Concerto Thirteen: Dine and Dash
oooOooo
Vegeta's thumb scrolled lazily over the screen of his phone, skimming past dozens of messages sent between him and Bulma. He gritted his teeth as he pretended not to care that he hadn't heard from her in two days. The blue speech bubble swallowing her text taunted him, making him grow angry at this unfamiliar sentiment. His bones ached with the reminder that she was an adult, and didn't need to spend every aching breath talking with him. Still, he couldn't help the nagging question of what went wrong that had made her cryptic message go unanswered by him.
We need to talk.
But talk about what? Had she come to her senses and realized that they were just a fling, and nothing more, like he had unsuccessfully tried to tell himself? That they had gotten lost in a Tuesday through Friday haze, and on Saturday morning she woke up with clarity? He closed his messaging app, no longer wanting to be haunted by her weighted words, and slammed the phone face down on his office desk, blaming it for his own spiraled anxiety. Was she upset that he didn't respond? Should he have just explained that he didn't particularly enjoy deep conversations with this new wave of technology? Why was he berating himself at all? She wasn't a free woman, and judging by his own assessment of the kind of person he thought Yamcha to be, he wouldn't be surprised if he had found out and guilt tripped Bulma into ending their solicited affair.
The thought alone made him angry. For one, he thought Bulma was better than that. For two, why the hell should he care what a woman of her situation was doing? After all, she had come on to him. She popped in and out of his life daily, whispering words of passion that intertwined with the silk of his sheets, in the confines of his ear, in the plaster of his wall. He shouldn't give a damn at all if her own selfish desires had been a double edged sword, and yet here he sat, unable to conduct his own affairs because he was too busy chasing after a ghost.
He looked down at his planner, half filled out with his orchestra itinerary, the other half jotted with tiny red stars. Vegeta had started to map the days they spent together with the crimson symbol, as if in his own way to humanize their situation and remind himself that it wasn't a dream that he would wake up from, dripping in sweat and wondering what would happen if it were reality. No, Bulma was definitely the juiciest of fruits, and she seemed to enjoy the way her nectar rolled off of his chin in desperation, getting her own private chuckles as she watched him struggle with licking his lips clean of her remains.
Perhaps he should just call her. Was Vegeta N'Ouija that much of a coward that he would hide behind a veil of misery than to face the problem head on? A quiet voice echoed in his brain, questioning his motive for abandoning his true desire. He wanted to ignore it, but the phantom voice was relentless, asking in a sinister tone if he was really afraid of unpresented truths.
A knock on the door shook him out of his thoughts, and Vegeta slid the phone into a compartment of his desk, adjusting his planner to appear that he was busy working on important things and not fretting over a blue haired woman that lay behind the darkness of his eyelids. "What?"
The door creaked open, revealing Nappa to step through with an annoying grin and a six pack of bottled beer. Vegeta turned his nose up at the intruder and his gift, although his eyes slid to the orange wrapped beverage, knowing Nappa had probably spent his money on the finest of craft beer.
"Well it's a good thing I brought these," Nappa stomped to the empty chair in front of Vegeta's desk, plopping the beer bottles down, "You're pretty cranky this late morning."
Vegeta folded his arms as he sat back in his chair, his eyes and mouth tightening into slits. "What do you want, Nappa? It's too early for your nonsense," he nodded to the beers in front of him, "Or your spirited suggestion."
"Oh take a load off," Nappa unscrewed a top of and handed a beer to Vegeta before repeating the gesture for himself, "What law says that beer can't be enjoyed at any hour? Furthermore, these are breakfast stouts, so drink, shut the hell up, and spend some time with good old Nappa."
Vegeta snorted, but brought the beer to his lips anyways, letting the robust flavor of oats and malt coat his tongue with delicacy. He looked at Nappa sternly yet silently, letting his eyes speak for him. Nappa sighed through his frothy moustache, leaning back in his chair, thankful that the seat was forgiving as it hugged his sturdy weight.
