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Vash didn't think much of it when the first thing greeting him in the morning was Wolfwood's intense gaze boring holes into his soul.
Morning filtered through the windows bereft of thick vintage curtains, painting their room in a ephemeral golden glow Vash hated to miss the most. It shone down on Wolfwood's tanned profile; highlighted the slope of his nose, the curve of his temple, the soundless gasp of his lips. Morning softened Wolfwood's countenance more often than not, but today Vash felt like it had rekindled a forgotten emotion in him, the one that caused him to look at Vash as if he was weaved straight from his nightmares.
None of them had a gentle past. Vash's prosthetics and Wolfwood's old tissues of bullet wounds were a proof of that. In a world that treated war like an apocalypse, they found trust and silence in each other, managing to hold on until the world finally decided to lower its hackles.
If it weren't for Vash, perhaps Wolfwood would be just another dog tags brought home by the limping soldiers. If it weren't for Wolfwood, perhaps Vash would've ended with metal in his ribcage too.
Having the other waking up in ungodly hours of the night was a common occurrence for them, and more, too, of a common ritual shared. Vash would test the limbs he no longer had, even if he knew his prosthetic bore no defects in their system, and Wolfwood would trace them with fingers whispering soft promises. Whilst Wolfwood's hand would itch for his cigarettes, but he settled easily when Vash slowly brought his lips to his, swallowing nicotine and disbelief until his sleeps were no longer haunted.
It rarely happened in the mornings, but not impossible. Only during the times when they felt inadequate for the other and jolted awake, alone, without a touch of comfort, drawing silent breaths that didn't feel liberating at all. Perhaps this morning was one of the "not impossible"s. Vash had meant to thumb the tension brewing between Wolfwood's brows, but the other man reached out first, crooked fingers combing through Vash's blond locks tenderly as if just discovering them for the first time. It usually elicited a content purr from Vash, a sound not so dissimilar to his prosthetics' low thrum, if it wasn't for Wolfwood's shaky breath that hit his nose at the contact.
Wolfwood was a man difficult to faze. Not even an exploding missile in his proximity could falter him for more than a minute. He'd scramble back on his feet with expletives as colourful as the licking flames around, and continued to march forward.
It was easy to love Wolfwood when he appeared so unshakable, but Vash thought it was harder to love himself when Wolfwood gave him a look like he had risen from the grave after years uncountable.
"Nick?" Vash whispered, afraid to shatter his fiance's mosaic of grief. Was this another nightmare he didn't dare to tell Vash? Was this another memory of his days as a human weapon meant to win the war?
(He regretted not remembering sooner, but at the same was grateful for it. Cruel as it might be, Wolfwood wouldn't be here, cocooning Vash, if they didn't tinker with his body as a mechanic would to a rusty engine)
Wolfwood's fingers slid to his nape, their touch light but heavier than Vash's own heartbeat. Something in his touch made Vash still, knowing it was one of Wolfwood's methods to check if he was real or not. He toyed his dark scruff, picked the tips of blonde with feather-light motions almost absentmindedly, before not so gently knocked his forehead against Vash's.
Vash welcomed the slight shock. Better this than Wolfwood's unfeeling lips.
Wolfwood might think this position cut Vash's sight from further inspecting him, but the trailing tears dripping to his cheeks burnt just as intensely, and Vash stiffened.
"Nick? Hey, are you alright?" Vash didn't dare to pull away, so he could only raise his hands to cup Wolfwood's tense jaws, one flesh, one metal, not bothering to wipe his tears because experiences told them it was better to let the dam break once in a while. "Tell me, honey, what's wrong?"
It was an empty offering, and Vash knew this. Wolfwood knew it too. They had so much to talk regarding themselves, to an extreme that might drive other couples insane with the elephant in the room, but sometimes the unspoken comforted Vash better, and sincere actions eased Wolfwood's turmoil better. As long as they knew the past wouldn't catch up to them, then they'd be alright. Otherwise, they'd deal with it together, as they always were.
Vash's words were just another hand opened wide to accept Wolfwood's everything. For this man, he'd accept anything of him into his embrace and keep it close to his heart.
Wolfwood's lips parted slightly wider, but no words came out. He didn't look like he could handle the sound of his own voice in the moment. Vash patiently waited as his thumbs worked small circles on his cheekbones, warm and damp from Wolfwood's tears. It's okay, take your time, his gesture said. I'm here, I'm real, I'm yours.
"Spikey," Wolfwood began, a little like a rasp and a little like a sob. "You know I love you, right?"
"Of course." Vash never had his doubts.
"Then," he gulped, before seemingly choking his words out. "Always tell me beforehand if you want to elongate your hair."
"Of course," Vash said again, his smile slowly coming into life. "In return, always tell me if you want to get a bowl cut, okay?"
