Vash insisted on helping with dinner.
Although he had proved himself to be a fair hand at cooking that morning, in Meryl's tiny kitchen he was more of a hindrance than a help. After he had stepped on her toes for the third time she banished him to the edge of the tiling unless specifically called for. He had turned away, head hanging and eyes shining like a kicked dog's. He then swept around as if nothing had happened and leaned against the counter with what she thought was an attempt at an ingratiating smile. She personally had a better impression of a cat just waiting for the chance to strike and cause more trouble.
Turning back to her sauce, spoon in hand, she addressed him. "It's not that I don't appreciate the help, Vash, it's just that this kitchen's a little too small for the both of us."
"That's okay," he answered, "Now you just have to put up with my questions about when everything's going to be ready." Meryl sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, then hid her smile by checking on the spaghetti.
"Just a little longer," she said, turning back to the sauce. She spooned out a small amount and tasted it.
"Can I have some?"
"No, no you may not."
"Please?"
Meryl was suddenly reminded of trying to get little Nicholas to behave on a day when Millie had let him have coffee. "No. I said no, and it's my kitchen, so there." She punctuated this last statement by sticking her tongue out at him over her shoulder. 'Oh, yeah, Meryl, real mature,' she thought. She smiled as she added more oregano, Vash just seemed to bring out the juvenile in her.
"But that's not fair, " he whined.
"Oh yeah?" she challenged, spinning around and brandishing her spoon threateningly, "And just exactly what are you going to do about it?"
Uh oh.
Meryl knew that last jibe had been a bad idea the second she let it go from her mouth. Quicker then her eye could follow he had swept up next to her and gathered her wrists into an tight hold before her chest. Gripping her thusly with one hand, he raised the other and waved the fingers of it at her maddeningly.
"Oh, no," she said, as the defiance in her voice from a moment before was replaced by a whine of near terror. "No, you wouldn't." He paused that way for a moment, hand raised, head cocked, and eyes raised to the ceiling as if he were considering her plea. Meryl's eyes were locked on the hypnotic movements of his free hand.
"Awww," he seemed to relent. "Yep." Meryl squealed and doubled over as he began tickling her midriff. She tried to squirm away from his torturing appendage, but her wrists were still firmly clasped in his other hand. She fought for escape, twisting and bending and pulling until they had managed to switch places entirely in the small space of the kitchen. Sauce from her still held spoon went splattering all over the stove and the sink and the both of them. Vash's laughter mixed with her own uncontrollable giggles as she collapsed her knees in an attempt to lower herself out of his reach. Half hanging from his grasp, tears of mixed laughter and frustration coursed down her cheeks. They were cold against her burning face. Every part of her felt at the moment like it was in flames. In the short hiccoughing breaths she managed between laughter and shrieks of fear, she tried to say something.
"What? What was that?" Vash stopped tickling her for a moment and leaned closer, mockingly, "I can't hear you." Meryl coughed roughly and gasped for breath during this short reprieve.
"Give," she croaked almost inaudibly.
Vash pulled her to her feet and put his hands out to steady her. After she had caught her breath Meryl looked up at him. It was only then that she noticed how closely they were standing. His hands were resting comfortably on her shoulders and his chest rose and fell with still chuckling breaths mere inches from her nose. He was looking down at her with a very mischevious smile. Suddenly, Meryl worried that her ordeal may not quite be over yet. Grinning even farther and with blue eyes flashing he slid his hands down to her waist. She gasped in surprise but didn't even have time to shout out a protest before he had lifted her effortlessly into the air and deposited her upon the kitchen counter.
Meryl blinked. Now their faces were at the same level. She realized that she was still holding onto the cooking spoon. Sitting like this on her counter made her look like she was playing at being a queen, scepter and all. Feeling childish she tossed the utensil into the nearby sink. Vash was still grinning at her like a lunatic. He reached a single finger out towards her. Setting it beneath her chin, he tipped it gently upwards. Meryl's vision swung. Vash's eyes, Vash's hair, the cupboards, the ceiling, the light fixture.
"Vash?" she said somewhat uncomfortably, "What are you-"
Her question was brought to a halt by Vash licking tomato sauce off the underside of her chin. She squeaked and smacked her head backwards into the cupboards causing purple-black stars to explode in front of her eyes. However, it was too late. His move had been too fast and too unexpected to react to. Eyes wide in shock and silent indignation she glared at him. The infamous humanoid typhoon was leaning away from her with a considering look on his face.
