[It feels...surreal, what's happening right now. Like maybe he could just be imagining it because he drank too much, or something. He's lost track of how much of this bottle he's drained purely on his own, and coupled with Vash, it's not even half full anymore more than likely. He's kindof forgotten it now in the moment, it doesn't really matter anymore, even though he's still sort of loosely gripping the bottle by the neck. And also they're holding hands?? They're holding hands now, that's what they're doing. This isn't a friendly handshake or anything like that, hands are being held and Wolfwood simply does not know what to do with it.
As it turns out, Vash is a bloodhound for someone having an emotion other than him, not that Wolfwood is doing a stellar job of hiding it. Even if he can mask his expression behind his sunglasses, the rest he couldn't even if he wanted to. not with Vash this close. The way his breath shakes, the way his shoulders are sort of hunched like he's trying to curl up into a ball, all of it compounding together into a little miserable cocktail. Not that it's Vash's fault, granted. Wolfwood just doesn't know how to handle it. Didn't know how to handle it with Livio, either.
So imagine the kind of overdrive his already misfiring brain goes into when Vash not only reaches towards him, but touches his face with that cool, metal hand of his. It's a literal shock to his system to feel the firmness there against his cheek, his eyes darting across Vash's face, bewildered. His heart, now lodged firmly in his throat, beats so hard and fast it feels like he's going to choke on it, because now that same hand has found its way into the back of his hair, flashing him with a brief memory of being sprawled in a messy tangle on the inn couch when he was sickeningly high and Vash was trying to help him down from it. There's a whole bunch of guilt and bad feelings he could untangle from how he behaved during all of that, except the part his mind chooses to laser focus on- to remember- is that Vash was petting his hair the whole time. This is not a new thing.
He's not sure how he ends up just...sort of. Collapsing forward into Vash's arms like he does. It happens involuntarily, less by his own force and more by him lacking the strength or the wherewithal to pull away. He's completely stunned by it, and now that he's here, Wolfwood realizes that he couldn't possibly let go even if he tried.
His free hand shaking, a sort of tenuous tremble like he isn't sure if this is okay, he reaches out to place it against the back of Vash's shoulders. And then, as if that simple act is enough to break the dam because he has nothing else to lose at this point, he loses his grip on the whiskey bottle and abandons it in favor of grabbing for him with his other arm too. His hold starts as tentative, barely there resting against the back of his jacket, before he finds himself fisting the material like he had when they fought out in the snow the other night. Wherever the bottle ended up, be it mercifully upright and unspilled, or turned over onto the bed or worse, it doesn't matter to him now.
Wolfwood clutches onto Vash like a lifeline, curling up against the blonde now instead of himself. His jacket is so thick and wide even just on Vash himself that it nearly plunges Wolfwood immediately into darkness when he buries his face against his shoulder, but he doesn't really care. It's clear judging by the way he's breathing that he's still fighting back tears despite no longer really being in a position to pretend he's okay anymore, his shoulders trembling as he holds onto Vash so tightly he's genuinely afraid he might be hurting him.]
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As it turns out, Vash is a bloodhound for someone having an emotion other than him, not that Wolfwood is doing a stellar job of hiding it. Even if he can mask his expression behind his sunglasses, the rest he couldn't even if he wanted to. not with Vash this close. The way his breath shakes, the way his shoulders are sort of hunched like he's trying to curl up into a ball, all of it compounding together into a little miserable cocktail. Not that it's Vash's fault, granted. Wolfwood just doesn't know how to handle it. Didn't know how to handle it with Livio, either.
So imagine the kind of overdrive his already misfiring brain goes into when Vash not only reaches towards him, but touches his face with that cool, metal hand of his. It's a literal shock to his system to feel the firmness there against his cheek, his eyes darting across Vash's face, bewildered. His heart, now lodged firmly in his throat, beats so hard and fast it feels like he's going to choke on it, because now that same hand has found its way into the back of his hair, flashing him with a brief memory of being sprawled in a messy tangle on the inn couch when he was sickeningly high and Vash was trying to help him down from it. There's a whole bunch of guilt and bad feelings he could untangle from how he behaved during all of that, except the part his mind chooses to laser focus on- to remember- is that Vash was petting his hair the whole time. This is not a new thing.
He's not sure how he ends up just...sort of. Collapsing forward into Vash's arms like he does. It happens involuntarily, less by his own force and more by him lacking the strength or the wherewithal to pull away. He's completely stunned by it, and now that he's here, Wolfwood realizes that he couldn't possibly let go even if he tried.
His free hand shaking, a sort of tenuous tremble like he isn't sure if this is okay, he reaches out to place it against the back of Vash's shoulders. And then, as if that simple act is enough to break the dam because he has nothing else to lose at this point, he loses his grip on the whiskey bottle and abandons it in favor of grabbing for him with his other arm too. His hold starts as tentative, barely there resting against the back of his jacket, before he finds himself fisting the material like he had when they fought out in the snow the other night. Wherever the bottle ended up, be it mercifully upright and unspilled, or turned over onto the bed or worse, it doesn't matter to him now.
Wolfwood clutches onto Vash like a lifeline, curling up against the blonde now instead of himself. His jacket is so thick and wide even just on Vash himself that it nearly plunges Wolfwood immediately into darkness when he buries his face against his shoulder, but he doesn't really care. It's clear judging by the way he's breathing that he's still fighting back tears despite no longer really being in a position to pretend he's okay anymore, his shoulders trembling as he holds onto Vash so tightly he's genuinely afraid he might be hurting him.]