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The town of Fairview is better than Wolfwood had been expecting, really.
Vash had explained- no, insisted, that Fairview was a reasonably friendly, small town on their way to December, and that the last time he had strolled through that he wasn't "shot at even once!", if Wolfwood could believe it.
Wolfwood didn't believe it, really. But he would have let Vash stretch the truth about anything if it kept them as they were now, with Wolfwood's hands gripped around Angelina's handlebars, and Vash's arms looped around Wolfwood's waist to "stay put", when Wolfwood knows he's damn well capable of balancing regardless.
His companion droned on with his head resting on Wolfwood's shoulder, voice right next to his ear, nearly yelling but Wolfwood could hardly hear him over the loud thrum of Angelina's engine. The heat today was near unbearable, but somehow having Vash's broad permanently-runs-hot frame draped over Wolfwood's back didn't seem to bother him at all.
"-And they've got a really great diner that serves pancakes, have you had pancakes before? Maybe if we stay the night we could get some the next day," Wolfwood felt Vash squirm behind him at that, as if the idea of pancakes could possibly be that exciting.
Stay the night… Wolfwood wasn't really intending to have them stay the night, but it does sound sort of appealing, after the previous several days of camping. Not that camping with Vash is anything to complain about, but the uneven ground was starting to wear on his neck and back, and a shower didn't sound too bad, either.
Vash's grip around Wolfwood's waist starts to ease around the same time his voice starts to trail off, voice lost to the wind whipping past Wolfwood's ears, either dozing or deciding to leave Wolfwood to concentrate on driving.
The silence leaves Wolfwood to his own thoughts, driving towards the speck in the distance that seems to grow a little bit more with each passing isle, with what should be their destination.
Maybe it's the peak of the suns over his head scrambling what's left of his brains, maybe it's Vash's hands mindlessly drifting lower as he dozes, maybe it's the promise of pancakes (which Wolfwood has had before, thank you), but staying the night doesn't sound like that bad of an idea after all.
One night can't hurt.
Vash hadn't exaggerated, much to Wolfwood's surprise - Fairview really was friendly. Strangers waving at them as they hopped off Wolfwood's bike levels of friendly, the atmosphere not thick with the tension that riddled many of the other places they had been in the past weeks; something calmer, more comfortable and home-like clung to the small side streets of this town.
"It is a little more run down than I remember," Vash confessed, but Wolfwood begs to differ. Sure, the paint is fading in too many places on the storefronts- sure, the signposts are creaking a little too loud in the wind, but it felt safe. After the past few nights of sleeping outdoors, anything would be better for a night or two.
They had shuffled into a nearby diner, a nameless establishment that just had "Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner!" painted right on the window in a suns-bleached cursive scrawl.
Vash was eagerly carving into a stack of pancakes topped with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream- unable to wait for tomorrow, it seems- adorned in tiny little colorful sprinkles. It's an obnoxious display that Wolfwood finds hard to be annoyed with.
Wolfwood had tucked into his own meal, a sandwich that looked far more delicious than what he was expecting from somewhere this run down, or maybe it only looked this appetizing because he had been sharing canned rations with Vash for the past few weeks.
Vash looks up from his pancake stack, eyeing Wolfwood's sandwich openly. "That looks pretty good," he murmurs, "do you maybe want to…"
"No, Spikes, I'm not sharin'," Wolfwood cuts him off immediately, used to Vash's game of ordering something sweet and then wanting to pick off his plate. "If you want something, you need to start thinkin' ahead and ordering it yourself." He scolds, knowing that he's going to leave a square of the sandwich for Vash to eat later.
Vash rolls his eyes at his chastising before washing down a huge bite of pancakes with the stale (but plenty hot) coffee that seems to flow endlessly from their waitresses carafe. It's pretty nice, truly, a well-needed respite for both of them. The booth is pretty comfortable too, despite the springs digging into the undersides of his thighs. It's not Angelina's seat for a change, so it's a welcome difference in feeling.
The radio sitting on a high shelf warbles on through it's antiquated speakers, an earth-time relic, probably one of the few left over in this town, romantic sounding lyrics cascading down.
"Will you love me in December, as you do in May? Will you love me in the good old-fashioned way?"
The sweetness of the lyrics combined with Vash's contented expression is doing something funny to his heart, and Wolfwood forces himself to look elsewhere, choosing to instead turn his gaze out the sun-spotted diner window at the busy street.
It's nearing the end of lunch time, if the crowds of people going this way and that are of any indication. One person catches his eye though, someone bee-lining towards the door of the diner, frantic. He doesn't look like he's up to no good- he's more frail, on the older side- but that doesn't stop Wolfwood's hand from quickly setting itself on his holster.