"Hmmm." he ruminated, "Not bad." Then, meeting her eyes, he smiled. "Gotcha."
It was then that Meryl noticed something strange. From her position she could see directly into the liquid pools of his eyes. Bright blue began to shift to a muted blue-green right before her, changing his look entirely to one that was at the same time softer and more intense. He was giving her that look again, the unreadable one from this morning. It was the same look, but this time 'grateful' wouldn't have described it at all. That was too simple, too casual a word for the strength of the gaze he was now penetrating her with.
Outside the sky had turned orange and dogs barked at kids rushing hastily by on bikes. The red sauce bubbled contentedly on the stove. Blood pumped furiously through her veins and turned her vision to ochre. The heat from the stove and her exertion had made her lightheaded. The kitchen whirled and twisted and blurred until it seemed that Vash's eyes were the only things stable left in the world. The only things cool, and blue, and real. An oases. Meryl knew that somehow, she had to break that gaze, to dive right through its crystal waters and split the glimmering surface life a knife blade, or else be lost completely to its pull. But, even she couldn't have known what she was going to do next. Leaning forward, feeling for a moment as if she really was going to sink into his eyes, into his very soul, she touched her lips against his.
His lips felt cool against her flushed skin and she felt her own lips tingle at their touch. Meryl couldn't quite describe the sensation. If she had to she would have compared it to the tiny shock one received from licking the positive end of a battery. This close to him she could smell him, his clothes and skin. The scent reminded her vaguely of the cool northern winds that would sweep across the desert in early fall when everyone was still thankful for their fresh caress.
She was disturbed from her reverie by an insistent hissing. Pulling away from him she looked back into his eyes. The strange look was gone and for a moment he appeared fairly comical. His eyes were now a glazed, almost dull, cerulean, and his one delinquent blonde lock had been brushed into a position falling squarely between them. Meryl raised a hand gingerly to her lips. They were still tingling strangely, and the tip of her tongue (which she was quite sure had not been involved at all in the process) felt slightly numb. Confused, she looked around for the source of the hissing noise.
A moment later she slid to the floor with a yelp and ran to rescue the boiling-over spaghetti pot. She turned the heat off and tossed on the lid. 'How long had they been like that?' she thought desperately to herself. 'What the heck were you thinking, anyways? Why not just paint a big red 'SLUT' sign on the front of your shirt? Now that's not quite fair, he started it. Yeah, and you finished it, didn't you?' Meryl squeezed her eyes shut with shame. Steeling herself for the ridiculing she was sure was about to descend, she turned around.
Vash was still standing where she had left him. Only now his eyes had cleared, leaving a goofy look of shock plastered across his face. Blinking several times, he turned his bemused look upon her.
"Supper's ready," she announced. And then with a slightly embarrassed smile, "Gotcha."
Dinner passed with both of them studiously avoiding discussion of their recent "encounter". Vash regaled her with tales of some of the people he'd run into since they'd last been together. The places he'd been, the things he'd done. Over and over Meryl found herself laughing, or crying, or just shaking her head at the near impossible situations he had managed to get himself both into and out of. She also had his manner of eating to entertain her. He ate his spaghetti by slurping it up strand by strand. How he managed it without getting a drop of sauce on him was an absolute mystery. She thought about correcting his bad manners, but decided she was just glad he liked her cooking. Besides, it gave her something other than his eyes to look at. Going that route had not proved a good idea so far that evening.
Afterwards Vash offered to help clean up the dishes, but Meryl waved him off and this time confined him to the living room. Their conversation continued over the light splashing sound of her washing.
"I still just don't get it," she said, shaking her head and not bothering to hide her amazement, "How trouble just seems to follow you around." Vash turned from where he was leaning on the windowsill, gazing out at the violet twilight.
"Did I ever tell you I had a cat?"
Meryl blinked in confusion. "A cat?" she questioned, squinting across the room at him to see if he was being serious.
"Ah huh," he said, wandering over to her pathetically small bookcase, "A black one." He crouched down to see what was on the lower shelves and pitched his voice so that she could still hear him talking. "He wasn't really mine. Actually, I've got no idea who he belonged to, if anyone. But everywhere I went, there he was."