"So," Nappa's deep baritone of a voice sounded concerned, and Vegeta was compelled to withdraw from the entire conversation prematurely, "I'm sure you know I came to check on you. Haven't heard from you since the bar and the letter, and I'll be frank with you, Vegeta. I'm getting a little worried."
Vegeta shrugged his shoulders, instantly feeling like his teenaged self, who had to listen to the advice of 'good old Uncle Nappa' about why he shouldn't be so moody. "Worrying about me is a waste of time, Nappa. It'll do you good to remember that."
"Gods be damned, your stubbornness is infuriating," Nappa ran a palm over his smooth scalp and sighed, "Would it kill you to think of someone other than yourself for once? Don't act like I don't have a right to be concerned."
"You don't," Vegeta bit icily, "You're not the one they want to harass. So why get yourself involved with something mundane?"
"Mundane?" Nappa rose an eyebrow and hunched over, leaning his weight against a knee, "Do you realize what those assholes are capable of? In case you forgot, there's an entire cemetery full of reminders. Should I take you?"
Vegeta growled dangerously, like a dog signaling a warning that an enemy was getting too close and it was on the verge of attacking. Nappa sighed again, stroking his moustache and lowering his tone, as if the walls in Vegeta's office would incriminate them.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. But you have got to take this more seriously, Vegeta. I don't find ease in sleeping at night and not knowing if you're next on the chopping block. Look around you," Nappa waved his hand around the confinements of the office, his eyes locking squarely with Vegeta's, "You've got all these great things happening for yourself. Do you really want to lose it all for the sake of your own pride?" Nappa took another swig of his beer and casted his eyes downward. "Do you really want to do that to that woman?" He slowly rolled his eyes back to Vegeta, his face serious.
A flash of heat surged through Vegeta's belly, making him almost choke on the beer that he was consuming. He had hoped that his eyes did not betray him, but judging from Nappa's knowing expression, he knew he had failed. He peeled his eyes away, drowning his frustrations with a swallow of booze, ignoring the intense stare of the bald man. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, don't give me that bullshit!" Nappa slammed his palm on desk, making the glass bottles rattle. "Natsubi told me she saw you and some beautiful woman with blue hair arm in arm in the art district, not too far from the shop. And the funny thing is as she was describing her, I couldn't help but point out the similarities of that woman that came in asking about you. I wouldn't be wrong in assuming she's the same, would I?"
Vegeta met him with silence, his eyes still pressed to an award of his that decorated the wall.
"Are you two dating?"
"That's none of your concern," he responded harshly, finally turning his attention to glare at Nappa, "What I do with my personal time is not your business."
"Vegeta…" Nappa blew out a breath, finishing his beer and placing it on the dark oak table, "Stop a second and think here. You really think I want to be nosy about who's getting your dick wet? I don't! In fact, I'm happy as hell that you're finally giving someone other than your hand the time of day! But consider Yasai here-"
"Shut the fuck up, Nappa!"
"I most certainly won't! You need to hear the truth, goddamnit!" Nappa's eys burned with the fury of a father's, making Vegeta crawl back into his empty shell, "Yasai wasn't involved in any of that shady business that your father was doing. None of it! All she wanted was to make sure that her children were alright and happy. But just her title, just the association by marriage…" Nappa looked away, his eyes glossy, and licked his lips as he shook his head, "…I don't know anything about this woman, but could you stomach it if she met the same ending?"
The truth in Nappa's words hit Vegeta with the force of a sharpened sword, causing his oxygen to hitch in his throat. His breathing intensified as images flooded his mind, black and white and soaked with a blood red, playing like a film that he couldn't pause. Spectrums of blue began to creep in the haunting photos, and Vegeta clenched his eyes shut to rid himself of the torment. He could see her vividly; reaching out to him with her hypnotizing blue eyes and sultry fingers that promised to touch him in places that he deduced to phantom limbs. He felt himself reaching back, trying to pull her from the flames that began to lick at her alabaster skin.
"I'm not trying to upset you, Vegeta," Nappa whispered, "But I have to let you know the cards that you have in your hand. If you continue to play like you've got a royal deck, you're gonna fall flat on your ass when these guys reveal that all you've been carrying around is set of jokers. I don't want to see this loop-de-loop consume you."