The rusted bell above the door chimes as the older gentleman walks in, his head swiveling from left to right and back again, before his gaze lands straight ahead at the Punisher, leaning against the back wall of the diner in its belted and shrouded glory.
"Oh, thank heavens!" He cries out, earning the confused and curious stares of other patrons. "So there is a priest in town, the rumors are true."
Wolfwood begins to slink down further on his side of the booth. Goddammit. Maybe if he just stays quiet… surely, no one will point out that he's the owner of the giant cross that's currently the center of everyone's attention- it's not like everyone stared at him as he tried to fit it through the door for a good two minutes before carrying it in longways, or anything.
This isn't good, he thinks. This guy could be wanting a priest for anything, and Wolfwood was really banking on at least one good night with nothing to do, just him and Vash, a break for once-
"Right here!" Vash calls out unhelpfully, waving at the man with his stupid mechanical arm in his stupid bright red coat sleeve. "That would be my friend over here," he confirms again, a bit louder this time, great, and Wolfwood considers that it might be easier to just play dead at this point.
"What are you doing!?" he whispers yells at Vash, but there's no time to argue before the older man has rushed his way to their table. Wolfwood settles for glaring fiercely at Vash, who simply returns with the sheepish sorry look he always does, the one that says 'I'm sorry, but not really?'
Wolfwood tries to level him back with a scowl in return that says "We'll settle this later", as his mind races with whatever this guy could possibly need him for.
He runs through the mental list quickly; Funerals are easy, he's got that song and dance down, and his suit matches the occasion perfectly. Baptisms are harder, usually more awkward, but still almost as common as the Funeral requests that come his way. Maybe he's being asked to help with last rites? That happens once in a blue moon. As long as it's not-
"Oh, thank heavens you're here, Father!" He says relieved, wringing his hands. "It's my daughter, you see, she's getting married tomorrow, and our church's priest has fallen terribly ill."
A wedding. Oh lord, why him?
He chances a look at Vash, who is practically melting at just the mention of a wedding. This is going to be even more difficult to turn down if Blondie keeps making mushy heart-eyes at this man's story. They don't even know this guy- for all Wolfwood knows, this could be a ruse to lure either him or Vash or both of them into some kind of trap, and Wolfwood's not entertaining it.
The man continues on, hands folded over his heart as he pleads with them that the couple are childhood sweethearts, how they've both dreamed of this day, that they can't wait to be wed together in front of their small families that have traveled so far to be here. It's all very romantic, really, and Wolfwood can see out of the corner of his eye that Vash is eating up every bit of it.
Wolfwood can only think to himself that this is getting too out of hand too fast, and he's near ready to make a scene and high-tail it out of here when Vash's voice snaps him back to reality.
"Oh, he would be honored to! Wouldn't you, Wolfwood?"
Vash has both gloved hands clasped together, making his worst doe-eyed expression that he only makes when he wants something, and here he is, weaponizing it against Wolfwood. The nerve.
"I… I don't know, Gramps, we just got off the road from travelin' for days an' all, and this is pretty short notice," he says, not apologetically. "You said tomorrow?"
The man looks back and forth nervously from Vash to Wolfwood, brows pinched upwards. "Yes, tomorrow at noon. It's not far from here though, Father- the church, that is. It's just a little ways down this main road. It truly won't take much of your time."
Wolfwood can practically feel the lack of enthusiasm showing on his own face, and he knows he's right when the man sputters out, "We'd be willing to pay for your services, Father, please. We don't have much, but my daughter has been looking forward to this day for so long, so won't you please consider it? I'll speak with my wife and see how much we can offer-"
"It's not necessary at all, sir," Vash cuts him off, tone warm as he makes to shake the mans hand. "We'll do it, no payment needed. Won't we, Wolfwood?"
Wolfwood isn't sure who this "we" is, considering there's only one fake priest here, but he's already considered this a lost cause, with Vash doubling down and all. He grips the mug of his now cold coffee before nodding sullenly in agreement.
"I'll do it," he says, leaving out a petulant 'fine'. "But I'll need to borrow a Bible to prepare a sermon, I don't have mine on me."
The man nods joyously, explaining how they only have a handful of copies, but he'll bring their finest one to Wolfwood this afternoon, that he'll leave it with the woman who runs the town's only motel, because they're planning on staying there, right?
After a little more back and forth, they've solidified some semblance of a plan for today and tomorrow, with Wolfwood to meet the family at the church a little before noon, and the man leaves them alone again in their booth, a flurry of "Thank you!" and "God be with you both!" as he dashes out the door the same way he came in, the bell chiming at his departure.
Wolfwood exhales loudly, feeling just as exhausted, if not more so, than when they first arrived. He chances a look at Vash, who is trying to sponge up the remnants of sticky syrup from his plate with what looks to be his last bite of pancake. He looks like he's on cloud nine, a goofy genuine smile plastered on his face. He must feel Wolfwood's staring, as he looks up to meet Wolfwood's own tired expression.