"It was crazy," Vash continued with a wondering shake of his head, "I'd leave him in one town, spend days crossing the desert, and then boom, he'd already be there waiting for me in the next town." Meryl set down the plate she was drying with an incredulous look. Even for Vash, this story seemed a little farfetched. "I began to think that maybe there was more than one cat so I paid closer attention," he continued, "But there wasn't. It was the exact same cat, every single time."
"Vash," she chided, "That's just impossible."
"I know," he replied. He had a strange, serious look on his face. "Then one day I got to thinking, 'Hey, it's a black cat! Maybe that's why I have all this rotten luck, it's always crossing my path!'." Meryl wanted to laugh, surely that couldn't be true, but he seemed so serious about it, so actually concerned, that she refrained. Instead, she steeled her voice to neutrality.
"Whatever happened to it?"
Vash straightened quickly to his full height. He seemed to be studying the items in her bookcase intently. "I don't know." In the growing darkness, he seemed almost sad for a moment. Shadows crept over his face and aligned along his thin, sharp nose. "One day he stopped coming around, or maybe I just stopped seeing him."
Meryl paused in her work. She had heard him use that tone before, when he had spoken of Legato or of his brother. It brought with it a sense of loss, wind rustling through corpse weeds. A lingering sadness that she didn't know how to touch. He reached out a hand, turned silvery white in the failing daylight, and picked up something from the top shelf. He lifted it slowly to his face and blew off the gathered dust. Turning it in his hands, he cocked his head looking at the checkered detailing on the box. Smiling a big, childish smile, he turned startling green eyes upon her and asked jovially, "What's this?"
Behind him, the streetlights came on in an yellow flash. She folded her dish towel and set the last of the plates away. Crossing the room she flicked on a light switch and reached to take the case from him.
"It's a family heirloom of sorts," she explained, turning the box carefully in her hands. It was all wood, a rare commodity here. It had been made before the ships fell, but she thought it would only disturb him to hear its full history. Finding the little metal clasp, she flipped it open. Inside, the case was lined with some soft green fabric and gathered within, each in it's own specially made depression, were the beautiful carved wooden playing pieces. Vash was gazing at it with eyes that fairly glowed with interest. "My grandfather gave it to my dad, and since my brother never showed any interest in it, my dad gave it to me." Kneeling down on the carpeting before the sofa, she began carefully removing the pieces one by one. "It's a game," she explained, waving absently at them, "It's called 'Chess'."
Vash was still standing next to her. She looked up at him, slowly taking in all six plus feet, to find him smiling back down at her.
"I know this game."
"Really?" she replied, impressed, "Most people have never even heard of it." He squatted down next to her, allowing his spindly legs to fold into a comfortably crossed position.
"On the ship," he began, his eyes going vague for a moment as if he was really seeing into the past, "Rem liked to play games." Meryl's heart broke just a little, hearing him say that name with such longing. "This game was there," he reached delicately for one of the pieces shaped like a horse's head, "Except that it was on a computer." He held the cool, soft piece lightly on his palm. Time and care had worn the grain of the piece to a silky smoothness. He tipped it in his palm and light from the overhead lamp glinted off of it. He smiled slowly. "It's beautiful," he said. Abruptly turning his intense green eyes on her he asked, "Do you know how to play?"
Taken aback, Meryl sputtered out an answer. "Ah, I guess so. I mean, my dad taught me all the moves and everything, but," and here she dropped her eyes from his heated gaze, embarrassment mixing with a small twinge of regret for not paying better attention to her father, "I'm not very good at it."
"That's okay," he said smiling as he placed the horse-piece next to its mate on the carpet. Then, more carefully, hopefully, he questioned, "Do you maybe want to play?" There was so much of the pleading little boy in his tone and in the expectant, puppy eyed look he gave her then that there was no way she could ever have told him no.
Releasing a short breath of laughter, she nodded.
"Great!" he exclaimed, and immediately opened the box up to its checkered outside and starting placing the pieces. Meryl tried to copy him, not remembering exactly where everything went. When all was set Vash glanced over at the pieces on her side. Reaching across the board, putting their faces within inches of one another, he switched around the position of her two largest pieces. Rogue strands of his silken hair tickled at her nose. He glanced up at her then and, for the second time that day, she found herself slipping mindlessly into those enticing blue-green orbs. He spoke to her then, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath across her cheeks.
"White goes first."
"Huh? What?" she said stupidly, slowly, as if just coming out of a deep trance.
"Your move," he stated, and calmly returned to his side of the board.
