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punisheye · 10 months

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He hasn't spoken to him in sometime. In fact, he's been deliberately avoiding running into him, and he doesn't know if it's obvious, nor does he really care. Does he know that Wolfwood was there, too late? That Wolfwood saw his crumpled up body in the dirt and rubble, the red of his blood blending in with the red of his coat?

It's.

A lot.

Wolfwood's still having trouble looking at his own Vash without being thrown back into that moment where he saw him draw in his last breath, where the feathers burned away, and his body went slack in his arms. That, on top of seeing the body of his friend, still makes him feel a little nauseated.

Death didn't used to nauseate him like this. Maybe he's just not used to it being people he cares about. He could pull the trigger without a second thought and feel nothing afterwards, but his heart would blacken further, and each death brought him further away from God's grace.

But they didn't die because of him. These weren't faceless nobodies, traitors, murderers like him. He didn't pull the trigger this time. And somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders: if he had gotten there sooner, would it have turned out different?

It doesn't really matter, does it? It already happened. There's no way to go back to the past to change any of it.

Wolfwood, sitting on the porch swing, puffs out smoke and stares at his phone screen.

[ text ] Where are you

Maybe he should have led with a "hi, how are you, it's been a while", but whatever.

@blankticket surprise

#blankticket #blankticket 07 #looks at you

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