"That was real nice of you, y'know," he says sweetly, probably trying to defuse Wolfwood's annoyed mood. "They're really gonna appreciate it, that couple. You're joining them on one of the best days of their lives." Wolfwood wants to scoff at that, but Vash looks uncharacteristically serious.
Wolfwood tries to wave down their waitress to pay their tab so that they can get out of here, the room beginning to feel a lot smaller. "Dunno, Spikes. Doesn't feel like that big a deal, funerals seem like a more important affair, n' all"
Vash looks utterly scandalized at that, hand to his chest, fingertips pressing into the red leather of his duster. "Officiating a wedding doesn't 'feel like a big deal'? The eternal union between two people seems small to you, Wolfwood?" He leans over the table now, grabbing at one of Wolfwood's hands. Wolfwood practically burns at the contact, Vash being more handsy lately than ever before as Vash prattles on.
"You're the overseer of two peoples promise to love each other, for now and forever, through sickness and in health, til' death do they part, and that feels like no big deal to you? I don't believe that for a second." He says, gripping his hand tightly. "They'll appreciate it more than you know, I promise."
Wolfwood isn't sure if that's true, really. Doesn't know if he can preside over something like a ceremony of something like eternal union when he's not sure that he's ever really experienced love himself. He still hasn't fessed up that the reason he's so apprehensive about the whole thing is that he's never actually officiated a wedding, doesn't know which way to puzzle together the verses from the Bible in a way that expresses adoration and devotion, instead of death and departing.
The task suddenly feels immense, a rock forming in his throat at the thought of tying two people together in life, not sending someone off alone in death. It can't be that hard, he tells himself. There's surely a passage or two he can pull from, put together some sort of sermon with that speaks of unity, not sorrow and loss.
And on top of that, it's not like he's ever been to a wedding. Hasn't ever really thought about weddings- knew early at some small age that something like that wasn't in his future, wouldn't ever be, so why bother to think about it at all…
At some point, Wolfwood realizes Vash has let go of his hand, and there's a check on the table that Vash has already snatched up. He's digging through his coin pouch, no doubt trying to cover the bill for both of them, despite both of them knowing that he doesn't have a lot of funds at the moment.
It's another one of those gestures that makes Wolfwood's heart ache, the small ways in which Vash always manages to show how much he cares. He's gotten used to fighting back against it less these days.
It's easier to let Vash care about him than it is to convince him otherwise, anyways.
Exiting the diner, Wolfwood squints through his sunglasses at the bright light bouncing off the worn woods of the nearby shops, the twin suns beaming down. It's a clear blue sky today, endless.
The weight of what he was volunteered for starting to sink in, and he kind of wants to be alone, at least for a little while. It's too early to drink, and if he wants to go drink, Vash will want to come with him. Maybe he can try to split off under the guise of errands, or…
Wolfwood is wracking his brain for what to do when Vash claps a strong hand on his shoulder, grip gentle. He looks happy, still riding the high of pancakes for lunch and Wolfwood offering (or rather, accepting) to perform a good deed.
"Where ya' feel like goin'? We can check in at the motel, drop off the gear and rest? Or wander around town for a bit, hit up the bar?"
Wolfwood hums noncommittally in response, trying to figure out what he wants, how to say he wants to be alone, needs to be alone. His free hand is twitching at his side for a cigarette, has been since they were cornered by that old man, and having some quiet time is feeling more and more necessary by the second. Vash's hand is still resting on his shoulder, a lifeline.
"I can check in for us, if you want. Take your things up for you." He says, nodding at Wolfwood's breast pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, adding, "You're probably running low on those, huh? I swear that I saw a shop on the way in that had an ad for them in the window…"
There he goes again, giving Wolfwood an out. Too nice for his own good, but at least this time it's harmless. Usually Wolfwood would be hesitant to leave Vash to his own devices in a new town, but at he knows that Vash is somewhat familiar with the area.
If he wants Wolfwood to take the bait, then who is he to say no?
He shifts out from under Vash's hand, shrugging off Punisher and slinging her gently towards him. "S'fine with me. You can carry her up, but don't drop her-"
"Like last time, I know, I know," Vash whines, effortlessly swinging the giant cross onto his back. "That was an accident, and you know it." He quips at him, knows that Wolfwood is all bark, no bite right now. "I'll see you back at the motel later? You remember where it is?"
"Yeah, I remember," he mutters. The town is pretty much a glorified main strip, with all the more important businesses perched up next to one another. "Not much to get lost in around here, y'know?"
Vash screws his face up in response, adjusting the weight of the Punisher's strap digging into his shoulder. "Just don't want you gettin' lost on me," he says, turning those blue eyes back on Wolfwood, crinkled at the edges with sincerity. "Promise you won't go getting into any trouble?"
