that he go home after all. This is the point where boundaries ought to be set and re-established between them so he can maintain the integrity of the fortified walls he's built around his heart so long ago when he was abandoned in an orphanage by parents who could never love him. This is a pivotal moment where Wolfwood needs to put himself first and foremost, because that's always been his motto, and even if he hurts Vash's feelings, he knows that he's strong enough to bounce back from this.
Heartbreak will hurt Vash, but it won't crush him. But Wolfwood? He knows he wouldn't be able to weather the storm.
Especially with a guy like Vash. So utterly perfect. The kind of guy that musicians would write tons of songs about—not that he's written any. Of course not. He's not a simp. It's not like that between them anyway.
"Cool. How do you feel about coffee?" Wolfwood ends up asking, ignoring all the sirens ringing in his head. "I know it's late, but neither of us got work in the morning, so we could have some coffee and maybe jam a bit if we feel like it? Could even blow off the dust on my old keyboard."
Vash brightens visibly at that. "I'd love that."
What Wolfwood is doing is only further digging his own grave, but also, is there any harm in basking in the affection from a sweet pretty boy for once in his life?
For the remainder of the night, they drink their coffee, and Wolfwood shows Vash some music lyrics he was messing around with. Vash actually gives him some rather insightful feedback on the lyrics which shocks him, even some pointers on the visual of their band and how to elevate their image to bring in a larger audience, and he can't help but file away those points for later to bring up with Livio. Vash also turns out to be wickedly talented on the piano, and Wolfwood feels himself eating his initial words that Vash was another one of those guys who said he dabbled in everything but wasn't good at any of them. Quite the contrary actually, he was unfairly talented in everything he touched apparently.
Wolfwood, college dropout that he is, should have felt a spark of jealousy that Vash was so gifted in all the ways that he had to fight tooth and nail to reach. But he didn't. Rather than envy, he felt a spark of admiration. Pride even. That was his Needle-Noggin, so talented yet so humble. He wished that Vash would show off a little more, needed everyone to know how amazing he was.
But he supposed that for now, it was enough if only he knew.
Drinking coffee so late at night turned out to be a disastrous idea, too, because they were both too wired to sleep but now too tired to actually jam out any further. The night was long enough for them to probably fuck once more or maybe three times if they wanted, but Wolfwood was low-key enjoying spending time in Vash's company instead.
A caffeine-driven, sleep-deprived Vash had a tendency to talk. A lot. Where drunks opened up about all their darkest life secrets, that was Vash, but with caffeine. And where Wolfwood would usually not give a fuck to listen to other people's life stories, because they usually aren't as interesting as they tend to think they are, he was quite invested in hearing Vash open up about himself in any capacity.
He listened to him ramble on about art and graphic design, about his senior year project that he spent the entire year working on about the real danger of climate change that everyone is conveniently turning a blind eye to. It was interesting to hear about Nai and his mother, Rem, and how they're supposed to go visit her over Easter break but he's not looking forward to it because of how openly hostile Nai always is towards her. He even enjoyed hearing the origin story of the famous tattoo shop, Millions Knives, and how Nai got started as a tattoo artist and offered Vash a job there until he figured out which niche in the world he fit in.
And he barely spoke at all when Vash opened up about the accident that cost him his arm, earning him a prosthetic arm and an array of scars all over his body. A drunk driver slamming into their car; the shrapnel slicing through Vash's arm as the car crushed into his side of the car. His older sister, Tesla, didn't even make it. Nai and Rem were the only ones who were unhurt, but Vash said Nai came out of that accident different, more jaded and cynical. Extremely overprotective and paranoid.
He frowned, imagining Vash in all that pain, squeezing his hand as he recounted the events with a somber, yet distant voice.
