[Maybe it's wrong to laugh right now. His fingers are still just barely brushing over his skin. They're closer than they've been to one another ever before, at least in this context. They've shared sweat and blood when Vash has dragged them into danger, but this is different. Neither of them have asked about their wounds before.

He should step back. Instead, though he shakes his head, he stays crowded in close even as he mumbles:]

You saw the mess I was packin', huh? [Does he sound sheepish? Ashamed, even? Maybe. He knows he's a mess to look at. He isn't proud of it in an aesthetic sense. But he's proud of how he's earned them. Every wound is a bullet he didn't fire. He can own up to that.

He does shy back at the self-directed compliment though. Just for a second, and just long enough for his gaze to slide downward. It's not his fault that Wolfwood's shirt is wide open and he can see everything. In fact -]

You know, I figured you knew that, since you don't know how to button up. Seriously, it's so cold out there. How have your nipples not frozen off!