Although he had proved himself to be a fair hand at cooking that morning, in Meryl's tiny kitchen he was more of a hindrance than a help. After he had stepped on her toes for the third time she banished him to the edge of the tiling unless specifically called for. He had turned away, head hanging and eyes shining like a kicked dog's. He then swept around as if nothing had happened and leaned against the counter with what she thought was an attempt at an ingratiating smile. She personally had a better impression of a cat just waiting for the chance to strike and cause more trouble.
Turning back to her sauce, spoon in hand, she addressed him. "It's not that I don't appreciate the help, Vash, it's just that this kitchen's a little too small for the both of us."
"That's okay," he answered, "Now you just have to put up with my questions about when everything's going to be ready." Meryl sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, then hid her smile by checking on the spaghetti.
"Just a little longer," she said, turning back to the sauce. She spooned out a small amount and tasted it.
"Can I have some?"
"No, no you may not."
"Please?"
Meryl was suddenly reminded of trying to get little Nicholas to behave on a day when Millie had let him have coffee. "No. I said no, and it's my kitchen, so there." She punctuated this last statement by sticking her tongue out at him over her shoulder. 'Oh, yeah, Meryl, real mature,' she thought. She smiled as she added more oregano, Vash just seemed to bring out the juvenile in her.
"But that's not fair, " he whined.
"Oh yeah?" she challenged, spinning around and brandishing her spoon threateningly, "And just exactly what are you going to do about it?"
Uh oh.
Meryl knew that last jibe had been a bad idea the second she let it go from her mouth. Quicker then her eye could follow he had swept up next to her and gathered her wrists into an tight hold before her chest. Gripping her thusly with one hand, he raised the other and waved the fingers of it at her maddeningly.
"Oh, no," she said, as the defiance in her voice from a moment before was replaced by a whine of near terror. "No, you wouldn't." He paused that way for a moment, hand raised, head cocked, and eyes raised to the ceiling as if he were considering her plea. Meryl's eyes were locked on the hypnotic movements of his free hand.
"Awww," he seemed to relent. "Yep." Meryl squealed and doubled over as he began tickling her midriff. She tried to squirm away from his torturing appendage, but her wrists were still firmly clasped in his other hand. She fought for escape, twisting and bending and pulling until they had managed to switch places entirely in the small space of the kitchen. Sauce from her still held spoon went splattering all over the stove and the sink and the both of them. Vash's laughter mixed with her own uncontrollable giggles as she collapsed her knees in an attempt to lower herself out of his reach. Half hanging from his grasp, tears of mixed laughter and frustration coursed down her cheeks. They were cold against her burning face. Every part of her felt at the moment like it was in flames. In the short hiccoughing breaths she managed between laughter and shrieks of fear, she tried to say something.
"What? What was that?" Vash stopped tickling her for a moment and leaned closer, mockingly, "I can't hear you." Meryl coughed roughly and gasped for breath during this short reprieve.
"Give," she croaked almost inaudibly.
Vash pulled her to her feet and put his hands out to steady her. After she had caught her breath Meryl looked up at him. It was only then that she noticed how closely they were standing. His hands were resting comfortably on her shoulders and his chest rose and fell with still chuckling breaths mere inches from her nose. He was looking down at her with a very mischevious smile. Suddenly, Meryl worried that her ordeal may not quite be over yet. Grinning even farther and with blue eyes flashing he slid his hands down to her waist. She gasped in surprise but didn't even have time to shout out a protest before he had lifted her effortlessly into the air and deposited her upon the kitchen counter.
Meryl blinked. Now their faces were at the same level. She realized that she was still holding onto the cooking spoon. Sitting like this on her counter made her look like she was playing at being a queen, scepter and all. Feeling childish she tossed the utensil into the nearby sink. Vash was still grinning at her like a lunatic. He reached a single finger out towards her. Setting it beneath her chin, he tipped it gently upwards. Meryl's vision swung. Vash's eyes, Vash's hair, the cupboards, the ceiling, the light fixture.
"Vash?" she said somewhat uncomfortably, "What are you-"
Her question was brought to a halt by Vash licking tomato sauce off the underside of her chin. She squeaked and smacked her head backwards into the cupboards causing purple-black stars to explode in front of her eyes. However, it was too late. His move had been too fast and too unexpected to react to. Eyes wide in shock and silent indignation she glared at him. The infamous humanoid typhoon was leaning away from her with a considering look on his face.