Vegeta stubbornly looked at Nappa, not bothering to say anything as a rebuttal. Truth being told, he hadn't thought of how his affairs would involve Bulma. Everything up until now had only been about him, and no one else had to pay the price for his family's downfalls. But now he risked dragging her down with him, that is, if she was still willing to be down with him.
If she did, he wouldn't let her fall victim. He had enough blood on his hands of a woman that he couldn't protect. He would be damned if he soiled his flesh again with another.
"All I'm saying is," Nappa opened another beer, "Take care of it. Before they take care of you."
Vegeta nodded robotically, his mind long gone from the present, and opened the compartment to gather his phone. He stood abruptly, causing Nappa to stare at him curiously. Vegeta ignored him, instead mumbling, "I need to make a phone call," before leaving swiftly through the office door and making his way out of the theater and into the alleyway.
oooOooo
The sun bathed him in an inferno, and Vegeta loosened the collar of his button up to let his skin breathe. Sweat beads raced down the sharp curve of his neck, pooling just around the first button, the rest of the fabric sticking tightly to his muscles like a second skin. Spring had shown up with fury, and made no effort to hide the sun's wrath. Ducking into a sliver of a shadow, Vegeta pulled up Bulma's contact information and dialed, pressing the phone to his ear before he had a chance to argue his reasoning.
She picked up by the third ring, her voice breathy as if she was engaging in cardio, and he felt his knees go numb as her silky tone tickled his ear. She could get anything she wanted, talking to him like that.
"Vegeta!" She sung his name with purpose, almost as if she had been waiting to speak it and wake her bones from the dead, and he cleared his throat to erase his neediness of wanting to hear it again. "I was worried you would never call me back. I thought I'd have to stalk you at the theater or something."
He rolled his eyes and shifted his weight so that his body leaned against the brick wall, his shoulder cradling the phone. "Well you must like living dangerously. You'd stalk the man you're screwing in front of the man you call a lover. I don't know whether to be flattered or disappointed."
There was silence on her end, and he immediately wondered if he said the wrong thing. This was new to him, having to be nice when being choppy and sarcastic was so much easier, and he swallowed hard as he searched through the silence for a hint that she was still in this.
"Vegeta, I…" he could hear her chewing over her words as if she was tasting overcooked meat, and he wanted to tell her she didn't need to compliment him for the fuck of it.
"Bulma," he cut her off, impatient with her beating around the bush, "I don't do the whole 'read between the lines' spiel. Either spit it out, or don't bring it up at all."
She clicked her teeth, and he would bet his last dollar that she was biting down on her bottom lip, the skin threatening to bleed as it turned a cherry shade of red, closing her eyes tightly as she allowed the words to climb the ladder in the back of her throat. On cue, she breathed and jumbled out, "I did it."
A train announced its arrival as it sped on the tracks above him, causing the ground to croak. He blamed it on the horn for asking her to repeat herself, even if he did it for his own clarity.
"I said," she obliged, breathing heavily again, "I did it."
"Did what?" He unfastened another button as his body burnt up again, even though the shadows kissed his skin lightly.
"I broke up with Yamcha. For good."
His words caught in a tumble, and he racked his brain to find a perfect reply that would suit them both. Vegeta's demons had long since threatened him not to speak too soon; for fear that he would taint all purity with his own wicked tongue.
"Vegeta? Are you there?"
Something in her tone sounded desperate, begging him to validate her claims. But what should he say? Inside, he was a mixture of emotions. In his thirty years of life, Vegeta had never found himself in this sort of situation with a woman before. They had come around for his handsome looks and his mysterious demeanor, but when they grew frustrated at not being able to chisel away his layers of cement, he made no efforts to stop them. Bulma was different, however, because her layers were just as solid and just as unforgiving. And for the first time -with any human- Vegeta felt that she could chip away at his unease, and he with hers.
But how could he formulate that into words?
"How do you feel about that?" He croaked out, feeling uneasy at the thought of being transparent.
