"Have you everrrrrr......" This is difficult, when you're practically attached at the hip. Little devil horns may as well start sprouting as he thinks, then laughs. "... gotten jealous?"
Wolfwood gives him a nasty glare. The answer is a resounding yes, but it's hideously embarrassing to think about—especially when so much of that jealousy involved Vash, and happened before this city.
Seeing men in bars flirt with the tall, pretty blond always made Wolfwood grip his glass so tight he was surprised it didn't shatter. He hated thinking about why it pissed him off so much, why seeing their hands fall on Vash's shoulders, or arm, or waist made him want to drink himself into a stupor or go chain smoke in the motel room despite the faded, peeling 'NO SMOKING' sign on the wall.
The only thing that made it more bearable was the fact Vash would politely rebuff all of them. He doesn't know why it made him feel better, like somehow that meant Vash stayed available to him, as if he ever was, or ever would be.
(But he is now, right? But that's just past-Wolfwood's silly, silly brain talking.)
"Yes," he finally bites out.
"...Don't say anything... DON'T SAY ANYTHING. And STOP lookin' at me like that."