My first fanfiction in a long time! Just listening to the song made me think of them. One shot.

Thinking of You

Bulma sat listening to the sounds around her, none making any sense, just white noise. Her hand was in constant motion, swirling the glass of red wine she has been sipping for the past hour. She let out an involuntary sigh and looked up to see Yamcha, smiling and flirting with their overly friendly waitress. But for once, she didn't care, her thoughts were elsewhere.

Comparisons are easily done
Once you've had a taste of perfection
Like an apple hanging from a tree
I picked the ripest one
I still got the seed

It wasn't long before the two paid the bill and were off. Yamcha drove as she stared out the car window. The city had grown and florescent lights filled the streets as people walked in the warm summer air. If only they knew what was going to happen to them in 5 years, if only things could be different.

You said move on
Where do I go
I guess second best
Is all I will know

Bulma got out of the car and headed towards the door with Yamcha following close behind her. She didn't at the humming of the gravity chamber – a constant reminder of what she had done, what she desired. She couldn't hide from him, his presence – so she simply had to ignore it.

Cause when I'm with him
I am thinking of you
Thinking of you
What you would do if
You were the one
Who was spending the night
Oh I wish that I
Was looking into your eyes

Bulma's cheeks were flushed as she poured herself another glass of wine in the kitchen. Yamcha chatted with her parents in the living room about nonsense. It through her how all of his words seemed to make her crawl. Yamcha used to give her goosebumps when he would laugh and smile – her desert prince. But lately, he was just there and she kept wishing he would go away. She wanted something more, someone else.

You're like an Indian summer
In the middle of a winter
Like a hard candy
With a surprise center
How do I get better
Once I've had the best
You said there's
Tons of fish in the water
So the water's I will test

After her third glass she was red in the face. Drowning her sorrow, her confusion, her lust. It wasn't until she heard the door open that she looked up from her glass. There he was – and suddenly, everything was fine. He didn't look at her, simply walked to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. She could smell him from her seat, his sweat mixed with blood – she used to find the smell sick but in her current state found it intoxicating. He didn't speak, or even look at her as he exited and walked up the stairs to his room. She sighed and poured herself another glass.

He kissed my lips
I taste your mouth
He pulled me in
I was disgusted with myself

Bulma soon found herself in her own room – Yamcha removed her clothes and kissed her shoulders as he removed her shirt, pants and so on. A shiver went through Bulma, she felt nothing – not a spark. She simply looked at the floor as the man behind her ran his hands up and down her arms.

Bulma closed her eyes as a smile crept across her face. She felt his strong arms around her, his sent filled her nostrils as he laid her down on the bed. She ran her hands through his thick hair and pulled him closer, wanting to taste him more. He was still covered in sweat from his training and was heavy on top of her. She welcomed him and wrapped her legs around him – inviting him in.

"Bulma," and suddenly she was back – Yamcha layed on top of her, panting heavily. A sudden waive of nauisia hit Bulma as she sat up and ran to the other room. How could she?

You're the best
And yes I do regret
How I could let myself
Let you go
Now the lesson's learned
I touched it I was burned
Oh I think you should know

The next morning – Yamcha was gone. He had not stayed the night as Bulma had asked him not to. She had to work in the morning, she wasn't feeling well. It changed every time, Yamcha soon accepted it and learned to take would he could.

She sat on her balcony and looked at the gravity chamber in the yard. It hummed loudly, as it had all night and all morning. She found herself often staring at it, remembering the only time she had in there, the moment that changed her, that burned her.

"Vegeta," was all she could say.