"Hmmm." he ruminated, "Not bad." Then, meeting her eyes, he smiled. "Gotcha."
It was then that Meryl noticed something strange. From her position she could see directly into the liquid pools of his eyes. Bright blue began to shift to a muted blue-green right before her, changing his look entirely to one that was at the same time softer and more intense. He was giving her that look again, the unreadable one from this morning. It was the same look, but this time 'grateful' wouldn't have described it at all. That was too simple, too casual a word for the strength of the gaze he was now penetrating her with.
Outside the sky had turned orange and dogs barked at kids rushing hastily by on bikes. The red sauce bubbled contentedly on the stove. Blood pumped furiously through her veins and turned her vision to ochre. The heat from the stove and her exertion had made her lightheaded. The kitchen whirled and twisted and blurred until it seemed that Vash's eyes were the only things stable left in the world. The only things cool, and blue, and real. An oases. Meryl knew that somehow, she had to break that gaze, to dive right through its crystal waters and split the glimmering surface life a knife blade, or else be lost completely to its pull. But, even she couldn't have known what she was going to do next. Leaning forward, feeling for a moment as if she really was going to sink into his eyes, into his very soul, she touched her lips against his.
His lips felt cool against her flushed skin and she felt her own lips tingle at their touch. Meryl couldn't quite describe the sensation. If she had to she would have compared it to the tiny shock one received from licking the positive end of a battery. This close to him she could smell him, his clothes and skin. The scent reminded her vaguely of the cool northern winds that would sweep across the desert in early fall when everyone was still thankful for their fresh caress.
She was disturbed from her reverie by an insistent hissing. Pulling away from him she looked back into his eyes. The strange look was gone and for a moment he appeared fairly comical. His eyes were now a glazed, almost dull, cerulean, and his one delinquent blonde lock had been brushed into a position falling squarely between them. Meryl raised a hand gingerly to her lips. They were still tingling strangely, and the tip of her tongue (which she was quite sure had not been involved at all in the process) felt slightly numb. Confused, she looked around for the source of the hissing noise.
A moment later she slid to the floor with a yelp and ran to rescue the boiling-over spaghetti pot. She turned the heat off and tossed on the lid. 'How long had they been like that?' she thought desperately to herself. 'What the heck were you thinking, anyways? Why not just paint a big red 'SLUT' sign on the front of your shirt? Now that's not quite fair, he started it. Yeah, and you finished it, didn't you?' Meryl squeezed her eyes shut with shame. Steeling herself for the ridiculing she was sure was about to descend, she turned around.
Vash was still standing where she had left him. Only now his eyes had cleared, leaving a goofy look of shock plastered across his face. Blinking several times, he turned his bemused look upon her.
"Supper's ready," she announced. And then with a slightly embarrassed smile, "Gotcha."
Dinner passed with both of them studiously avoiding discussion of their recent "encounter". Vash regaled her with tales of some of the people he'd run into since they'd last been together. The places he'd been, the things he'd done. Over and over Meryl found herself laughing, or crying, or just shaking her head at the near impossible situations he had managed to get himself both into and out of. She also had his manner of eating to entertain her. He ate his spaghetti by slurping it up strand by strand. How he managed it without getting a drop of sauce on him was an absolute mystery. She thought about correcting his bad manners, but decided she was just glad he liked her cooking. Besides, it gave her something other than his eyes to look at. Going that route had not proved a good idea so far that evening.
Afterwards Vash offered to help clean up the dishes, but Meryl waved him off and this time confined him to the living room. Their conversation continued over the light splashing sound of her washing.
"I still just don't get it," she said, shaking her head and not bothering to hide her amazement, "How trouble just seems to follow you around." Vash turned from where he was leaning on the windowsill, gazing out at the violet twilight.
"Did I ever tell you I had a cat?"
Meryl blinked in confusion. "A cat?" she questioned, squinting across the room at him to see if he was being serious.
"Ah huh," he said, wandering over to her pathetically small bookcase, "A black one." He crouched down to see what was on the lower shelves and pitched his voice so that she could still hear him talking. "He wasn't really mine. Actually, I've got no idea who he belonged to, if anyone. But everywhere I went, there he was."
