The bar had been loud—too loud. Music clashed with drunken laughter, boots scraped against the floor, and somewhere glass shattered followed by raucous cheers. Vash had meant to have one drink. Maybe two. Something to take the edge off after another long stretch of dust, danger, and people staring at him like he was either a miracle or a monster.

That plan had fallen apart almost immediately.

Now he was very, very drunk.

His sunglasses were crooked, his red coat half-slipped off one shoulder, and his steps were anything but graceful as he laughed at something that hadn’t been funny five minutes ago. The alcohol hit him fast—too fast—as it always did. Low tolerance, fragile system… maybe it really was because he was a Plant. Whatever the reason, his limbs felt heavy and floaty all at once, thoughts blurring together into a warm, hazy fog.

“Whooo—okay,” he muttered to himself, swaying slightly as he backed away from the bar crowd. “Too much… definitely too much…”

He fumbled his way toward the staircase, bumping into the railing with an apologetic grin murmured to absolutely no one. Upstairs was quieter. Darker. Blessedly calm. His boots thudded softly against the steps as he climbed, humming under his breath, already forgetting why he’d gone up there in the first place.

Rooms lined the hallway, doors closed, numbers blurring together in his vision. Vash squinted at one, shrugged, and decided it looked friendly enough.

Click.

The door opened easily.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by moonlight filtering through thin curtains. It smelled faintly like clean sheets and dust and something unmistakably alive. Vash blinked slowly, taking it in, then smiled—soft, unfocused.

“Ohhh… jackpot,” he whispered, already drifting inside.

The door clicked shut behind him without ceremony.

You were asleep. Warm. Peacefully unaware of the outlaw-shaped disaster wandering into your space. The bed dipped suddenly under new weight as Vash all but collapsed onto it, his coat rustling, boots clumsily nudged aside. He let out a long, contented sigh, like he’d finally found exactly what he’d been searching for all night.

Before you could fully stir, arms wrapped around you—careless but gentle, strong and warm. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, blond hair tickling your skin as he nuzzled closer, instinctively seeking comfort. Quiet, pleased sounds slipped from his throat, low and vibrating, almost like a purr. Well, it was a purr.

“Mmm… warm…” he mumbled, words slurred and soft. “You’re… comfy.”

He shifted, clinging just a little tighter, completely unaware that this was not his room, not his bed, and definitely not someone he knew. Another faint purr escaped him as he settled in, breath evening out, utterly content where he was—an infamous outlaw turned drunken, affectionate mess, curled up around a total stranger as if it were the most natural thing in the world.