Wolfwood huffed, but his tears had stopped, and tension had bleed from his muscles. Vash still didn't let go. "Me? With a bowl cut? I'll look like a pubescent brat."
"You do act like that sometimes though."
"Spikey."
"Sorry, sorry."
Vash gingerly adjusted his position until it gave him the advantage to kiss Wolfwood square on the lips. Pinpricks of salt leaked into their kiss, but Vash thought he liked the taste of Wolfwood's smiling lips more; often a stroke of heat, often affection and love. The hand on his nape changed into a grip, gentle all the same in its eternity, and both melted into each other that warmed their bones more than any morning could ever propose to them.
Wolfwood's other hand found his hair as well, ruffling it into a mess of golden halo to which his fingers chased after.
Vash didn't think much of it.
It came back haunting him later on.
Vash triumphantly emerged from the kitchen carrying their breakfast, only to find Wolfwood eying their couch in the living room with something close to disdain.
Ah, no, knowing his fiance, it was definitely disdain. What did the couch do this time?
Alright, rhetorical question since the couch was doing nothing but sitting prettily there like it was supposed to be. Maybe the real question here was what's Nick planning to do with that couch? Vash wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer or not. It was too early to sweep bullet shells from the floor, you see.
"Nick?" Vash chirped, and he minutely frowned when Wolfwood jumped, snapping his neck to stare at Vash, wide-eyed. That nightmare must be a really bad one if it put Wolfwood's nerves in constant alarm. "You saw something? You're looking at our couch like it's done you personal offense."
Wolfwood sighed heavily and massaged his temple, shoulders dropping from his ears. Suddenly he looked like he just aged twenty tears in span of seconds, and did Vash want to know the cause? He didn't think he was prepared for a heart to heart talk when he hadn't had his daily dose of cocoa and donuts. He'd file a session for another date. Now they needed their carbohydrates.
"Come on, baby, I won't mind if you throw the couch out, but breakfast first!" Come think of it, they rarely used the coach anyway. They preferred to sit on their carpeted floor when they watched tv, and it served as a secondary bed should a petty argument rose between them and they had an intense duel of rock-paper-scissors to decide who was going to be casted to sleep on the couch for the night so they could clear their minds.
(There was also that one time where they fucked on that couch because Vash couldn't hold himself back, practically throwing his fiance onto it and riding him dry out of his drunken mind. He didn't dare to glance at that couch for days, unlike Wolfwood who suddenly took a liking on sitting there like it was heaven's throne.
The eyebrow wiggles he gave when he caught Vash staring didn't help either)
Wolfwood made vague motions with one hand, which Vash immediately recognized as a plea for cigarettes.
"Would you let me smoke for a minute?"
Vash smiled sweetly in return.
"Would you let me yeet you from the roof?"
At that, Wolfwood barked a laugh; humour always annuled his itch easier than putting the pack out of his reach. He approached the table and sat down across Vash, upper body leaning forward in a nostalgic semblance of many nights where he had to bail Vash out from thirsty men wanting to get in his pants by playing pretend. "Feels odd when a cupcake like you is threatening me, sugar."
Vash giggled as he placed Wolfwood's coffee on the table; darker than his soul, as his fiance once jokingly depicted. At every jests thrown, shadows faded from Wolfwood's eyes, and Vash intended to keep it that way. He liked it best when life consumed his fiance's eyes.
"Mind you that this cupcake is capable of flipping your ass hundred times over."
Wolfwood knew it too, that was why he could laugh so freely with Vash on his back. "So you like me calling you cupcake? What if I call you donut, hmm? Sweet like one, and is often filled with cream custard."
Vash chucked his spoon at him with inhumane speed. Inborn instinct moved Wolfwood to catch it in time before it could clatter to the floor. "Nick! This is the dining table! We're not talking about such things before our food!"
"Even if I want to have you for breakfast?"
Vash deadpanned at him. "... I'm calling Nai."
"Don't you dare." The sudden bite in Wolfwood's voice startled Vash, his smile falling quickly as the first drop of drizzle outside, as the following drop in temperature inside. Disdain returned to creep into Wolfwood's eyes, only this time it took over the turn of his lips as well to form a snarl. It reminded Vash of times he didn't want to remember, of the times he had desperately locked tight inside his mind.
Wolfwood must've realized this because he sighed again and quietly placed the spoon back to Vash's plate. "Shit, sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn't take that seriously."
"It's okay, Nick, don't worry." Vash almost forgot how often he had recited this echo; no difference between here and there. "Did you have another dispute with Nai? He's going to be your family too, y'know. You should try to get along with him, yeah?"
"Darlin', I've tried, but when he's burning all my threads of patience by just being there, it's a bit difficult to do."
