How many times has it been? How many tears has he tried not to shed in front of you? Vash's lost count. He fears the day your mortal body may waste away, his plant body living on without his lover.

"Oh..." The blonde man could only mumble as you catch him crying into one of your shirts.

He thinks he looks pathetic, wiping his face with that lost-tech arm. That forced smile came to his lips. He tries to be strong for you, the image of your death just behind those orange-tinted glasses.