On Vash's hand, incoherently scribbled in sharpie, was an address.
This party would be his escape. Paper clenched tight in his hands, his eyes scoured the jumbled bodies.
He just needed a new roommate, preferably a lone-wolf.
But boy, did that ge...
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What is life. What kind of fanfiction hits that quick of a make out scene in chapter 3?
With so little plot...?
Well. They did say it wasn't a slow burn, but a fast boil.
He didn't sleep. His eyeballs burned from the consistent staring at the ceiling, arms numb from the sprawled position. His back ached. Everything hurt, especially his brain, which felt like it had a vague fog residing over the layers. Vash was, in other words, incredibly confused and sleep deprived. He almost lost his will to live when he slowly turned to see the sun out the window. It was so disgustingly, horrifically gorgeous. How dare it.
There was some part of Vash that was expecting a phone call from his landlady, suspiciously turning to look at his phone occasionally, which rested menacingly on the hotels nightstand. He would not allow himself to be startled again or to be caught in the same morning situation that he was in a few months ago. It had left him so terribly traumatized. He returned his gaze to the ceiling.
The room felt rather small, with no means for a chair. The corners of the room were peeling, a few spots of mysterious stains darkening the wallpaper. Vash, genuinely, did not want to know. The room was also silent.
Or should've been.
Wolfwood's atrocious beast snoring was sending Vash into an actual frenzy all over again. Maybe, just maybe, his sleep cycle would've hit him easier had the man not literally been summoning dragon roars from his lungs. Seriously, it was so bad it was almost concerning, Vash had contemplated dragging his body and hauling him to the hospital.
No one should snore that badly, but alas, who knew what you'd get with a smoker. Man went through a whole pack of cigs in a day. So anyway, he was still thinking about taking him to the doctor or getting him some therapy at least- either one would get him some better sleep.
Not wanting to spiral any further, Vash decides to do something productive with his morning. Pulling himself up, his tangle of blankets and all, Vash zeroes in on his target. Sweet, sweet revenge will be his. Sleeping on the floor, blissfully unaware of the brewing plot, was Wolfwood, cuddling his guitar like a long-lost lover. Vash almost wished it was him. No, bad Vash. We must stay focused.
Rising from the bed, he carefully makes his way over. Contemplating the still-prone man, before pulling his leg back, blanket and all, and wedging it firmly into the other man's side. Big mistake. The blankets wound around Vash like a boa constrictor, and paired with the imbalance of literally kicking a man, he fell. Oh no. This can't be happening. No. Now laying on top of a rapidly waking Wolfwood, was Vash and his rat's nest of blankets.