"Honestly?" She chuckled, and he wished she was in front of him so that he could watch her face illuminate the shadowed alleyway, "I don't know what to feel. I mean, I don't regret it, if that's what you're asking."
"I am." Where that came from, he didn't know, but it was asked anyways.
"Well, you don't have to wonder about that. Yamcha and I weren't even on the same page, let alone the same book. And there are only so many words you can write before you have to announce the end," she sighed and he could tell she moved the receiver closer to her mouth, "Besides, I think I'm done with someone writing my pages for me. I have my own ink available, and my own words to say."
Vegeta wasn't a fan of analogies, and it seemed that's how anyone ever wanted to converse with him, but he found that hiding between metaphors made it easier to speak his mind. "And what is the content of your book? If you're going to be an author, you need to make the words captivating."
She breathed laughter in the phone, making his stomach float like fizz on a soft drink. "Let's see, how about we call chapter one 'Rebirth'?"
"Sounds fitting. If anyone needed to be born again, it's definitely you."
"You're such an asshole."
"I'm not trying to be," he admitted, "But I like the new you better."
"Oh," she smiled into the receiver, causing his lips to curve along with her, but he quickly rectified it, not wanting to be that guy, "Well, then you would enjoy this chapter very much. It'll talk about me finding my way artistically again, and how I feel like I'm full of possibilities like some silly children's book about princesses." There was a pause, and he knew she was idling over her words again, which is what he was learning she liked to do before she made a confession. "And there will be a prince there, but he won't sweep me off my feet and carry me away to some tower. Instead he'll kick me in the ass when I need it, and he'll touch me in a way that sets my soul on fire, like my skin is going to burst with colors."
Vegeta stood a little straighter, holding his phone properly again, and watched as some kid kicked a ball at the opposite end of the alley. "He doesn't sound like a prince at all."
"No I guess not. But I guess I've never been the type to need someone like that, huh? Either way, he's necessary for the book, and I'm hoping to find a way to introduce him in later chapters."
"I'm sure you'll find a way," he said in a hushed tone, "You definitely seem like you'll need lots more swift kicks in the ass."
"Oh ha ha. Kettle, meet pot. But enough about books and analogies and things that I haven't learned since the sixth grade."
Oh thank god.
"Can I come over tonight? After you're done with rehearsal?"
There it was. The feeling that settled in his chest, somewhat territorial and prideful, that let him know that she wasn't just using him for her own sexual desires. In a way he had hoped that she would; that she didn't want to be around him in any other way than her cheeks flushed and her orgasm intense. But she reached out to him after the breakup, making him aware that her words weren't just pillow side chatter.
It scared the shit out of him, but it also made him feel relaxed in a way that was lost upon him.
"I'll call you when I get home. You can come any time after that."
"Well I'm sure I'll be coming many times after that."
"You're so crude, Bulma."
"And you like it, Vegeta. I'll see you later, okay? I'm finishing moving the last of my stuff in my parent's house and I don't want to look sweaty before you give me a reason to."
"Goodbye, Bulma."
"Bye!" She sang it so sweetly in his ear that he chuckled before he could stop himself, and he brought his phone down to stare at it as her name dissolved back into his lock screen. The phone dimmed black and soon he was gazing at his own reflection, and he tore his eyes away from it finally. It was only then, after he looked up, that he noticed that this was the alleyway where they first met, when she was just a mad woman kicking a wall and insulting him, and he was a man with a golden lighter, who was unknowingly about to enter what he considered to be the happiest time of his life.
oooOooo
There were three truths that Vegeta was undeniably certain of as he conducted his rehearsal following that afternoon. Nappa was gone, taking his fatherly concern with him, leaving Vegeta once again in the power trope that he had grown familiarly comfortable with.
One: Goku, when satisfied after being proven right about something, made the ugliest grin that Vegeta had ever seen. He couldn't peel his eyes away from the man as his fingers danced with his baton in a rhythmic waltz, watching how the corners of his lips rose to kiss his eyelashes as he entered in the final bars of his revised piece. Goku glanced from his sheet music to meet Vegeta's eyes once, his eyes glinting with secrets that Vegeta wanted to scream he had no parts of. It was only then that he paid attention to the rest of the orchestra as they played over the new notes curiously, like babies taking their first steps. He slowly watched their faces one by one, wanting to take note of who eased into the new rendition seamlessly, and who cursed the conductor for changing things so close to the concert.
