you open up your eyes and you don't feel lonely
When she had suggested the fire, Vegeta's mouth had tipped into a crooked smirk, and he obligingly took the heavily loaded box from her straining arms with ease. It tickled her, seeing him pleased by her vengeful ire. She trotted merrily after him into the backyard, and her heart soared at the tiny blaze he had ignited on her behalf.
They are sitting now in front of that burn pile of mementos, Yamucha's leftover t-shirts and baseball caps and Cracker Jack jewelry she was too kind (at the time) to reject; she and her companion, that oftentimes infuriating little man who had managed to consume the majority of her life within the last two years. She watches the soft flames cast shadows across his visage as he squints at the end of the stick in his hand.
"Is it done yet?"
With a snort, she glances at the marshmallow beginning to char. Bulma nods and passes him a graham cracker stacked with a piece of chocolate. "Here." He takes it, and her fingertips itch at his passing knuckles as she observes him fumbling to recreate her original example.
Bulma is inquisitive by nature. Thoughts bubble up like a fresh spring in her mind, and curiosities can't be left unattended for long. She gets peevish and irritated by imaginary question marks, those things she knows have answers but still befuddle her nevertheless.
She's the smartest woman in the world. Is it wrong to want to know things?
He's not nearly through the first bite of his s'more when she wonders aloud, "Was Vegeta-sei in that quadrant?" Bulma sees his eyes slide across the fire to stare at her stretched index finger, then narrow upon her face. She knows that look. Bothering with the construction of her own s'more, she takes the opportunity (while his mouth is still full) to press on, "I just mean, I see you looking off that way sometimes. I only figure that's—
"You ought not figure anything and keep your mouth shut, onna," he warns, and she senses his threatening undertones.
Bulma blushes and restrains herself, fighting the urge to argue in defense of herself. Not when things are so peaceable and quiet between them, for once. "Gomen nasai," she amends and stares hard at the mess in her hands. "It's just, I do try to put myself in your shoes sometimes."
"I didn't ask you to do that."
She reddens further and defiantly turns to his stern profile. "Well, I do it anyway!" She notes the twitch of his brow, the quick glance he spares her. "And … well, it sucks."
Now his lip bows, and Bulma tugs at the corner of her own with her top row of teeth. She continues, "I think about Earth being destroyed. My friends, my family, my entire race…" The keen eye she has trained on him falters as she really does allow this wondering to float by her conscience. She shifts uncomfortably in place, her heart suddenly feeling hollow. "It's a really lonely thought. I forget how big the universe is, and how very small we are."
Vegeta's really quiet. It unnerves her a little bit, and so she looks again to him and is startled by his rapt attention. Her mind gets ahead of her and she swallows the dryness in her mouth. He appears momentarily at a loss for her sentiments, confounded almost, and she's not sure why it churns in her stomach so painfully.
Bulma realizes a beat later that it's guilt she feels rumbling in her belly.
The bad thing about curiosity, she finds clearly now, is the consequence of knowledge. It all plays absolutely so across his features, that his feelings on the subject matter are mutual. She knows that that brief, fleeting feeling of loss and lonesomeness she had imagined in her short daydream are a reality for this being next to her, and her hands tremble as she sets the graham-and-marshmallow mess on the ground.
Sticky fingers outstretch toward his bronze cheek and he ducks his face away from her with a grunt. Undeterred, she settles her hand flush against his face and knits her eyebrows together in determination. By the time he's summoned enough of himself to respond wickedly, Bulma has already shifted and she manages to catch his frowning, parted mouth clumsily with her own.
He's sweet like marshmallow and tastes like firewood. Seconds tick by as though hours before she feels his hand tentatively snake into her blue curls, and his reciprocation – however little – soothes her worried mind and her guilt abates. She draws back enough to suck in a cool breath of October air and observe his uncertain, if not wary, expression.
The furrow of his thick brow as he tries to silently puzzle her out engages her. "You're okay here now, you know," she reminds him softly, her thumb stroking slowly beneath his ear. She feels a slight pressure in her hand when he very subtly dips his chin in acknowledgement, and she's no stranger to the questioning look with which he is searching her. Her lips inch up slowly into what one might consider a smile as she relinquishes his face.
When her palm crosses his knee, she pats him there, reaching then to take up the stick abandoned by his lap. Bulma spears a marshmallow on its end and passes it back to him with a cant of her head. It's a long second that he hesitates, watchful of her nuances, but eventually his fingers do curl about the thin branch. She is satisfied by the inclination of his head, though as the quiet lull settles again between them, she is left only ever the more curious by this unfolding man beside her.
Author's Note: Been dying to do a Vegeta/Bulma piece, but I didn't get inspired until today. I recently rewatched the Mirai Trunks episodes, and I remembered what Trunks said to Goku about Bulma feeling bad about Vegeta, how he seemed so lonely, and this popped into my head. Nothing special, but I had to get it down!