"That's real rich comin' from you, y'know that?" Wolfwood replies, trying to keep his voice neutral. Vash can take a dig or two, but Wolfwood's always careful to keep any real malice from sneaking in, doesn't want to blur the lines too much between being cold and joking around.
"Yeah, but I can still worry about you, can't I?" He turns to leave without giving Wolfwood any time to answer, waving goodbye as he walks. "See ya' later, don't spend too much in one place."
Wolfwood watches him disappear into the crowd, a weird feeling in his chest at seeing the outline of the Punisher resting easily on Vash's frame, his gait unchanged as if the burden he had saddled himself with were weightless.
The view from the bench could have been called romantic if Wolfwood wasn't by himself.
The twin suns were beginning their descent behind one of the taller buildings on the main strip, basking the little plaza of cracked stone tiles that Wolfwood found himself in with deep purple-blue shadows, and a soft orange filter as they begin to set.
His outing had been decently successful; after a little searching, he found the store that carried his cigarettes. Vash had been right, the shop they passed earlier did have them. It's tough to find his favorite brand from town to town, so it's a simple blessing. Paired with the cheap but surprisingly good bowl of noodles he picked up later for dinner, he was starting to feel a little more content, accepting of his fate tomorrow.
He's done well enough with distraction, has idly picked and pulled apart at his heartstrings while wandering around, killing time. The slight shake in his hands began to dissipate with the first cigarette, but the nerves were still there.
Officiating a wedding.
Wolfwood didn't belong at an occasion like a wedding. Funerals were more familiar, much easier to pretend to know what he was doing. Funerals come after death, and Wolfwood's far more familiar with death than he wants to be. Death is easy like that- last rites are too, he thinks. Baptisms are fewer and far between, but quick and easy to talk his way through, sprinkle a little water, and done. But a wedding?
He can't even fathom what it must be like to love and be loved enough to tie himself to another person, to have another person want to tie themselves to him. To be wanted not just now, but wanted forever, enough to promise it in front of friends and family.
Wolfwood doesn't even have any family, not really.
The more he thinks about it, the further away and more abstract it feels. It feels impossible for someone like him. Nicholas, Nico, may have had a chance at getting married or something close to it, but Wolfwood the Punisher…
He exhales a tendril of smoke and leans back further into the bench, letting the harsh angle dig into his back.
He pulls at the thread a little more, thinks he's unraveling something like jealousy, or maybe fear. It's not right that someone like him is allowed to want something so normal, so out of his reach. Some people get what they want in life, and Wolfwood has long made his peace that he's not one of them.
What he's got now with Vash is enough, anyways. That there's at least one person who cares about him, someone who makes sure he eats, makes sure he's alright. Doesn't kick him when he's down, doesn't ask the wrong questions. The casual skin-ship is enough to fill the gaping emptiness he feels in his chest sometimes- the small brush of hands, Vash's arms looped around his waist on the motorcycle, tighter than they need to be. It makes him feel insatiable at times, a feeling he tries to crumple up and shove down, to want to be closer…
It's enough right now. It doesn't need to be anything more than this.
The second sun is almost a whisper, just a sliver as it goes. The streetlamps planted few and far between light his short walk back to the motel. He should head back now anyways; he has a sermon of undying love to write, and he doesn't want Vash to worry, not more than he already does.
Finding their motel room is easy enough once Wolfwood describes Vash's standout appearance to the young woman at the front desk. Wolfwood knocks twice then once more after a pause, a signal they use to let the other know it's just them.
Vash opens the door just a crack until he spies Wolfwood, before swinging it all the way open with flourish. "You're back!" he says happily, and from the wide grin on his face, he isn't faking his enthusiasm.
"It was getting late, I was starting to get worried," he says, padding his way back to one of the beds where it looks like he had been camped out for the past while. He flops back down, the springs of the mattress creaking noisily while he reaches for a small container precariously close to falling from the bed.
"Whatcha got there?" Wolfwood asks, nodding at the little box in Vash's hands as he lazily kicks off his shoes.
He's already taking a bite of whatever sweet treat it is, something messy if the stray frosting on Vash's face was of any indication. His tongue darts out to clean off a bit by his lip before responding, and Wolfwood suddenly finds the drooping fan overhead to be a lot more visually interesting.
"Cake," he says proudly, holding the box out for Wolfwood to see the remnants of a yellow cake and what's left of white frosting. "Picked it up after all the wedding talk earlier after we split off."
"Ain't that pretty expensive?" Wolfwood replies, trying to be somewhat conscious of what funds- he knows it can't be much after getting a room for the night.
