( Wolfwood's hands drop, and Vash's own trail after, down over his shoulders and his biceps, tracing the length of his forearms so he can take him gently by the wrists. His pulse is a frantic beat under Vash's touch, and it's that and the confession too that has his mouth twisting. )

I think this place is just a little spooky.

( It's placating, a thin thread of faux cheerfulness in the words. He's not trying to patronise Wolfwood, not really. Something does feel off. He's honed enough senses over the years to know when a place has a bad vibe, and this one definitely has that. But all of it skirts far too close to the things he doesn't like to think about, the fanaticism that dogs his steps, the zealotry that makes a part of him burn with strange revulsion. And it can't be real. It can't.

He runs a thumb over the bone in Wolfwood's wrist, tries not to think about why he does. )

It's a lot, right? All of this. But I wouldn't lead you astray, okay? It's just you and me right now. No gods, just us.