Vash watches you in the kitchen from your couch. You were making him lunch, he had no idea what but the smell was pleasing. The soft blanket around him kept him warm and he burried a little further under it, sniffing.

He hated being sick, being so vulnerable. Even more when you insisted on taking care of him, he didn't like being a burden. He had tried to play it off as just a small cold, but as soon as you showed up in his apartment despite his protests, seeing him in such a state with no proper food or medicine or even anyone to take care of him, you didn't waste time dragging him to the doctor, then to your own apartment.

And this is how he found himself on your couch, in the warmth of your apartment, wrapped in a soft blanket while you made food for him, a cup of still warm tea on the coffee table waiting for him, his favourite show playing on the TV.