Which brought him to truth number two: As much as Vegeta hated to admit how much the man's talent affected the orchestra, Yamcha's brooding was really affecting the cello section's performance. While the man was in no way ready to handle the reigns as the first chair, Yamcha had a way of ribboning the trust that each player spilled from their strings. A not-quite-leader-but-still-a-cheerleader kind of musician. But his notes today mocked his mood: pathetic. He didn't need clairvoyance to know the other cello players picked up on the flat notes and half assed bow strings that Yamcha was producing; once in a while it seemed like they would lose their way as they waited for him to (putting it plainly) get his shit together. Vegeta growled as he spent more time than he would have liked to trying to get them back on key, but the brooding man was relentless in his lackluster playing. A part of Vegeta wanted to scream at him to shape up or ship out, and the other part of him wanted to tell him to grow a pair and move on, even if he was the cause of his demeanor. No parts of Vegeta felt sorry for him, but he didn't want to sit by and watch his piece wilt away like dying rosebuds before autumn.
Despite Yamcha's terrible performance, the play through went smoothly - well smooth enough that Vegeta felt hopeful that it could all tie in together before the concert, and before the scout from Broadway rained down his mighty fist of judgement. Goku wiped his brow as Vegeta circled his fist for the ending, feeling like a god signaling the end of a heavy storm.
"That's what I was talking about, Vegeta!" Goku wailed, slamming his bow on his stand with an enthusiastic grin that threatened to split his face into two, "It was perfect in every way!"
Vegeta hummed in reply, feeling grateful for the compliment, but he would not show the brute his satisfaction. Otherwise, Goku might feel inclined to always insert his two cents where it wasn't needed, or worse, consider them to be allies of the same accord.
"You know," Krillin placed his viola in his lap and scratched the tiny hairs that sprouted from the top of his head, making him look more like a vegetable ready for the picking rather than a person, "I never realized it before, but the new ending does fit the overall piece better."
"I agree with him," the violinist with the weird name-18-and her icy voice seemed to shatter as she spoke up with Krillin, which Vegeta was taking notice that she was doing a lot more lately when the short man had something to say, "The ending felt so bland before. But now…it's not as bland."
Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, reigning in his irritation with a tight leash. "Well as invigorating as the compliment was, 18, we don't need to go around the room and play assess the piece. Just play it like your lives depend on it and I'll take it as the best criticism you all could muster."
"Aww come on, Vegeta!" Goku stretched his arms out, resembling a phoenix preparing to grace the sky with its majestic presence, "You should feel proud that we all like it so much! It has that delicate ending that I told you was missing!"
"And why do you think I need to be told that?" Vegeta was this close to telling them to pack up their instruments and go home for the sole purpose of saving his sanity, "Like I said, the real response comes in how well you play the music. If you like it so much, then show me." He let his eyes roll directly towards Yamcha, who didn't flinch under the heavy gaze.
"We will," Tien turned in his chair to face Yamcha as well, his face clearly pissed off, "And we'll get it together by tomorrow, right Yamcha?"
"Me?!" Yamcha's brows met in the middle like they were preparing to duel, his jaw gone slack with surprise, "Why are you two calling me out?!"
"Oh come on," Tien rolled his eyes, his tone sounding bored with his not yet spoken explanation, "I know you're better than that garbage you were spewing out. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you think that was the best you can do."
"I think I did great!" Yamcha hugged his cello defensively, clenching his bow at his side so tightly the strings threatened to snap all together, "Maybe it was you, huh Tien?!"
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am! You spent so much time focusing on me, maybe you didn't realize it was your weak skills that was holding us back."
Tien shook his head and pressed his lips together, looking down on Yamcha as if he was an insect that needed to be squashed. "I'm going to just pretend that you're having some sort of bad day, and I'll let that comment slide for now. But grow up, man, and be professional about it. We don't need to suffer because you're throwing a tantrum."
