“You... didn't have to follow me.”
The campfire illuminates the creases of a frown. The meat sits heavily in his stomach, but only one half pleasantly: Tonis likely hadn't had the same meal. Nor Rosa, nor any other lying outside the outskirts of what remains of Jeneora Rock. Folding his knees close to his chest, Vash wondered if they'd have anything to eat at all. Was partaking in a meal spitting in the face of their tragedy? — the one he wrought?
The gut-deep snores of Roberto brought Vash back, and his eyes flickered to Meryl, apology written within glistening irises.
“After, after all of that. I thought... I thought you and Roberto would head back. It would've been safer.”
They hadn't, though. Hadn't left him to deal with E.G. the Mine. Vash hadn't wanted to say it, hadn't wanted to voice it, and as soon as the inquiry abandoned his lips, he wished for nothing more than to tug it back, stomp it out like Wolfwood had his fifth cigarette of the day. He couldn't, however.
Chin against his dirt-speckled knees, he hadn't the -- the lack of shame to regard Meryl's eyes any longer, drawn in instead by the sputtering sparks of the fire.