Well, a week had passed since then and, surprisingly, everything felt good! The Nameks proved themselves courteous and clean guests, whilst Vegeta kept to his own room on the third floor. Either that or use the gravity chamber. It surprised Bulma just how quiet he was (not in a vocal, of course, that he was most defiantly not since he screamed his orders like a toddler), but how he never joined in, or how he'd sooner jump three stories to his window than walk through the hallways where he could meet any of them.

What really surprised Bulma was how his parents had taken to him- her mother outdid her self time and time again with her cooking and actually loved how important and needed it made her feel, and her father was in awe of Vegeta's regime in the GR, always upgrading, always asking advice of how to improve. Dr Briefs was left practically speechless when Vegeta nonchalantly revealed a tiny piece of information about basic alien technology (and secretly, she was too).

But, honestly, did he really have to avoid them to an extent where he couldn't change his clothes? Seriously, how often did he wear anything else? He was stuck on a foreign planet with nothing but the clothes on his back, and she shuddered at how often they must get washed.

That was why she carried a capsule of newly bought clean clothes in various sizes to his room. Knowing he was in the GR, she still couldn't help but knock and then walk in. Never before would she have hesitated in her own home, but she found herself speeding up whenever she had to walk past this door. Like the great Bulma Briefs was afraid.

But after a few steps in, she felt almost terrified.

The curtains were drawn shut, causing the pale blue room to turn murky grey like plaster. The bed, too, was a darker shade of white with no patterns and one pillow. Even then, it looked like it had been ironed smooth. Bulma turned to open the wardrobe to put the clothes away herself, but found them bare. She suddenly felt so cold and miserable that she was tempted to just throw the capsule on the bed for him to workout later if something hadn't of caught her eye. Kneeling in front of the wardrobe, she picked up on of the many objects.

It was a picture of a sunny beach, the water turned white with sunlight. It was one of those generic homey pictures every interior designer insisted of owning to 'add a touch of summer' to the room. Vegeta must not like summer that much. Amidst other various photos that forced cosiness, she found a vase of plastic flowers that ' add a touch of fresh air'. He mustn't like that too much either. Then there was the mirror 'to make the room feel bigger'. Somehow, she didn't feel that Vegeta really cared about the size of the room much, but why else would he remove it?

Deciding it was better to just leave, she closed the doors and turned around, but didn't get very far when she saw the armchair in the corner. Again, it was greyish white and very uncomfortable looking. But it looked saggy as if it had seen too many arses smother it for too many years. If she could only touch it, she would swear it could tell her its stories.

"What are you doing in here?"

Bulma shrieked and spun so quickly that her feet slipped out from underneath her. She was face to face with the carpet but his feet were only inches away. She waited to see if he would offer her any help up but huffed when she realised she'd be a skeleton before that happened (if it ever did).

"Did you hear me?"

"Hang on a sec, I need to get up" she smoothed out her outfit and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Yes I heard you, it's impossible not to when you're shouting the odds, Vegeta. And as for why I'm here, I got you some clean clothes, so you don't have to spend every minute 24/7 in that!" she pointed at his chest, but stopped herself from actually touching him. "The very idea of it grosses me out!"

"It is none of your concern, woman. I refuse to wear such primitive alien rags."

That's it- it's hands on hips time. "Primitive ra- they are not! They're very good quality and very expensive, the least you can do is say thank… you know what? Forget it. You've done fine in that second skin of yours so far, what's four more months?"

"Don't be so disgusting. I clean them myself, idiot."

Bulma let her hands flop to her sides. "You…do? When? Where?"

"Just leave."

"But-?"

"Now."

"Do NOT tell what to do in my own house, Vegeta-"

He leant in really close; she could see each individual hair in his eyebrows, which were extremely sloped in the middle right now. "Fuck. Off."

She looked straight into that face. The sharp nose, strong jaw, the hard line of a mouth. But his eyes, his eyes bore into the back of her skull via her retinas. That's why she broke first, that's why she let her vision fall to the floor along with the rest of her face. She may have grown up a bit from that spoilt brat she was a few months ago, but she wasn't that strong!

"Err, okay…"

She was holding back her tears of fear as she gripped the door handle but his voice addressed her before she could leave properly. He didn't face her at all, didn't even look over his shoulder. "And Woman, if I catch you snooping around my quarters again… I will not hesitate to kill you where you stand. Do you understand me?"

Her face was crumbling in on itself but she forced herself not to cry. Letting out a squeaky 'mmhmm' she scurried down to her own room, lilac walls and fuzzy carpet. It was full of photos and souvenirs and there was a large mirror by her dressing table. So unlike his room, grim as a prison cell, lively as a mortuary, sharper than a hospital.

He stays in a room, but it isn't his, she thought, he has nothing. Nothing.