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Summary
Soon enough, the bathroom door opened, revealing Vash, his wet hair hanging down by his ears and only a towel around his waist to preserve modesty. Vash scratched at his back with his right hand, his prosthetic left on his bed at the moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that long,” he said offhandedly.Wolfwood pointedly looked to the other side of the room and squashed the jittery feeling in his chest. Vash didn’t usually display his scars and marred skin like this, even to Wolfwood. Only in rushed, tense moments with too much blood and shrapnel and sutures was Wolfwood able to see his scars.God, Wolfwood hated it when he refused to talk about what was bothering him. He shoved an unlit smoke into his mouth and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
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Or, in all the chaos of an outlaw's life, Vash forgets to care for his wings. Wolfwood's here to remedy that.
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