"Naww, well- Sort of?" Vash says airily, licking his fork. "Won some extra double dollars at pool earlier, covered the room and picked up some lunch with it. And the cake," he adds on, shoveling up another bite.
Wolfwood looks around at said room for the night; two twin beds, a little on the shorter side, length wise. A single flimsy table between them with a lamp emitting a yellowed glow. The shade atop looks like it could have been white at one time, now clung to with dust and tobacco smoke.
A small window sits to the right side of the room, the side with the bed Vash has claimed. There's a chair pulled up to the side of it, and Wolfwood tries to put away the thought that Vash could have been looking out for his return.
He shucks off his jacket, shakes it out a bit as he flings it over the back of the other chair still sat at the little table in the opposite corner, eyeing a larger box that's seen better days sitting atop it.
"s'that? More snacks?" He jokes, toying with one of the latches on the front. Whatever it is, it's not snacks- he knows that much. The box looks too ornate and stands out against the plainness of the room in it's elegance.
"Mmm, that? No, that's the bible that old guy dropped off at the front desk earlier, the one you asked for at the diner." Vash says, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Should be, at least. I haven't tried opening it."
Wolfwood pulls out the chair and sits down heavily, the heat of the suns and all the walking today suddenly making his limbs feel like molasses. He lifts up the box- heavier than expected but still fragile feeling, and flips open the two slightly rusted spring latches.
Vash sits up from where he's lounging, curious, eyes carefully watching Wolfwood slowly open the lid of the box.
The interior is lined in aged and peeling pinkish velvet, probably once a deep red. Atop the once ceremonious looking padding is a large, well-worn bible, and a slightly yellowed bundle of what looks like… gauze?
"Well?" Vash questions, as if he can hardly wait. "Is it the right kind? Will it work for writing what you'll need tomorrow?"
Wolfwood squints at the items before him, lifting up the Bible and setting it carefully on the table. He thumbs through it quickly; the text is small and a stale scent kicks up with the turn of each page, but what's inside looks familiar enough. This should work to throw together some kind of sermon.
"Yeah, they did. Sorta familiar with this version, too." He replies, lifting it up carefully so Vash could see from across the room. He's careful, can feel the bindings trying to separate from the cover; it's definitely on the older side, and Wolfwood feels a little weird about being trusted with something that clearly seems so precious. He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to choke down the nerves that threaten to spill out.
"Oh," he says, picking up the bundle of gauzy material to show Vash. "This was in here too, dunno what it is, though. Probably for wrapping this thing," he guesses, gesturing at the book laid on the table.
Vash's eyes widen as he observes the fabric in Wolfwood's hands, realization settling in over his features. "Oh, that's not what that is! Give it here," he says, holding out his hands excitedly.
Wolfwood is never one to deny Vash, could tell him, 'Come and get it yourself,' - an easy shot to take, with Vash looking so comfortable. He's already showered, dressed in his night clothes. He looks too soft around the edges right now, and something about it makes Wolfwood want to bother him.
Instead, he's pulled along by an invisible thread, over to Vash's bed. He hands over the fabric to Vash, who handles it just as gently as Wolfwood had.
"This isn't packing material, it's a veil." He says simply, blue eyes sparkling as he looks up at Wolfwood.
Clearly it must be something kind of special, Wolfwood thinks, but it's not ringing any bells for him. "And it's for…?"
Vash pats the bed, urging Wolfwood to sit down and stop his hovering. He accepts the offer wordlessly, sitting a little bit further than where Vash had gestured. Not too close, just enough.
"Wellll," Vash starts, cake forgotten. "When a couple are getting married, the bride will usually wear a veil when she meets her husband-to-be at the alter," he explains, turning the aged fabric over in his hands carefully. Wolfwood notices now the two small metal clips on either side towards one end, and the near invisible stitched lace trim around the border of the material.
"Huh," Wolfwood makes a noise, puzzled. "Why would it be in the box with the Bible? Do people share em'?"
Vash shrugs, still looking over the piece in awe. "Sharing sounds right, this kind of thing is pretty expensive, even back then. A lot of brides have probably worn this veil over the years," he ponders quietly.
Wolfwood leans back on his elbows, mimicking Vash earlier. He should be getting up, trying to string together some parts of the scripture that sound even a little romantic. Instead he's fixated on how Vash looks in warmth of the low-light, strong arms exposed in his tank top. It makes for a strange picture that Wolfwood can't look away from- Vash in all his scared glory, holding this delicate piece of fabric like it's going to fall apart in his hands.
"I still don't get it," Wolfwood says, hoping the warmth on his face can't be seen by Vash in the dim light of the room. It's nothing to be embarrassed over, but the conversation feels oddly personal. "Wouldn't it be hard to see through? And stay on while walking down the aisle? I don't see the point."
Wolfwood wouldn't know anyways. It's not like he's been to any weddings.