That, among many reasons, reminded Vegeta why Tien deserved to be first chair.
"I think I have to agree with Tien, Yamcha," Goku scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders apologetically, "Something seems off with you today. Usually you play like you have a point to prove, but today you played like an amateur. You wanna talk about it? We're all friends here."
"Speak for yourself, Kakarot," Vegeta grit his teeth, "I am not a psychologist, I am a musician. I don't want to sit here and play therapy because some of you are struggling with adequacy."
"But aren't we a tree, Vegeta?" Goku frowned sadly, as if Vegeta had told him he was no longer allowed to play any instrument in his life again, "We're all roots here, and if one root is having trouble holding the tree up, it'll just fall over."
"If I have to hear one more damned metaphor…" Vegeta mumbled, shaking his head furiously.
"You want to talk, Goku!?" Yamcha spun around in his chair, knocking his cello against the stand forcefully, "Fine, I'll bite. Let's talk about how unfair it is that Vegeta changes the score at the last damned second and gets all pissy when we can't live up to his unrealistic standards."
"Yamcha," Goku said worriedly, "I don't think that's the best-"
"No, no, Kakarot," Vegeta folded his arms and smirked at Yamcha challengingly, "Let the man speak his mind. Perhaps I do have time to play therapist after all."
"All I'm saying," Yamcha turned his attention to Vegeta, unable to mask the irritation that stole his face, "Is that maybe we're not the problem. Maybe it's you and your oversized ego."
"Is that what you think, boy?" Vegeta could no longer stifle in his laughter, throwing his head back and letting his chest vibrate as the sounds curled out of his mouth like a snake, "You're acting like a child and I'm to blame?"
"I don't think Vegeta's the problem here," Krillin, to Vegeta's surprise, came to his defense unnecessarily, although it added to the dark humor that underlined the argument, "I think he did a good job making music that gives us all a chance to shine. And the new ending feels like it fits perfectly, like everyone in some story got what they wanted after all."
Goku's face rivaled the sun as he smiled widely. "That's exactly what I said!"
"Are you guys serious!?" Yamcha stood up, abandoning his cello as is fell to the ground in a grand finale, "You're sticking up for Vegeta of all people!? You guys know he works us to the bone, and now he's switching things up and getting mad at me for stepping blindly into the waters?! I thought we were friends!"
"We are friends Yamcha, but we're also adults," Goku stepped closer to the cello section, hoping to intervene, "And adults should be able to handle criticism. You're a great musician, but you could do better than what you did today."
Yamcha stared at his close friend incredulously, his eyes as void as the emptiness of midnight, and huffed. "Un-fucking-believable. First Bulma, and now you two." He turned around to pick up his cello, mumbling curses under his breath, "You know what, fuck this. I don't need this today. I'm going home. I'm sick of people turning their backs on me for some other guy."
Vegeta's patience was wearing thin, and watching a member of his own orchestra throw in the towel so quickly under pressure made his next sentence very easy to say. "Yamcha, if you walk out of the door with this tantrum, don't bother coming back to rehearsal tomorrow. I can easily manage without you."
Yamcha stared at Vegeta in a face off as silence thundered over the rehearsal room. He shoved his cello in its case and stormed out, letting the loud slam of the door convey his reply. Vegeta took a deep breath as he realized the weight of truth number three:
Yamcha was a piece of shit.
oooOooo
Bulma smelled like a September breeze and fresh seawater as she cradled her head under Vegeta's chin, sighing in satisfaction as she stretched her limbs across his broad chest. He took the opportunity to rest a hand in the dip of her curves with ease, feeling the weight of irritation that blanketed his shoulders dissipating with every breath that escaped her lungs.
"You're so quiet today, Vegeta," she placed a small kiss at the base of his neck and looked up at him, "Is everything okay?"
"Hmph," he turned his eyes away from her to stare at the ceiling, thinking of other ways he'd rather get naked, "Why don't you ask your ex-boyfriend if everything is okay."