"You're the only one who never treated me any differently because of this arm." Vash flexes his prosthetic hand. "Or shied away from my scars." A measured pause follows. "Most of my exes would find it unpleasant. Unattractive. Meryl, my best friend, will pity me even if she tries not to show it. Even Nai always seems to look upset if he ever walks in on me while I'm changing. I think he blames himself that I lost an arm while he came out of the accident unscathed, even though that's silly. I'm obviously glad he was safe, I'd never want him to deal with what I went through."
There's something that nestles underneath his skin at the idea of Vash with other men, loving them with all his heart only for them to carelessly shatter it because of their own preconceived biases. All these people in Vash's life, coming and going, but none of them able to see past the scars on the surface. It's upsetting, aggravating even.
Vash deserves better. But Wolfwood doubts he'd ever be considered that 'better' by any metric, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.
"Trauma works in mysterious ways. It's rarely logical." Wolfwood meets Vash's piercing blue eyes, visible even in the darkness of his room. "And, yeah, I'm an asshole, but I'm not a piece of shit who would judge you for something like that." He snorts. "You're still the prettiest guy I've ever laid eyes on, Blondie. It's their loss if they couldn't see that."
"You keep calling yourself an asshole, but you're not," Vash says quietly. "I think you're rough around the edges, but you're kind. Incredibly so."
Wolfwood snorts. "You're delusional. Pretty sure you're the only person on the planet who thinks that."
"Maybe so." Vash laughs lightly, the sound so airy and melodic that Wolfwood doubts he'd ever get sick of listening to it. "But, nonetheless, thank you. For being you, Wolfwood."
Wolfwood doesn't understand what that's supposed to mean, but he nods, gathering Vash against his chest. He pretends he doesn't notice the tears soaking his threadbare t-shirt, rubs small circles into Vash's back until his shoulder still, tears being exchanged with quiet breathing. This, too, probably falls out of the scope of what a no strings attached situationship should be, but he might as well stop questioning it.
And, eventually, Wolfwood also falls asleep to the sound of Vash's rhythmic breathing as well.
Wolfwood rarely ever cancels band practice, especially right before a concert.
If there's a literal storm, he'll still show up to their shitty studio. If he's going through a depressive funk, he'll drag himself out of bed because he knows that rotting in bed instead of making music will only make it worse. If he gets called into work for an impromptu shift when he's supposed to have band practice, he'll make a bitch fit and refuse to come in, because he will not cancel.
But when Melanie, the headmistress of the orphanage he grew up in, calls him on a Tuesday afternoon while he's getting ready to go to band practice, and tells him with a broken voice that she's not feeling well, he drops everything to go to the orphanage to see her.
He's barely paying any attention as he sends a text to the band group chat, telling them that practice is canceled, and another text to Livio to explain the situation. He doesn't pay attention to the responses he gets because he's already getting on his motorcycle, racing through the streets to get to the orphanage in record time. His heart drums in his ears, a loud metronome that he can't drown out even with the sound of the motorcycle's engine and the surrounding blaring in his ears, and he prays to a God he's no longer sure exists that she's okay.
Once he gets to the orphanage, Wolfwood is overwhelmed by the somber faces of the kids there, all of them directing him to Melanie's room.
"Nico"—one of the kids, Thomas, tugs on his shirt restively—"Melanie is gonna be okay, right?"
Wolfwood hasn't seen her yet, so he doesn't know what to say. But Melanie never gets sick, never collapses, so this is somewhat concerning. He plasters a smile on his face, one he hopes doesn't look fake.
"Melanie is tough as steel." Wolfwood pats his head, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Let me check up on her, though, okay?"
The kids nod, allowing Wolfwood the privacy to enter Melanie's room alone, and he finally lets the mask fall as concern thrums under his skin at seeing Melanie's pale bedridden face. He pulls a chair out, taking a seat at her bedside, and tries not to think of hospital rooms and doctors delivering grim prognoses with an emotionless voice.
"Nicholas," Melanie greets him with a small voice, her lips stretching into a weak smile, "you didn't have to come so fast."