"It was crazy," Vash continued with a wondering shake of his head, "I'd leave him in one town, spend days crossing the desert, and then boom, he'd already be there waiting for me in the next town." Meryl set down the plate she was drying with an incredulous look. Even for Vash, this story seemed a little farfetched. "I began to think that maybe there was more than one cat so I paid closer attention," he continued, "But there wasn't. It was the exact same cat, every single time."
"Vash," she chided, "That's just impossible."
"I know," he replied. He had a strange, serious look on his face. "Then one day I got to thinking, 'Hey, it's a black cat! Maybe that's why I have all this rotten luck, it's always crossing my path!'." Meryl wanted to laugh, surely that couldn't be true, but he seemed so serious about it, so actually concerned, that she refrained. Instead, she steeled her voice to neutrality.
"Whatever happened to it?"
Vash straightened quickly to his full height. He seemed to be studying the items in her bookcase intently. "I don't know." In the growing darkness, he seemed almost sad for a moment. Shadows crept over his face and aligned along his thin, sharp nose. "One day he stopped coming around, or maybe I just stopped seeing him."
Meryl paused in her work. She had heard him use that tone before, when he had spoken of Legato or of his brother. It brought with it a sense of loss, wind rustling through corpse weeds. A lingering sadness that she didn't know how to touch. He reached out a hand, turned silvery white in the failing daylight, and picked up something from the top shelf. He lifted it slowly to his face and blew off the gathered dust. Turning it in his hands, he cocked his head looking at the checkered detailing on the box. Smiling a big, childish smile, he turned startling green eyes upon her and asked jovially, "What's this?"
Behind him, the streetlights came on in an yellow flash. She folded her dish towel and set the last of the plates away. Crossing the room she flicked on a light switch and reached to take the case from him.
"It's a family heirloom of sorts," she explained, turning the box carefully in her hands. It was all wood, a rare commodity here. It had been made before the ships fell, but she thought it would only disturb him to hear its full history. Finding the little metal clasp, she flipped it open. Inside, the case was lined with some soft green fabric and gathered within, each in it's own specially made depression, were the beautiful carved wooden playing pieces. Vash was gazing at it with eyes that fairly glowed with interest. "My grandfather gave it to my dad, and since my brother never showed any interest in it, my dad gave it to me." Kneeling down on the carpeting before the sofa, she began carefully removing the pieces one by one. "It's a game," she explained, waving absently at them, "It's called 'Chess'."
Vash was still standing next to her. She looked up at him, slowly taking in all six plus feet, to find him smiling back down at her.
"I know this game."
"Really?" she replied, impressed, "Most people have never even heard of it." He squatted down next to her, allowing his spindly legs to fold into a comfortably crossed position.
"On the ship," he began, his eyes going vague for a moment as if he was really seeing into the past, "Rem liked to play games." Meryl's heart broke just a little, hearing him say that name with such longing. "This game was there," he reached delicately for one of the pieces shaped like a horse's head, "Except that it was on a computer." He held the cool, soft piece lightly on his palm. Time and care had worn the grain of the piece to a silky smoothness. He tipped it in his palm and light from the overhead lamp glinted off of it. He smiled slowly. "It's beautiful," he said. Abruptly turning his intense green eyes on her he asked, "Do you know how to play?"
Taken aback, Meryl sputtered out an answer. "Ah, I guess so. I mean, my dad taught me all the moves and everything, but," and here she dropped her eyes from his heated gaze, embarrassment mixing with a small twinge of regret for not paying better attention to her father, "I'm not very good at it."
"That's okay," he said smiling as he placed the horse-piece next to its mate on the carpet. Then, more carefully, hopefully, he questioned, "Do you maybe want to play?" There was so much of the pleading little boy in his tone and in the expectant, puppy eyed look he gave her then that there was no way she could ever have told him no.
Releasing a short breath of laughter, she nodded.
"Great!" he exclaimed, and immediately opened the box up to its checkered outside and starting placing the pieces. Meryl tried to copy him, not remembering exactly where everything went. When all was set Vash glanced over at the pieces on her side. Reaching across the board, putting their faces within inches of one another, he switched around the position of her two largest pieces. Rogue strands of his silken hair tickled at her nose. He glanced up at her then and, for the second time that day, she found herself slipping mindlessly into those enticing blue-green orbs. He spoke to her then, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath across her cheeks.
"White goes first."
"Huh? What?" she said stupidly, slowly, as if just coming out of a deep trance.
"Your move," he stated, and calmly returned to his side of the board.