"Oh god," Bulma sat up so that she hovered over him, her sapphire eyes glinting with concern and frustration, "You told him about us? I mean, I don't care but I figured you'd at least let me know first before you told him we're screwing around."
"I would have to have a sliver of respect for him to tell him what I'm doing in my personal time," Vegeta slit his eyes as he turned to face her, "So that thought shouldn't even cross your mind. What he's doing is acting like a heartbroken child who can't control his emotions. He left rehearsal after throwing a tantrum so I kicked him out of the orchestra."
"Oh no," Bulma sighed, moving to the edge of the bed and letting her legs fall over the side like running water, "I knew he was going to be up in arms about the situation, but I never thought he'd throw away his career like that." She shook her head as blue tendrils delicately fell over her face. She bit her lip and pouted sincerely, her big eyes appearing innocent as they shone with pity. "I'm sorry, Vegeta."
"Tch," he turned his head again, not wanting her to catch the heat that rose to his cheeks, "Don't apologize. Just choose better boyfriends next time and don't settle. Otherwise you'll have an entire city of men-children."
"Choose better boyfriends, huh?" She smiled, and Vegeta cursed himself as he realized the error of his words, "You mean like…you?"
"That's not what I said, Bulma."
"No, don't you do that," she stretched her body easily, straddling her legs over his torso and placing her hands against his pectorals, "I think this is a conversation we should have. You and I both know this is a little more than just us fucking." She used a finger to trace the outline of his chest like a little girl who was afraid to ask for a cookie before dinner, her eyes hidden under her thick bangs. "I'm not asking that we jump immediately into a relationship or anything, but…what do you want from this?"
Vegeta felt his heart beat ruthlessly in his chest, his tongue turning into cement. He knew how to answer her, but he couldn't form a tangible sentence enough to satisfy her curiosity.
Thankfully enough, it seemed as if she was starting to get used to the way that he operated, because she took a deep breath and added: "How about I just say what I want, and you can tell me if you agree."
His eyes slid to her pretty face, and he found solace as he drank her in. Falling under her spell for the umpteenth time, he nodded.
"Well…" she bit her lip, and he knew a confession was brewing, "I…I like you, Vegeta. I think you're the most complicated man I've ever met, and you don't open up at all and sometimes talking to you is the equivalent of speaking to the wind," she leaned down so that her chest pressed against his, relaxing her head in her hand as she placed an elbow by his ear, "But I also think that you're passionate, and you bring out the passion in me. I think you're smart, and not just in a classical way, but in a tactile way. And I just like being around you. I felt suffocated with Yamcha, but with you I can breathe."
Vegeta studied her face carefully, his mouth opened quizzically without his knowledge, and he waited for her to laugh and tell him that she was kidding and she couldn't deal with his emotional deficiency. It never came, and he found himself anxious for her to carry on.
"If you want this to be a sexual thing, then I guess I can manage for the time being, but I'm afraid I'll probably just like you more. And we're still getting to know each other, so I'm not asking you to stop everything and be my boyfriend, but maybe one day we can get there? So I guess I'm just saying that I'd like to…to date you."
Vegeta couldn't manage to stop looking at her. Her eyes searched his face for some sort of reply, but he was getting lost in the blue water of her irises, like he was a man dying of thirst and wanted to drink it all up.
"What does that require," he said in an almost whisper, "Dating?"
She shrugged her shoulders and looked down towards the bed sheets, playing with the red fabric as she maneuvered it between her fingers. "I don't know, I don't really think you need to define it. We just…enjoy each other's company. And hang out like we've been doing, just…" she glided her eyes up towards his, "exclusively."
Exclusively? Well, that wouldn't be a problem. After all, Vegeta quickly ran down a list of women he had a semblance of interest in outside of a quick assessment of their looks, and he came up with one name.
Hers.
"So….?" Her lips pillowed together in a perfect circle and she leaned in closer, "Is that okay?"
Vegeta sat up and scooted away from her, his feet touching the carpet on the other end of his bed. He could feel Bulma burning a stare into the back of his neck with the heat of a million suns, and he subconsciously grabbed it to prevent his skin from deteriorating. He walked to his closet, his back still to her, and ruffled through it for a fresh pair of clothes. Finally he turned around, watching her face cling on to her last shred of dignity at his lack of a reply.
