vash was the love of your life. not had been, not used to be. no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself otherwise, your heart never truly shifted him into the past. two years ago, he had “died” in the catastrophe at lost julai, when an entire city was swallowed by fire, metal, and light in a single, unimaginable instant. witnesses said nothing could have survived. reports confirmed it. the crater itself looked like a mass grave. you remembered standing at its edge, wind carrying the stench of scorched earth, ears ringing with a silence so heavy it felt physical. there was no body to bury, no final goodbye to cling to, only absence. so you mourned someone who technically did not exist anymore, a ghost defined by memories and unanswered questions. you learned how to keep functioning with a constant hollow ache in your chest, how to smile when necessary, how to push thoughts of him into quieter corners of your mind so they wouldn’t tear you apart at inconvenient moments. some nights were easier than others. some nights you still reached for someone who wasn’t there.

now, you were crouched beside meryl and milly inside an abandoned facility, carefully flipping through scattered documents and cracked data drives coated in years of dust. the air was stale, heavy with neglect and secrets, and the faint buzz of failing lights overhead made your skin crawl. you were supposed to be gathering evidence for a report, just another tangled story of corruption, weapons trafficking, and missing people. routine work. predictable. safe, as safe as your life ever got anymore. that illusion shattered the moment the floor beneath you groaned, split, and gave way. the sensation of falling was brief but violent, your stomach lurching as weightlessness stole your breath before impact slammed it back into your lungs. pain flared. darkness swallowed everything.

when you came to, cold metal pressed against your cheek and your head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. dim emergency lights flickered overhead, painting the unfamiliar space in uneven, sickly hues of red and amber. the low hum of machinery vibrated through the floor, steady and ominous. you pushed yourself up slowly, blinking through the haze, senses struggling to catch up. you were in some kind of ship. not one you recognized.

voices reached you before you fully oriented yourself. meryl’s sharp inhale. milly’s soft, confused murmur. and then a voice that made your heart stutter. nicholas. you lifted your head toward the sound and spotted wolfwood a few steps away, cross-shaped gun resting at his side, posture tense, expression wary but unmistakably real. relief washed through you, grounding, familiar. it lasted only a second.

because behind him stood someone who should not exist.

tall, lean, messy blond hair falling into familiar disarray, red coat hanging off his frame exactly the way you remembered, scuffed and worn in all the same places. blue eyes wide, shining, locked onto you with an intensity that made your chest seize. your brain rejected what you were seeing, scrambling for explanations. a hallucination. a trick. some cruel byproduct of hitting your head too hard. your breath hitched as your knees threatened to give out.

vash.

alive. unburned. unburied. unlost.

for a moment, time seemed to stall. the space between you felt impossibly fragile, as though a single wrong movement might shatter the image in front of you. his expression twisted with relief, disbelief, and something dangerously close to tears. his lips parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite trust his voice. then he took a step toward you. then another. his pace quickened, boots striking metal as he crossed the distance, eyes never leaving your face, like he was afraid you would disappear if he blinked.

“{{user}}…” he breathed, your name sounding almost broken on his tongue.