"This looks worse than a cold," Wolfwood remarks mildly. "You wouldn't have called me otherwise."
Melanie sighs, eyes cast towards the window, the last rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains. There's a forlorn glint in her eyes that makes Wolfwood's chest tighten, his jaw clench.
"I suppose it is." She sighs.
"Is it cancer?" Wolfwood asks, whispering the word quietly, afraid to manifest its presence just by speaking it aloud.
"No. No. Or at least I don't think so." Melanie shakes her head. "But my body is achy, everything hurts, and it's hard to get out of bed. I'm having a lot of flare ups, and normal pain killers aren't helping." A grimace flashes across her face. "I'm so sorry to call you last minute, but I didn't know who else to call, and I know Livio is busy at the school. Someone has to take care of the kids—"
Wolfwood knows that Melanie is in remission, and what she's describing doesn't sound at all good. Wolfwood's lips tug into a frown, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Don't worry about the kids, I'll take care of them." Wolfwood squeezes her hand, but immediately lets go when it elicits a pained gasp from Melanie. "But you need to see a doctor. I can see about calling Dr. Conrad to come in and get you checked out."
"Don't be silly, I'm sure I'll be better in a jiffy." Melanie tries to move on the bed, but collapses back onto it with a small groan. She laughs mirthlessly. "I'm just getting older, you know how it is. I just need to make sure the kids are okay."
Melanie is always like this, Wolfwood thinks, selfless to a fault. Putting everyone before herself. He knows that her calling him must have cost her all her pride, hates depending on anyone or appearing weak in any capacity.
His heart sinks. He should have been more present around the orphanage, should have known that Melanie's health was clearly worsening for some time now that she's literally incapacitated. He's been too distracted lately with the band, with Vash, and everything else, but that's no excuse.
Melanie is the mother that Wolfwood never had. He should have been better.
"Just rest up so you can take care of the kids yourself." Wolfwood stands up. "But you've got the rest of the day off today."
"Okay." Melanie nods tearfully. "Thank you, Nicholas."
Wolfwood waves at her without turning around. "Don't be silly."
When the door shuts behind him, Wolfwood's heart is heavy. He ignores the notifications on his phone as he calls Dr. Conrad, telling him to come now, and he'll pay him whatever he wants. He hangs up before the doctor gets in any words edgewise, a sigh falling from his lips before he plasters a brittle smile onto his face as he faces the kids.
"You guys are in luck, because big brother Nico is the one taking care of you today." Wolfwood pulls out his stash of lollipops. "And because I'm so cool, what do you guys think about playing a game of tag?"
A series of cheers resound around him, all the kids clambering to hug him, and his heart swells despite himself.
It's been a while, but the orphanage will always be his home.
Dr. Conrad tells Wolfwood that it probably isn't cancer, but rheumatoid arthritis, something that's common in women of Melanie's age. Though he insists that she still needs to go to a hospital to get tested to know definitively, which Wolfwood will definitely do, but he trusts the seedy doctor's medical opinion regardless of his views on him as a person. He also tells him that it's not pleasant, but the symptoms at least can be treated, though money can often be an issue.
Wolfwood says he'll cover it, though he's not quite sure where he'll get the money from, but he'll figure it out. Anything as long as Melanie gets better.
At least Livio is here now, too, which takes a bit of a load off his chest. He showed up immediately after work to check up on Melanie and is now playing with the kids to distract them, possibly distract himself, too. He's pensive as he watches them play a loose game of soccer, so youthful and innocent, not bogged down yet by the woes of adulthood and hard decisions. It makes him wish he'd enjoyed his own childhood better, but he hadn't because he'd been forced to grow up too fast, thrown into the world of adults far before he'd been ready. It's not Melanie's fault and he's too old to lament a lost childhood, but sometimes he wonders if things could have played out differently. If he would be different if they had.
