It was a soft thing, that little joke about needing a guide, and to anyone else, it might have been sand off a grandworm's back. But for Wolfwood, it was his turn to react as if he'd been shot, and he wasn't quite composed enough to hold back the sharp little gasp that it drew out of him.
He pulled into himself, instinctively trying to hide his weakness behind his hands as they moved up to curl around his own mouth, and his face went through a complicated set of emotions; a soft bark of laughter hiccupped in his throat once as his brain registered that Vash was trying to use gentle humor to ease the tension, but the smile that wanted to accompany it was short-lived as it flickered intermittently with a look that was almost stunned shock.
Such a little thing, a gentle reminder of the role he'd had in Vash's life, and given so lightly that the acceptance of it made him feel hollowed out.
That was what Wolfwood was. He was Vash's guide, the one who'd led him to his torture and imprisonment, who'd been the one to show him the way through the trials and trauma that Millions Knives had thrown at him, and he'd known exactly what he was doing. And now, the gently implied forgiveness of those sins and the kindness of asking him to be that again, but in a way that was meant to heal and not hurt, made his nerves feel raw.
How could he possibly deserve that? How could his guilt be so simply swept away and replaced with something so kind? Kindness had been beaten out of him years ago, the Nicholas who had the capacity for it had been killed and replaced with the man standing in Wolfwood's shoes, and there was no bringing him back.
So why, now, did the pain he felt in the moment over such a small, gently playful reminder of his role suddenly feel...freeing? How was it still possible for it to make him so suddenly want nothing more than...just that? To be allowed to be kind, to be allowed to help him heal?
He needed a moment, curled up around himself but still hovering so close to Vash's chest that it was as if he were still clinging without actually holding him, with his tears coming readily now and soft cries hiccupped between them as he stared down at the dark turtleneck under Vash's coat, unable to look him in the eye. But finally, he nodded, and he was able to pull his hands away from his face as he swallowed, his fingers latching onto the thick zipper on the red fabric and fussing it mindlessly beneath the pads of them.
"Mmm...I...I think I can try that. Yeah. Don't think that sounds too hard."
It wanted to sound just as light as the joke had been, trying to deflect the shock it had given him with his own playfulness, but it sounded needy to his own ears, and he couldn't even find the energy to care.
He wants to help, despite himself. Please, let him help. If anything good can come of the sins the Eye forced him to bear, it won't be such a bad thing if it's this.
LOL So you know how we had been talking about how you thought you'd tagged this one? MY TURN! 8D
He pulled into himself, instinctively trying to hide his weakness behind his hands as they moved up to curl around his own mouth, and his face went through a complicated set of emotions; a soft bark of laughter hiccupped in his throat once as his brain registered that Vash was trying to use gentle humor to ease the tension, but the smile that wanted to accompany it was short-lived as it flickered intermittently with a look that was almost stunned shock.
Such a little thing, a gentle reminder of the role he'd had in Vash's life, and given so lightly that the acceptance of it made him feel hollowed out.
That was what Wolfwood was. He was Vash's guide, the one who'd led him to his torture and imprisonment, who'd been the one to show him the way through the trials and trauma that Millions Knives had thrown at him, and he'd known exactly what he was doing. And now, the gently implied forgiveness of those sins and the kindness of asking him to be that again, but in a way that was meant to heal and not hurt, made his nerves feel raw.
How could he possibly deserve that? How could his guilt be so simply swept away and replaced with something so kind? Kindness had been beaten out of him years ago, the Nicholas who had the capacity for it had been killed and replaced with the man standing in Wolfwood's shoes, and there was no bringing him back.
So why, now, did the pain he felt in the moment over such a small, gently playful reminder of his role suddenly feel...freeing? How was it still possible for it to make him so suddenly want nothing more than...just that? To be allowed to be kind, to be allowed to help him heal?
He needed a moment, curled up around himself but still hovering so close to Vash's chest that it was as if he were still clinging without actually holding him, with his tears coming readily now and soft cries hiccupped between them as he stared down at the dark turtleneck under Vash's coat, unable to look him in the eye. But finally, he nodded, and he was able to pull his hands away from his face as he swallowed, his fingers latching onto the thick zipper on the red fabric and fussing it mindlessly beneath the pads of them.
"Mmm...I...I think I can try that. Yeah. Don't think that sounds too hard."
It wanted to sound just as light as the joke had been, trying to deflect the shock it had given him with his own playfulness, but it sounded needy to his own ears, and he couldn't even find the energy to care.
He wants to help, despite himself. Please, let him help. If anything good can come of the sins the Eye forced him to bear, it won't be such a bad thing if it's this.