Feels Like The Saddest Song

Vash shivered and pushed his sopping wet hair away from his eyes. His clothes were soaked, sticking to him uncomfortably and making him even colder than he thought he could be. Grey March slush soaked through his shoes.

Vash found Mits in one of the greenhouses, the one with the faulty lock, closest to the lake. He sat slumped against the wall by the door, knees drawn up towards his chest, staring out at the rain. Vash sat down next to him.

“You could be expelled,” the blond admonished. “You gave him a black eye.”

“Good,” Mits mumbled, still glaring through the wall at the rain outside.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not.”

Vash grabbed at Mits’ shirt. “Why,” he asked, “why did you go and hit him?”

“Because,” Mits took Vash’s hand, “it hurt.”

“Then you should have hit me!” Vash pulled away. “I’m the one who hurt you. I’m the one who slept with him. All he did was let me. So if you’re going to hit anyone, hit me.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?!”

Mits was looking at him now, staring right into his eyes and his head and his heart, “Because I love you.”

“Why?!” Vash cried, slamming a fist against the glass pane at his side as the rainwater dripped in little puddles in the dirt. “I lie, I smoke, I drink, I fuck other guys, I treat you like shit, so WHY…” his hand slid across the glass, finding its way to Mits shoulder, up his neck, softly cupping his cheek, “why are you still in love with me?”

Mits pulled Vash flush against him, breathed deep, twined his arms around him as tight as he could. “Because,” he choked out through a sob, “you’re Vash.”

And as the rain pounded against the roof and the wind howled across the lake they kissed, like nothing was wrong, like it had always been. It hurt so much to stay, but to leave would be like dying.

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