Wolfwood's phone rings, piercing through his thoughts, and he picks it up without checking the ID.
"Wolfwood," Vash's voice is breathless through the phone speakers. "Are you okay?"
Okay, Wolfwood certainly didn't expect that. It's also the first time Vash has ever called him like this. He pulls his phone away, double checking to make sure it's really him, but it's certainly none other than Vash himself on the other end of the line.
His Adam's apple bobs in his throat uncontrollably, his heart thudding uncomfortably against his ribcage.
"I'm dandy." Wolfwood pauses. "You don't usually call me."
"I know. But you weren't answering my texts and I got worried." Vash hesitates. "I also called Livio and he filled me in on what's going on. I'm sorry, Wolfwood."
Whenever anyone falls on tough times, the easiest thing other people say is that they're sorry. But they rarely ever mean it, nothing more than a perfunctory statement spoken without any weight behind it. But when Vash speaks the same words, it doesn't ring hollow nor is it filled with pity, there's a sincerity to them. A genuine sorrow in his voice that Wolfwood is going through this.
It should probably piss him off, but it doesn't. Maybe he's just too emotionally drained to summon those emotions.
"Don't worry about it. I'm fine. She'll be fine."
"But I am worried, though."
"Why?" Wolfwood snorts. "It's not like you know her personally."
"I don't. But you do, and she clearly matters a lot to you." Wolfwood hears the sound of something rustling, a metallic clink in the background. "And if she matters to you, then she matters to me, too."
Wolfwood's heart is so noisy in his chest, he can barely hear anything over it.
"Why?"
"Because I care about you, silly," Vash says easily. "Why is that so hard to understand?"
Wolfwood doesn't immediately respond, words failing him for the first time in his life. His chest is too tight. Vash says it so simply, but he doesn't know what to do with that kind of information.
He's a kid who was abandoned by his parents in an orphanage, unwanted and unloved since the day he was born. He's a guy who never knew affection from anyone but his orphanage's headmistress and Livio, the closest thing he could call a brother. At the orphanage, kids got adopted all the time, and he was always left behind because he was moody and undesirable. When he was older, he couldn't make it in college or at any proper job, always the social outcast. People came in and out of his life without any permanence, and Wolfwood never begrudged them that, because he didn't consider himself someone worth staying for.
But Vash has stayed. Vash has cared. He's not even sure if he deserves any of it, but boy, does he want to hold onto it.
"Thanks," Wolfwood replies eventually, several beats too late. "I appreciate it."
"Mm. You can do with this information what you'd like, but I'm standing outside." Another audible shuffle. "I can come in if you'd like the company, but I can also leave if I'm drastically overstepping."
Wolfwood's eyebrows raise as he scrambles to exit the orphanage, and surely enough, he finds Vash loitering restlessly by his nerdy bicycle, Martha. He swallows, his phone slipping from his hand, clattering onto the grass with a dull thud.
Vash catches his eye, waving at him awkwardly, a shaky smile on his face. He looks just as unsure as Wolfwood is.
But then, slowly, he approaches him until they're standing in front of each other.
"You're here," Wolfwood breathes, scanning Vash from top to bottom, unsure that he's really here and not a figment of his imagination. "Why?"
Vash shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Because I figured you might not want to be alone right now." His blue eyes find Wolfwood behind the lenses of his sunglasses, visible in the moonlight. "You told me once about the cross you have to carry, but you don't have to shoulder that burden alone anymore. Not if you don't want to anyway."
Wolfwood averts his gaze from Vash, swallowing with difficulty around the lump stuck in his throat. This is a level of vulnerability he never shares with anyone. Hell, he never even lets anyone know that he's an orphan more often than not. And yet here Vash is, standing before him at his home because he wants to help and be there for him, and there's not an ounce of judgment in his eyes. Nothing but that same sincerity bleeding with affection.
He couldn't turn Vash away even if he wanted to.