Vash has probably been to a lot of weddings, he thinks. Might have had one of his own in one of his 150 years alive- there's still so much to know about him, so who knows? Wolfwood shoves down the thought, tries to shake it from his mind. No, that wouldn't make any sense, not for someone like Vash.
Vash leans forward, inching closer to Wolfwood as if sensing his thoughts, and proceeds to gently unfold the rest of the veil.
"There's an appeal to it", he sighs. "It's actually pretty romantic, really… veils are more common than wedding dresses, y'know? With dresses bein' expensive and all. And a veil fits anyone," he says, looking Wolfwood in the eye like he just made a joke that only Vash himself is in on.
Wolfwood swallows, gaze unbreaking. "I still don't really get what's so romantic about it," he says, but it comes out small. Petulant. He suddenly feels even more out of his element, much like earlier. It's not like someone with this much blood on their hands could possibly know about things like this, matters of the heart. Traditions passed down from family- nothing soft and white and pure, nothing like this veil would symbolize
Shame burns him from the inside out. "I don't really understand the point of weddings, anyways," He confesses, trying to backpedal out of this conversation. Vash looks oddly hurt at his admission, eyebrows knitting together just slightly, leaving Wolfwood to try and change gear again pathetically with a rushed, "-but I could see why other people do."
Vash smiles at that, seemingly satisfied- the smile he makes when he's ready to tease, one that Wolfwood has been on the receiving end of dozens of times since they've begun traveling together. "That so?"
"You know what I mean," Wolfwood says, batting him on the arm. He had forgotten Vash's undressed state, wires temporarily circuiting at the feeling of his hand touching warm scarred skin. "It's different, what other people have. But I can see why someone would want to…"
The words 'get married' are stuck in his mouth, but Vash spares him a little mercy. He doesn't make fun of him, much to Wolfwood's relief. His gentle reply knocks Wolfwood off kilter, though; a quiet "You'd probably see why, one day."
Wolfwood thinks he might be burning alive, the way his skin feels hot and everything feels too warm and cloying. He's in just his button down and pants- socks and coat forgotten, but now he's wishing he was down at least one more layer. He needs to change the subject, needs to get to back to that stupid Bible so he can distract himself with Psalms and verses he doesn't care about, write the stupid sermon he didn't want to in the first place, and put this whole thing behind him.
Instead, he's stuck- the thought of hurriedly ending their conversation feels like the wrong thing to do, for some reason. He can't stop staring at the way Vash's hands hold the veil with such care. "I don't even know how it'd stay put," he tries, mouth dry. "Looks too… flimsy."
He finds it's the wrong answer when he sees Vash's thoughtful expression in response, eyes soft. He reaches out to Wolfwood's wrist, circling it and bringing it to the white fabric spread out over his lap and spilling onto the bed. The thin silk fibers catch a bit on Wolfwood's callouses as Vash guides his fingers over the fabric.
"It's studier than it looks," he says quietly, letting go of Wolfwood's wrist. The warmth of his touch lingers. Vash looks at him, not a trace of humor, expression open and sincere. "I can show you how to put it on."
Wolfwood's voice is nowhere to be found as he's unable to look away from the man before him, the veil gathered gently in his hands. He doesn't know what to do, something about the moment seemingly fragile, like going along with it is the only choice he has. All he can do is bring himself to let Vash do what he may, regretting it already.
He feels the bed shift and creak as Vash shuffles behind where he's lounged, feels his mechanical hand guide him to sit upright just a little more, fingers pressing into his back. The chill of the metal is just barely noticeable through his shirt. He feels the bed dip a bit again; hears the rustling of fabric and the whisper soft brush of it, and then the room is shrouded in a soft filter, like smoke.
The sensations that envelop him are bordering on too intense - a powdery scent clings to the veil that's masking his vision, reminding him of the prettily decorated girls that he's met in some of the nicer bars. Despite covering his face, it doesn't feel heavy at all, airy. Through the veil he can see vague outlines of the contents of their room- everything in a haze, the lamplight glow illuminating the room just enough.
Something about having his senses narrowed to just this thin adornment makes it feel like they're the only two people here- the only two people in this town. It's an odd feeling, one that feels safe but still fills him with hesitation, like this sort of closeness isn't what he deserves.
Vash's fingers work in a far too practiced motion as he carefully moves the small comb-like pin up and then down, the tug of it in Wolfwood's short hair enough to make him tense. His hands move to the other side, repeating the motion before he presses the clip gently against Wolfwood's scalp, the patch right over his ear as he secures it.
Wolfwood's heart hammers in his chest as he tries and fails to steady his breathing, wary of how his breaths make the veil flutter imperceptibly. Vash's careful touch brushes past his jaw and a shiver runs down his spine at the feeling.
