Trying to be as quiet as possible, Bulma gently nudged the door open with her foot. She internally winced as it creaked quite loudly. But once she stepped inside, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Yamcha didn't stir, the ex-bandit still within a deep slumber. On one hand, Bulma was grateful; at least he was getting the sleep he needed. But on the other, it served as a reminder of his current condition, as he was usually a light sleeper.
Bulma gave her boyfriend a sad smile as she set the tray down on a nearby nightstand. The Tenkaichi Budokai, the tournament to determine the strongest martial artist under the heavens, was only months away. The bluenette hadn't missed the way Yamcha's onyx eyes lit up the moment he heard it. And since the moment he heard it, her boyfriend had been training non-stop, eager to claim the title of the Budokai champion, of the strongest under the heavens.
But as time dragged on, that training had started to take its toll. At first, Yamcha would only train from dawn to dusk, while making sure to take a few breaks to spend time with her. Though 'dawn to dusk' soon turned to 'dawn to nightfall', which in turn became 'dawn to midnight'. And as each training session grew longer, the breaks grew shorter.
Bulma chose not to say anything at first. As a scientist, she had, after all, been guilty of working throughout the day and night on her projects; hours felt like minutes whenever she was in the lab. So, she simply assumed the same applied to Yamcha.
She tried not to think too much of it the first time he pulled an all-nighter. At least he was still eating and spending time with her.
But it all came to a head when Bulma went to go pull him away from training for a bit to watch a movie, only to find him sitting against the wall of Capsule Corp.'s gymnasium. His clothes had been filthy and covered in sweat, he was panting heavily, and though he hung his head, Bulma had been able to see the redness of his face through his black locks.
She had quickly rushed over to him, worried that something might be wrong. Usually, he tried to wave her concerns away whenever she did this, always flashing her a grin and saying he was fine. But this time, he didn't. He remained silent as Bulma fussed over him, only breaking it to quietly tell her, "I'm okay, B."
That should have been her first red flag. Instead, she told herself that he was just tired from his exercises, that his face was red from overexertion. Bulma huffed as she stood back up, hands on her hips. "Well, if you're okay, then go shower and get ready!" she pointed towards the door. "That movie's starting soon!"
He silently obeyed her commands, nearly stumbling as he stood up and walked out the door. Thirty minutes later, when he still hadn't come to the front door, Bulma frustratedly stormed into his room, ready to yell at him for taking so long…only to find him unconscious on the bathroom floor, naked and soaking wet from his shower, his face flushed red and the smell of vomit permeating the air.
She should've seen the signs sooner. But she didn't.
That was three days ago. And for the past three days, Bulma had been focusing on trying to nurse him back to health.
Exhaustion, malnutrition, stress…Yamcha's body had finally reached its breaking point, and now he was suffering for it.
He had spent most of the first day asleep, only waking up a few times to throw up and, eventually, dry heave into a small trashcan on one side of the bed, being too weak to run to the bathroom. The second day was a little better, but he was still hot to the touch and could barely keep anything down.
Now, Bulma made it her personal mission to get him to keep down at least a bowl of chicken soup.
"Yamcha?" Bulma said quietly, gently nudging his shoulder. She hated to wake him, but if he was going to get better, than he needed to eat. He still didn't stir. The sad smile remained.
Had something like this happened during those training trip he constant took?
Yamcha had left West City more than once to train, saying that he wanted to try new techniques where others wouldn't get hurt, but mostly because the loud, bustling city had been overwhelming for him.
And yet every time, he came back to Capsule Corp. Back to Bulma.
She used to huff and seethe whenever he showed up later than he promised, ranging from a day or two to a whole week. And when he did return, she would yell at him for leaving her alone and accuse him of seeing other girls.
But now, as she looked over his fever-ridden form, she was starting to wonder if he had overexerted himself each time, if he stayed back longer to recover, so she wouldn't see him like this. He was such a contrast to the Yamcha she was used to looking at. His tan complexion was unnaturally pale, dark bags were under his eyes, and his cheeks were beginning to hollow, showing his lack of nourishment.
Bulma wasn't sure how long she stared at her boyfriend's slumbering form, how long she allowed her thoughts to wander. But it was long enough for a certain thought to crop up.
She knew he hated pity…But she couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
Not just because of his sickness.
Now that she was thinking about it…How long had he been living on his own before he joined their little ragtag group? He hadn't mentioned how long he had been a desert bandit, but from the few vague stories he told, it sounded pretty lonely. Constantly wandering around like a nomad and robbing others to fulfill his needs, and the desert had been his current residency when they met.
No permanent home. No friends or family to return to. No one to care for him whenever he was sick...
Was Capsule Corp. the first place he truly called 'home'?
"Yamcha?" Bulma tried again, this time a little louder and pushing with a little more force. It seemed to do the trick, as he groaned and scrunched up his face a bit before slowly opening his dark eyes, now glassy and tired.
The ex-bandit slowly turned to what had woken him up. Despite how dull his eyes looked, Bulma swore she saw a spark in them the moment they landed on her. If the way the corners of his lips pulled towards his eyes for just a second was any indicator. It was only for a split second, but it tugged at Bulma's heart nonetheless.
"Hey, Yams," Bulma greeted quietly. She brushed his bangs away from his forehead as she spoke, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
The grin tried to break through on Yamcha's face again at her touch, blinking at her almost owlishly. "Oh, hey, B," he said hoarsely, clearly a bit loopy from his fever. "What's up?"
Bulma couldn't help but chuckle softly as she reached over and lifted the warm bowl from the tray. "I brought you some chicken soup," she said. He grimaced for a moment, which she quickly caught. "I know it's been hard, but you need to eat if you're going to get better."
It took a bit more convincing—or, threatening to smack him upside the head with her wrench—but Bulma eventually managed to get Yamcha to sit up and take the bowl from her. She watched him as he sipped at it little by little, ready to trade the bowl for the trashcan by her feet at any moment.
Bulma wasn't aware of the gentle smile on her face as she watched him, occasionally rubbing his upper back whenever a wave of nausea stopped him for a few minutes. Thankfully, he didn't vomit this time; a tiny victory that Bulma silently celebrated.
Once the bowl was empty, Bulma took it from Yamcha, then had him lay back down. Now that he had something in his stomach, he needed to rest again. The bluenette didn't leave until her boyfriend start snoring. With a satisfied half-smile, Bulma placed the bowl back on the tray and left the room, trying to close the door as quietly as possible. She had some projects in the lab she really wanted to get back to.
As she headed back to the kitchen, she found her thoughts wandering again. That wasn't the first time Yamcha had lit up at the sight of her. The times he had left and returned to West City, Bulma hadn't missed how his expression would rapidly shift from tired and irritated to excited and bashful. The realization made her face turn pink for a minute.
They say that home is where the heart is.
No matter how suffocating the city seemed for him, no matter how much he preferred adventuring and training around the world instead of being cooped up in the mansion, Yamcha always came back to her. Always happy whenever he saw her.
She would definitely have to probe him for questions once he was better; find out whether or not he had been delaying his trips home due to illness. If he was, she had a few good smacks saved up for that kind of recklessness.
But despite her annoyance, she still giggled to herself and had a bit of a spring in her step.
Bulma was happy to realize that she had a place in Yamcha heart. One strong enough to make him return to her side no matter what.