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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They had only just gotten into the apartment, and Wolfwood felt the growing need to extract himself from the situation as fast as humanly possible. Mind reeling, he swiftly steps out onto the balcony. He needed to think- he needed a smoke. He pulls out a cigarette and attempts to light it. It crinkles in his vice-like grip.
He attempts again, and again, but to no avail. The stubborn blunt glowed before spitting back out, sizzling in the weather. That stupid hail. He tosses the still unlit, and very abused, cigarette to the ground with as much disdain as he could humanly muster.
"Damn it!" He cannot deal with this today. He presses his elbows against the rail, the cold metal digging through the sleeves of his jacket and seeping into his skin. He had managed to hold it together in the vehicle, and on the floor by himself- but now everything was becoming too unbearable to hide.
Running a shaking hand through his hair, he gives in to the messy thoughts tangled in his mind. What exactly was last night? Why did he kiss him when everything told him not to? Why did Wolfwood suddenly feel such a heavy weight on his chest? He pauses, takes in a deep breath, and musters the strength to push it back out. He can't even feel the hail pelting down on him anymore.
His mind reels through every moment leading up to this point, all the slip-ups, the awkward tension that lingered at the end of every argument. Every scathing remark. Was it truly loathing that he felt? From Vash, that was without a doubt the truth. Wolfwood could tell how much his roommate despairs at the thought of his awkwardly looming presence. But Wolfwood? Well, maybe he was just playing the part a little too well.
God, why did the situation have to be so difficult? Does he like the guy or not? Wait, like? Like, like-like? When did that become an option? Sure, the blond was attractive, and intriguing, and goofy at times, and maybe exactly Wolfwood's type. His type. Well, fuck.
It suddenly felt as though the weight of the world was crashing down on him. What trick of fate was at play? The thought that he might actually have feelings for the idiot wallowing in the space sitting only one door over was tearing him apart. The months had been too messy, he couldn't tell if the remarks of the man were something he was into or if he was just incredibly bored. Wolfwood takes a shuddering breath. The hail pelting down on him increases as if laughing at his misery. Another breath. His mind, and increasingly numb body, decided it was time to go back inside.
Wolfwood steps through the door, only after entering the house does he realize how chilling it was to be outside for so long. He scans the room. Pauses. Notices Vash typing away at his computer, writing his silly little blog. His gaze lingers, long enough for Vash to glance back with vague curiosity. Did he really like the other, or was the ever-confusing swirl of emotions getting mixed up, blending together into something that wasn't really there? He stares a little longer. He shakes his head. Surely, he wasn't actually interested in whatever hunched gremlin-looking presence sat across the room from him.
Retreating to the bathroom, Wolfwood dramatically drapes himself over the tub. What has his life become, like, actually? To fall for such a Needle-noggined, loud-mouthed idiot blond was beyond him. He stares into space for an indescribable amount of time, losing himself to the faint sound of typing coming from the other room. Wolfwood lets his introspection take over, desperately trying to crack the code. Eventually, the typing stops.
He runs a hand down his face, removing his shades in the process. He laments the loss of distraction, spiraling even deeper in its absence. Only when he begins to find a rhythm to control his thoughts does a noise in the other room seep into his contemplation.
Wolfwood wishes he could remain in his bubble, take more time to assess his situation, but he hears the restless shuffling of couch cushions. The sound replaces the previous ambiance, but the restlessness gives way to an even more downtrodden mood. If only he could just leave it, just let the other sort whatever feelings he was having out on his own. But with the recent revelations that may or may not have happened, he couldn't leave it be. A heavy sigh fills the void of the now completely silent apartment. Wolfwood hefts himself up from his previous position.
He pulls himself together slightly. Tries to clear his mind and prepare himself for what may come. Glancing in the mirror reveals that the mess that he feels within himself has seeped into his physical being. He has no time to care though as he cracks open the door. Steeling himself, he takes a step out, approaching the couch.
Time to do some damage control.
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authors note:
lynn did not write like almost anything of this chapter, it was all kiwi.
( i just did some edits and added a few descriptors ;v; )
the amount of energy focused into this fic is so unhealthy
we should be studying for finals but alas, we be posting 3 chapters in a night
hope you enjoyed the chapter, compliments to kiwi for the dramatics