"Have you done this before or something?" Wolfwood questions. It comes out smaller than he meant it to be, less challenging and more shy. He feels the mattress groan as Vash moves to climb off the bed, busying himself with straightening the veil, his hands back in Wolfwood's hair as if this is the most important thing in the world to him. Wolfwood is still looking down, can see the fuzzy outlines of Vash's legs through the delicate fabric.
"Mm, a time or two, yeah," he answers languidly. "Back on the ship a handful of folks had gotten married over the years." His voice has that aching fondness that creeps in when Vash talks about his makeshift family, when he talks about home.
His hands stop their fussing with the veil, the quiet sounds of the rustling fabric coming to stop. Wolfwood tries not to jump when he feels Vash's hand, one running hot and the other cool to the touch gently thumb at the back of his jaw before lifting away.
He hears Vash's lips part, a momentary pause before he says, "Look up for me?"
And Wolfwood does, would do anything Vash asks of him, has done anything Vash asked of him from the moment they met. This feels more difficult, a sudden wave of nerves spreading throughout his body. He's not scared, not afraid, it's something else entirely, his heart hammering away and blood pulsing.
He wills himself to look up, the veil shifting to rest gracefully over his nose, his cheekbones, as he looks up at Vash through the thin material. It's impossibly light, but even so, Wolfwood's movements cause the pins fastening it to him to shift, reminding him that it's still there.
Looking up at Vash, it's like the version of him that Wolfwood has seen in his dreams, haloed by the soft glow of the lamp. His eyes take a second to focus, blinking away a blurriness that found its way to his eyes. The way that Vash is looking at him is piercing, pure adoration, and Wolfwood can feel his breath catch under the intensity.
It's overwhelming, and in the moment he doesn't know if he's ever felt this way before, has ever felt so unsure and and felt so safe at once. Vash tilts his head a little, eyes flashing in amusement, as if he's got Wolfwood right where he wants him.
This is ridiculous, Vash probably thinks he looks ridiculous- suddenly flustered, Wolfwood reaches up to try to remove the veil, pins be damned, but his wrists are caught firmly in Vash's grip.
"Wolfwood," he says it too kindly, like he cares. Wolfwood knows he cares. "I'll get it for you, hang on."
But Vash doesn't bring his hands to the pins, instead reaching down to the soft trim of the veil, and lifts it gently up and over Wolfwood's head.
Wolfwood's vision now clear once more, he stares up at Vash dumbly. His blonde hair is still slightly damp, tufts of his bangs falling over his forehead- Wolfwood can't help but think about how young he looks right now, not at all the kind of man who's traveled all over for a century and a half. He's brought out of his thoughts when Vash laughs softly, and Wolfwood has a feeling it's not at his expense.
His heart swells at the sound, feels like a dam fit to burst when Vash sits back down next to him on the bed and gives him that puppy dog stare he does when he thinks he's being cute. He swears he doesn't do it on purpose.
Wolfwood thinks he does.
Vash leans in more, a hand on Wolfwood's thigh, an innocent gesture that he's done many times that feels all too intimate right now, given the circumstances.
"Do ya' get it now?" He asks, tilting his head in mild amusement as he reaches up to move some of the bunched up fabric on Wolfwood's shoulder. He's sporting a blush of his own, like can't take his eyes off Wolfwood. "It's about the anticipation, in a way."
Wolfwood squirms a bit, tries to look less awkward than he feels, knows Vash can tell anyways. It's a lost cause with him, it always is.
"Yeah," his voice cracks as he says it, makes him feel small. "I guess so."
The hand resting on Wolfwood's thigh finds its way to his hip, rucking up the tail of his shirt to find soft warm skin.
Wolfwood dares to look up and oh, he's so close- close enough that he can feel the small puff of Vash's exhale fan across his face as he settles.
"And after the veil is lifted," he says quietly, other hand brushing against the veil tucked neatly over Wolfwood's shoulder, "the groom would kiss the bride, and her veil would stay back for the rest of the night."
Wolfwood flushes at the statement, can feel hot tears trying to pool from the corners of his eyes. It's too much- Vash is too close, how he's touching Wolfwood feels far too kind, too affectionate, almost like he means it. It's stupid to feel this way, he thinks, when they're just playing around. Vash probably thinks he looks like an idiot, a fool-
"You really do look pretty like this," Vash says softly, and Wolfwood feels like he could collapse inwards at how his heart picks up, how the heat the pulses through his veins. He should fight back, say something, anything to make Vash cut it out, he simply doesn't know if his heart can take anymore teasing.
He feels one of Vash's hands move up towards his jaw, and he mourns the thought of Vash removing the veil from him now, of him breaking the spell wound between them.
