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Summary
“Sprawled belly-down, Wolfwood is little more than tousled black hair and flashes of bare skin under largely kicked-off covers. The rhythm of his breathing gently shifts the slope of his back; big inhales and whuffling exhales that Vash teasingly calls snoring when he wants Wolfwood to get all huffy about it, and a miracle in the hushed moments after the day has ended and all there is to do is fall asleep together, chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
That feeling — this sight — the deep-rooted joy it causes — is something Vash got impossibly close to losing. To never experiencing crucial parts of it.
It’s the holiest thing he has.”
Vash and Wolfwood enjoy a late morning of their tomorrows.