"Okay." Wolfwood nods to the orphanage behind him. "Come on in then. I gotta introduce you to everyone—the kids will probably love you. Melanie, too."
Vash beams at him, his awkwardness sloughing off him as he follows Wolfwood. "I'd love that!"
The evening goes by in the blink of an eye after that.
The kids do indeed love Vash. He's a natural with them, learning all their names and playing all sorts of games with them without ever getting tired or annoyed. He knows how to speak to them at their level without belittling their intelligence, and he pulls out a bunch of treats from his pockets that has the kids' eyes glowing.
Watching Vash in his element with the kids makes his heart swell a little, blowing out a wistful cloud of smoke as he studies the shape of his smile on his face.
Livio takes a seat next to him, grabbing a slice of the cold pizza they had gotten a few hours ago.
"I'm surprised you're not mad at me that I let him come here."
No beating around the bush. They both know that Livio is the only person who could have given him the address. Wolfwood shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.
"It's whatever."
"He's the one who asked for it," Livio says. "He was really worried about you."
"I know." Wolfwood nods. "Little worry wart, that one is."
Livio hums. He has that look on his face that he always gets when he wants to say something, but he's worried about the backlash. Even after all these years together, Wolfwood can still read him like an open book.
"Just spit out whatever you wanna say."
A few more moments of silence pass between them, in which Wolfwood doesn't press. Not even when Livio grabs a cigarette from his pack and lights it deftly, taking a drag of his own.
"He's in love with you, you know," Livio finally says.
Wolfwood considers this statement, eyes still fixed on Vash. Vash, as if sensing Wolfwood's gaze on him, stops in his tracks to wave at him with a goofy smile on his face. Fondness spreads in his chest, warm and all-consuming like first spring, as he waves at him back.
Livio gives him a very knowing look at the exchange which Wolfwood pointedly ignores.
"Yeah, I guessed as much."
"And you love him, too," Livio continues. Not a question, but a statement. "And don't try to deny it, Nico, 'cause it's literally so obvious. You should see the way you look at him when you think nobody else is paying attention."
Wolfwood never thought about it. Something like love was something he wrote about in songs, because those were the kind of songs that sell, but he didn't pay much attention to it. He never met anyone who would make him need to even pause to consider if he felt any differently towards them than he would anyone else. Wolfwood didn't think in binaries of hearts fluttering and butterflies in his stomach.
But where he already guessed that Vash loves him, and the idea of it didn't put him off nearly as much as it ought to, maybe he should have thought about it.
He thinks about how Vash is the prettiest guy he's ever met. He thinks about how Vash's voice is sweet as honey, could listen to him singing his songs on repeat and never get sick of it. He thinks of how good the sex is, but how good the time they spend together outside of it is as well. He thinks about how he'd like to kiss and hold Vash sometimes, not because they're fucking, but because he can. He thinks about how he wants to take all of Vash's pain away, protecting him from this cruel and ugly world.
He thinks about how he'd felt so suffocated all day today, trapped in an impossible situation, but when Vash showed up, he could finally break the surface and breathe again. His problems not magically fixed by his presence, but somehow, they seem a little more manageable now. Less hopeless.
Ah. It seems that Wolfwood may have been in love for some time now, he'd just been too dense to see it.
"I guess I do." Wolfwood smiles, no shame or embarrassment in the admission. "I figured you'd be pissed that I got involved with someone in the band."
"Pissed? No. I'm honestly just happy for you, and I have a feeling that things will work out between you two anyway. Besides, I think he's good for you; you're less douchey now with him around." Wolfwood punches Livio in the shoulder for that one, which earns him a laugh. "What will you do about it, though? Ask him out?"
Vash carries Thomas with swift ease, carrying him piggyback into the orphanage, indicating that they need to wrap up their conversation quickly.
"What else would a musician do when he falls for someone else?" Wolfwood grins at Livio, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray before the kids catch him smoking. "Write a song about it."