Vash couldn't argue with that. Nai had a knack to grate on Wolfwood's nerves, and Wolfwood on his in exchange. He knew Wolfwood had no fault in this, it was just Nai and his overprotective tendencies.
But Nai was beyond something as inane as "overprotective", both knew this. Nai's first declaration of war (?) to Wolfwood when Vash began dating him, after all, was: "I've claimed all of Vash's firsts, so don't get your head in the clouds just yet."
It wasn't just a figure of speech. Vash guessed some things really never changed.
(Because Nai remembered too. Vash had his suspicions ever since Nai's touches stroked him deeper, more reverent than a worshipper's grip on rosary beads. It cemented into belief when a crossfire rendered Vash incapable to use his left arm, and Nai had him amputated almost to the shoulder, installing a familiar, identical prosthetic to replace the ghost of a limb. Nai's eyes locked onto his as he planted a kiss on each metal knuckle, and all clicked into place.
Both knew they were repeating a same dance. They had a new floor, but an old lead all the same. Back step, of Vash hating his own body that mirrored the same causalties as before as if it was written between the stars for him to be defective. Side step, of Nai whispering sweet assurances and praises on his skin until Vash could ignore the sick curl of Nai's lips. Cross, of Nai bringing their bodies together as one so Vash couldn't differ which was his hate and which was Nai's glee. Forward step, of Vash sinking into Nai's hold as he traced metal fingers on his back only to find scars and not wings. Side step, of Nai being a constant keeper of Vash's life so they could retreat to their own happiness after the war ended.
And here, Nai wasn't aiming for the aniihilation of humanity, having to marry the fact he now shared their origins, their flesh and blood. Vash couldn't be more relieved)
It stayed shocking to this very day that Wolfwood still accepted him as who he was even after two hours long of explanation about the nature of his and Nai's "relationship". Wolfwood was often bragged to be a demon in the battlefield, but Vash believed he had a heart of an angel beneath every rough edge he possessed.
He could see it in his eyes, as always.
"Speaking of Knives," Wolfwood resumed after a pregnant silence where they munched on their breakfast. Vash predictably looked up. "Are you sure he's really consenting you to marry me? We both know how he is. He might give us an okay but I don't want you finding me ditched dead on a river one day before our marriage."
"Nai only wants my happiness," Vash confessed, slumping on his chair. As he cradled his cup of hot cocoa, his reflection wistfully smiled back at him. It always did whenever they breached this topic. "Sure, there are times where he believes my happiness is only gained by his side." Long time ago, it used to bring destruction as potent as a typhoon; sweeping every undeserving soul into its cyclone. "But Nai has changed. He's now willing to open his eyes, and he sees that other being with him, having you and the others completes my happiness, and it's enough as a proof for him."
None of them was deaf to the hushed I hope that trailed after Vash's words.
Vash couldn't say he was completely surprised when he found the couch missing during lunch. Sure, he knew Wolfwood was stubborn as bull when he set his eyes into something, but he didn't think he'd discard it right away after breakfast.
"Where should we lean our back onto if the couch's gone?" Because, really, that was the only purpose their couch served as.
Wolfwood dismissed his hand, although Vash noted how his smile was now easier in the absence of their couch. "I got us a sectional couch so you can straighten your legs more freely. Roberto owes me a favour so he'll be bringing it in tomorrow."
No, not easier. Lighter, as if that couch reminded him of a burden his shoulders were condemned to carry and throwing it out was a balm to his now weightless limbs.
It was only in the next day where Vash let Wolfwood unclasped the joints of his prosthetics for bimonthly maintenance on their new couch that he realized the old one was an eerie twin of Wolfwood's deathbed.
Wolfwood didn't say a word when Vash pulled him to lay atop of him and caged him with a trembling arm. He didn't say anything either when Vash's tears soaked his shirt, opting to wound both of his arms around his waist and kiss his tears away.
They didn't share any words. They had known each other long enough to understand.
"You know, I'm having second thoughts of doing it in a church."
Meryl looked at Wolfwood as if he just grew a chicken head from the stomach. Beside him, Vash heaved a sharp breath that went unnoticed by Meryl, but not by Roberto. He spared Vash a wary look, yet he expressed nothing other than reaching for his flask and downing its content in one go.
More often than not, Vash was thankful for his silence.
"It's one week before your wedding and you want to change place?!" Meryl had a point, but Vash didn't want to pick sides just yet. "Aren't you the one who wants to commemorate the most important day of your life in the church?"
Wolfwood shrugged. Vash didn't know if it was intentional or not, but his body shifted closer to Vash's shortly after until their shoulders knocked. His warmth was dizzying as much as it was grounding. "Get rid of the bells first, then we're good. Also, no confettis, or I'll forbid Milly from getting even a single piece of cake."
