Although I've definitely enjoyed all the Metal Garurumon's-Yamucha-contest 'fics I've read thus far, I noticed they tend towards the man's later, neurotic years. In a blatant attempt to be different, this is a simplistic little number-- and one not quite as refined as I'd like it to put it mildly, but I ran out of time-- taking place during the original Dragonball, in the years spent training for the 22nd Budoukai.
Standard disclaimers here.
Waga Seishun no Chikyuu
There was a persistent and very irritating knocking at her window, not the way Bulma had wanted to start her birthday. For a few minutes she burrowed deeper into her pillow, hoping whatever-it-was would give up, but nothing doing. Finally she wrenched herself from bed.
It couldn't have been past seven o'clock. Thoughts of murder dancing in her sleepy brain, Bulma threw back the curtain. And shrieked. It was him, the big idiot, waving and smiling brightly and mouthing "Happy Birthday!" at the glass.
She flung the window open. "Yamucha, what are you doing here!?"
"You said last year you'd kill me if I forgot again," he beamed, producing a slightly lopsided bouquet from behind his back. "So here I am. I woke up a little early and borrowed a capsule plane so I could..."
"Oh, save it," she snatched the flowers and gave him a last glare, "You could've at least used the door." -- then slammed the window and pulled back the curtain.
Yamucha blinked, smiled slightly to himself, and made his way around to the front door. I missed you too.
* * *
It was about an hour until Bulma appeared in the kitchen, dressed and somewhat more cheerful.
"Good morning," said Yamucha, grinning at her over a cup of coffee. She rolled her eyes at him but conceded a smile as she rummaged through a cupboard for some kind of breadstuffs. She wasn't really in the mood to round up one of the robots and wait for things to cook. After locating a muffin and pouring herself a glass of juice she sat down at the table across from her boyfriend.
"Well, what did you have in mind for today?" Bulma finally asked, "Since you went to the trouble of coming all this way to pound on my window at ungodly hours."
"Whatever," the boy replied amiably, "It's your birthday," His smile was beginning to wear at her; it was so difficult to be angry at him for very long. He did try, after all, even if he was so insufferably dense.
And he had remembered. Bulma sighed, smiled back, gave in. "Okay," she said, "Let's go shopping."
She did have to enjoy the vague expression of terror that crossed his face.
* * *
"Are you okay?"
There was only one good answer. "Aa," Yamucha tried valiantly to shift the heap of boxes so he could see, "I haven't been training for nothing, after all," He chuckled weakly, hoping they were almost finished. He had no particular objection to watching Bulma model an infinite number of outfits, but the bustling crowds made him uncomfortable and his load was-- if not too heavy-- quite awkward. "But, uh..." he paused to dodge a few old women and a crying child, "I don't suppose you're... uh... getting hungry?"
She turned her head to give him a Look. He grinned sheepishly.
"I guess," Bulma replied, with a little sigh of resignation, "We can get some lunch. ...Just a few more stores."
He followed her into the next boutique, hoping she meant it, mentally preparing the familiar refrain of "it looks great" "wonderful" "really nice." As his girlfriend began shuffling through racks of clothing, Yamucha made his quiet way to a chair and set his stack of packages on the floor with no small amount of relief. Had it really been three hours?
The blue-haired girl waved at him as she ducked into a dressing room. Had it really been three years?
His first glimpses of her had been brief and terrifying, but he remembered them. And well. She had changed a little, he realized; looked older. More mature. He'd been very honored to be allowed to train with the great Mutenroshii, even glad to get out of the city for a while-- but he did miss seeing her every day.
Bulma stepped out, pivoted in a circle. "How do I look?"
"Very pretty," Yamucha replied, not paying particular attention to the sundress she was modeling. No matter, it was true.
* * *
Bulma was convinced she had the world's only boyfriend who took her to the movies intending to watch a movie. For years she had prepared her best defense skills against men making advances, and then by some trick of fate wound up with this innocuous lunkhead. It was embarrassing to have to be constantly encouraging him to pay more attention to her. At least, after years of coaching, he was beginning to get the idea.
It helped to find a boring movie.
Maybe this one was, because it only took a few minutes for their fingers to meet in the popcorn bucket, and not-so-much-longer than that for popcorn to be forgotten and most other things too. He kissed her, tasting of the butter and salt.
He felt stronger; she hadn't had much time with him recently, due to his training, although he did take care to keep in touch. His hair had also grown out slightly-- she'd have to see he left it at 'slightly'-- and he looked a little more grown-up. Hopefully he would also be less oblivious with age. And maybe less obsessed with these fighting games.
Yamucha pulled back, blushing only a little. She looked into his soft dark eyes, glimmering with the reflection from the screen, and kissed him back. Not quite hopeless, Bulma thought fondly. Not quite.
* * *
Shortly after having supper with Bulma parents (one peppered with questions about Yamucha-chan's training, the health of Bulma-chan's other friends and other things that were somewhat more embarrassing) the two had escaped outdoors. They were sprawled in the yard behind Capsule Corporation, surrounded by Bulma's mother's flowers; since evening, their conversation had slowly tapered off into a thoughtful silence, and now the stars were starting to appear.
"'Time is it?"
"Late."
"Mmm,"
After a few seconds Bulma sat up, fixing her eyes on the dome of the compound and spoke carefully. "It's been two years since Son-kun got rid of Red Ribbon, and we wished that kid's father back. Do you think anything else is going to happen to us?"
He noted the tremor in her voice and realized you had to admire-- and perhaps pity-- a classy, intelligent girl whose friends were all uncultured brutes who seemed to revel in near brushes with death.
"Nah," Yamucha said, "Don't think so. Besides--" he sat up also, wrapping an arm around her, "I'll protect you. Right?"
She snorted slightly, but rested her head on his shoulder. She felt warm and comfortable against him in the cooling night breeze.
"You could come and stay with us for a while, you know?" he said suddenly, "There's room at the Kame House and I... we'd like having you."
The girl turned her head to regard him dryly. "I'm sure Kamesennin-san would love having me,"
Oops. He flushed embarrassedly and searched for a reply.
After a long pause, Bulma continued. "Maybe I will. It gets pretty boring here, anyway,"
"Great!" Yamucha hugged her closer for a moment, seemed again to fumble and come up without the right things to say, "That'd be great..."
Comfortable silence returned, touched only by the faint insect sounds. He'd have to leave pretty early next morning, but for now sleep and even his training seemed insignificant. Bulma sighed quietly, a gentle happy sound, and Yamucha closed his eyes.