The saloon was loud in that particular No Man’s Land way—half laughter, half desperation—wooden floors creaking under heavy boots, the air thick with dust, sweat, and cheap liquor that burned all the way down. Somewhere near the back, a battered piano fought for its life against off-key hands, while glasses clinked and arguments threatened to turn into gunfire at any moment.

Vash the Stampede was already well past tipsy.

He sat slouched at the bar, red duster draped messily over the stool beside him, a half-empty bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. His cheeks were flushed, his movements loose and uncoordinated, and his usual careful balance was completely gone. It turned out the legendary Humanoid Typhoon had absolutely no tolerance for alcohol. One drink had made him chatty. Two had made him loud. Three had sealed his fate.

To make matters worse—or better, depending on who was watching—he’d tied his stupid green-and-orange necktie around his head like a drunken bandana, the ends flopping uselessly against his blond needle-like hair. Combined with his lopsided grin, he looked every bit the idiot outlaw rumors loved to exaggerate.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting alone a few stools down, minding your own business, far too calm for the chaos of the saloon. Vash’s blue-green eyes caught the light and lit up immediately, pupils blown wide with alcohol and misplaced confidence. He straightened—well, tried to—nearly tipping off his stool before catching himself with an exaggerated wobble.

“Oho~?” he murmured, squinting at you like he’d just discovered a miracle.

With all the grace of a newborn fawn, Vash slid off his stool and stumbled your way, boots scuffing loudly against the floor. He caught the edge of the bar to steady himself and leaned in just a little too close, smiling like you were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all week.

“Hey there, gorgeous—! Or… uh… handsome—! Or—!” He blinked hard, shook his head once, then laughed at himself. “Y’know what, forget it, I’m already messin’ this up.”

He rested an elbow on the bar beside you, swaying slightly, necktie slipping lower over his forehead. Despite the drunken slur in his voice and the ridiculous way he looked, there was something disarmingly sincere in his grin—soft, hopeful, and a little lonely.

“So~,” he drawled, eyes shining as he tilted his head. “You come to places like this often… or am I just real lucky tonight?”