Instead, he feels those long fingers thread through his hair, pulling Wolfwood closer, tilting his head just so. Surely this has gone on long enough, a joke far too played out; any second now, this stretch of a dream that Wolfwood has found himself in is going to end, and-
The way Vash kisses him is all too gentle, so much softer than he ever imagined all those times before he went to sleep. Wolfwood feels like he can't breathe; it's so chaste, only a press of the lips, but his heart is working overtime to keep up.
But something within him snaps, and suddenly his walls are down- eyes fluttering closed as he loses himself in the sensation, tries to convince himself that this means something to Vash, too. He feels him try to thread his fingers through the short hairs near the base of his neck and shivers before he can stop it, think better of it.
Right as he thinks "Fuck it," finally working up the nerve to try to tilt his head just a little more, part his lips just a little more and see if Vash takes the bait, can figure out exactly what he wants, Vash is already pulling away.
"Like that", he says, smiling at Wolfwood the way he did earlier while eating his slice of cake. His lips have a tiny sheen from where he licked them, and it takes everything in Wolfwood not to stare, not to lean back in.
"Yeah," he says, composure slowly breaking apart. Anything he can think of feels like it would be a stupid choice to say in response to… whatever just happened. A joke, a demonstration- Wolfwood both wants to know and doesn't want to know what this was to Vash, anyways. What he does know is that he doesn't want this dream to be over, if he's in one.
Something about the kiss made it feel like Vash meant it, this time. Like it wasn't a mindless touch, even if he was just "demonstrating", as if knowing any of this would help him cobble together a better sermon.
A flash of embarrassment comes over him again, his eyes feel hot and threaten to spill with tears at the corners, the way the springs of the mattress beneath him begin to dig into his back uncomfortably reminding him that he's not dreaming, that this is reality.
"I should shower," he says, looking for an out as he moves to sit himself up. Vash's hand finds his wrist in a flash, blue eyes frantic with worry. His brow unfurrows when he realizes Wolfwood isn't pulling away, relieved.
It's always a funny thing to watch Vash school his features into something more trained, but it's got a certain charm to it when he's out of his usual wear, hair still damp, his sleep shirt worn thin and with a hole here and there. He looks into Wolfwood's eyes, almost pleading.
"Without me?" He asks pitifully, trying his best to pout. This guy… It's a goofy display, but Vash always seems to know when to lighten the mood, like can see the worries that weigh upon Wolfwood, no matter how small.
"You showered earlier, idiot." Wolfwood replies, knocking his shoulder into Vash's playfully, trying to fall into the easy atmosphere that Vash has tried to create. "'sides, not enough space, and the water meter…" He trails off. It's a weak attempt to get Vash to back down, but it works. Wolfwood isn't sure if his heart could take much more, anyways.
"Okay…" Vash acquiesces. "But let me get this for you first?" He asks warmly, nodding his head at the veil still perched upon Wolfwood. He doesn't wait for an answer, sitting upright himself and gently unclasping the pins from his dark hair, the pressure gentle against his scalp with a small click as they release their hold.
The small amount of weight is lifted, and just like that, the moment is broken. He looks to Vash, seeking something that not even he knows, and finds that the soft way he looks at Wolfwood just moments ago is unchanged. The way he looks at him didn't disappear with the veil, didn't end with this little lesson in tradition…
Vash holds the veil in his hands like it could fall apart from just a touch, like it's something sacred, more careful than before. "I'll put this back away," he says quietly. "They'll probably want it for tomorrow, an' all…"
Wolfwood nods, finally pushing himself off the bed. He has a lot to do, after all. Shower, try to shave some of the stubble coming in- he wants to at least try to look presentable for such an occasion, after all. And then of course writing the sermon itself…
There's a lightness to the thought of it now, though. Like thinking that maybe something as normal as this could be within his reach, tangible; not in some other lifetime, but maybe this one…
As he gathers his things to go shower, he glances back at Vash, still gingerly holding onto the veil, seemingly lost in thought. It's an odd sight; his scarred body holding something so delicate and fragile, something with so much meaning- but at the same time, it looks natural, like he's always been meant to live in a reality that's kinder to him.
Maybe the both of them could have something like this in their lifetime, after all.
It's what Wolfwood thinks of while he rinses the grime out of his hair under lukewarm water, replacing the days sweat with scent of Vash's soap he left out for him to use. It's what he thinks of when he thumbs through the thin pages of the Bible, listening to Vash's soft snore, his form curled up and warm in the glow of the lamp.
It's what Wolfwood thinks of when he curls up behind Vash in the too-small bed that they don't need to share, but he knows Vash won't complain come morning.
It's what Wolfwood thinks of when he's behind the pulpit, hastily scrawled notes before him, as he speaks words of unity and love to the couple before him, when he locks eyes with Vash sitting in the farthest row.
There's a chance that they could both have something good for once.