Vash's heart sunk to his stomach, and he tried to not imagine what did Wolfwood feel back then, when bells sang and confettis danced in the air to celebrate a joyful union that he couldn't achieve, no matter how close he was to its echo? Who was on his mind, when he heard the bells fading and the confettis falling? Whom did his heart long after, when the bells died and the confettis lied unmoving as he did?
Would it be too much if Vash hoped Wolfwood chose him just like the present?
Vash sought for Wolfwood's hand which rested on his knee. It twitched as Vash's fingers brushed his knuckles, and Wolfwood wordlessly flipped his palm so Vash could slot their fingers together. His luminous green and Wolfwood's calloused tan made an unlikely pair that Vash would've battled countless of wars for to embrace.
"I'm with Nick in this one." From his peripheral, he caught Wolfwood glancing at him, asking a question he knew the answer already. Vash subtly nodded at him; a promise for later talk. "Could you rearrange it, Meryl? Please? I'll buy you donuts and banana sundae after this, promises!"
Meryl's resolve deflated at his puppy eyes and imaginary floppy ears. "Fine, fine, you're lucky you have us as your organizer. If you have anything else you have in mind, do tell us now so we can arrange it too. Senior is quick, but he wouldn't be if we got a surprise so close to the big day."
One thing immediately bloomed into his mind; a brilliant shade of scarlet more pristine than any red Vash had his palms soaked with.
"Can we..." With all eyes now trained on him, Vash trailed off, voice dying into a whisper as hesitance rolled from him in waves. But then Wolfwood squeezed their hands together, and it was enough of a lighthouse to guide Vash back to the warmth of the sun, of Wolfwood's loyal heartbeat next to his.
"Can we get red geraniums as decorations?"
"For a second there, I thought you were going to say night petunias, needle-noggin'."
Vash flinched, and he lifted his face from where it had been contently buried in Wolfwood's chest, dusts of dark hair tickling his chin. "You remember the flowers?"
You remember, was what he meant, but now it sounded meaningless with how many proofs Wolfwood had offered to his hands.
"How could I not? They literally destroyed July, or more correctly the roots, but you get what I mean, sweetheart."
"How long? Wolfwood's gaze didn't waver when it met Vash's. The first time Nai introduced him as Vash's bodyguard (more like a babysitter in warzone. Vash could practically feel Nai's chagrin even if it was his idea to pair them together), Wolfwood had those bronze-tinted shades to shield his eyes from idiots brazen enough to meet him head on. He never wore them again after the war, and Vash wasn't sure how to prevent his legs from turning into jelly whenever those unveiled eyes drank him in, flitted from head to toe, and stripped Vash bare of any confines by just one gaze.
It had been easy to fall in love with Wolfwood. The story repeated in this world, and never once Vash regretted it.
Vash had been overjoyed when Wolfwood didn't seem to remember anything. He had no problem handling those memories alone; their sins, their blood, their tears, their corpses. What were his hands if not destined to foster damnation?
Even if Vash had to erase the face of his Nicholas from his mind at every searing burn Wolfwood's lips delivered on his skin, he had all the time in the world to rejoice in newer memories and properly love this Wolfwood the way the world didn't allow him to back then. His Nick deserved that amongst many Vash wouldn't think twice to give.
It was a different story when Wolfwood remembered. It was a different story when Vash's prayers went unanswered.
"Since that morning." Wolfwood didn't need to explain which. Vash had that morning burnt into the back of his memories, yet merely as another hurt to be soothed like any other. He should've known. "And by your question and the look in your eyes, I assume you already remembered since long."
"Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry." Vash dragged himself closer until he could wrap Wolfwood in a hug despite their difficult position, allowing his tears to colour Wolfwood's collarbone. "I never want you to remember. I don't want you to remember. They're too painful."
"And you're fine by remembering them alone? Once a sacrificial bastard is always a sacrificial bastard, huh." Wolfwood murmured, but there was no heat in it. Only a promise of company, and that was what Wolfwood had been giving, wasn't it? Only promises after promises; in shape of support, in shape of bullets, in shape of rings, in shape of conjoined bodies.
"But I'm sorry too it took me so long to remember, angel." Vash sobbed even louder; that word could only sound sacral when it came from Wolfwood's sin-tainted lips. "You don't have to suffer from them on your own anymore. I'm here, I'm real, I'm yours, so stop crying, you big baby."
WolfwoodーNicholas brushed his bangs aside to plant a lingering kiss on his forehead. Vash scrambled to manhandle them into sitting position so he could climb into Nicholas's lap and kiss him on the lips.
All the while, Nicholas's hands never left him, drawing constellations on stitches, scars, torn tissues, and metal plates as if this was their first time, and a warmth kinder than thousand stars was everything Vash could feel in his embrace.