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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
__________
Wolfwood. Couch. Vash. Therapist mode. It all happened in a flash. After Wolfwood's knees hit the ground, the flaxen individual had haphazardly hauled him to the white sofa stationed in the corner of the apartment, illuminated by the moons luster.
The ghost was still there and would be more of a trepidation to Vash had Wolfwood literally not been bursting into tears. Honestly, the attempted peacemaker was almost in awe at how much fluid was coming out of his eyes.
Maybe that was how the apartment waterlogged the first time, and Wolfwood just didn't want to confess it.
Vash almost wiped his own single tear of pity, what a poor, poor man, to cry so much and not even ask for a crumb of mental support.
"There there," Vash gently cooed, his hand gently rubbing the sobbing man's back. "We can just get you a new one, okay? Deep breaths, friend." The wails get louder. This wasn't working.
Wolfwood's face, now covered by his hands, muffled the cries as he leans back into the couch, squashing Vash's hand against his, surprisingly, very bony spine, and the couch. He withholds a grunt, eye twitching as a severe pain sprouts throughout his fingers. He tries again through clenched teeth.
"Do we maybe wanna talk about why this guitar means so much?" The blond persists bringing to mind everything he had been taught in his classes up to this point.
He uses the appendage not crushed by the ebony-haired wailing guitarist, to attempt at pulling the other free, making little hissing sounds as he did his best to not disturb the distraught individual.
Wolfwood's body suddenly lurches upright, causing Vash to topple to the side as his now free hand catapults into him. His legs kick as he scrambles back upright, manifest with a bewildered expression.
"It... it was just my baby, although it's a long story, well, actually kind of a short one," Wolfwood finally accomplishes to gurgle out. Lord. His face was a mess. Bloated eyes, engorged cheeks, and the tears were just smeared across his face from him constantly putting his head in his hands. Vash thought he'd be more of a pretty crier, but maybe that was just because he was one.
Vash-the-therapists attraction to the man lessened. Just a smidge.
Vash just awkwardly lets his hand hover above the locks of black hair, before what was supposed to be a small comforting little pat turns into a slap across the noggin.
Immediately the sobbing stops, numerous heads turn as Wolfwood begins his tirade.