Deciding not to torment her any further, he spoke. "Get dressed, Bulma."
Her eyebrows rose to her hairline as she parted her lips, her words getting caught in the tangle of her breaths. "Are you kicking me out?"
"No," he replied, finding a black button up shirt that was more formal than what he normally wore, "I'm asking you to get dressed. I'll be honest, I haven't dated much, but from my understanding, doesn't that typically involve dinner?"
He didn't need to turn around to see her face light up like an overly decorated Christmas tree, nor was he surprised when dainty arms wrapped around his neck and lips pressed to his skin wetly. She giggled in his ear before sauntering off to the bathroom, grabbing her overnight bag full of essentials that he didn't think she needed.
He waited for the bathroom door to close all the way, and when he felt like the coast was clear, Vegeta finally smiled.
oooOooo
Vegeta tried to remember the last time he had dined at L'ultima Cena, a quaint Italian restaurant that requires months of planning to get a reservation, but came up empty.
The bright sign basked them in a welcoming glow of light, the tiny bulbs inside of the letters made the restaurant stand out on the street that was otherwise bathed in darkness. Bulma's blue hair was even more electrifying, and Vegeta would bet his entire meal that every car that whizzed past them slowed down momentarily to get a good look at her. With her figure hugging red, sleeveless dress and matching lip color, she was stunning. On the ride over, he even slipped up and managed to tell her so before redirecting his eyes on the road, his hands gripping his steering wheel as if it could take back the words.
"We're eating here?" She asked, looking at the long line that curved the entrance, a plethora of disappointed faces pretending not to steal glances at the attractive duo. "Vegeta, I don't think we'll be able to even get a seat at the bar."
He huffed and placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her past the line of dining hopefuls, much to their dismay and comments. He ignored them all, telling himself that now wasn't the time for his blade of a tongue, and took them straight towards the entrance, stopping at the booth just in front of the glass doors.
The host didn't bother to look up at them until Vegeta cleared his throat, and even then he gave them only a hint of his attention before scribbling something back on his notepad. "The line starts back there, and there is a two hour wait for a seat at our luxurious bar," he drawled out like a television script, "And please understand that you may not be able to dine in tonight. To best avoid this issue, it is advised that an RSVP is made at least a month prior."
Vegeta's jawline tightened and he avoided looking at Bulma's 'I-told-you-so' gaze. He cleared his throat again, this time with more authority. "Broly," he said in a deep voice, making the host whip his head up immediately.
Broly narrowed his eyes under the warm glow of the inside of the restaurant, and a small hint of recognition settled in the soft glimmer of his irises. "Mr. N'Ouija?"
Vegeta nodded, puffing his chest out with pride. A smile crept on the corners of the host's face, and he stood a little straighter and put his pen down with finality. "Wow, I haven't seen you here in years! Not since…well…you know…"
"I would like a table for two, Broly. I believe that my family has never required a reservation here."
"O-of course not," Broly flipped the pages of the hardcover reservation book, scratching out a name and writing Vegeta and co. in its place. "But we are pretty full tonight. The only available seats we have are in the V.I.P area, and I know how much you hate it up there."
Hate was an understatement. Vegeta couldn't stand being in a room full of people who probably made a little too much on this week's paycheck and chose to come here to brag about it. They were loud and boisterous, and he preferred a quiet meal. But the promise of veal Marsala and a good Chianti wine sounded salivating, and he had already driven this far out into the city.
"That'll do."
Broly nodded and whispered something to another host behind him, turning back and smiling with a charm that wasn't there originally. He raked his eyes over Bulma from head to toe, before settling his gaze on Vegeta. "Well," he said impressed, "I guess we can't expect anything less than perfect from a N'Ouija."
Bulma chuckled and smiled at him and he pretended not to see. But truth be told, it felt oddly satisfying having her in his company like this, as if his own personal stamp of 'Mine' was all over her. People could stare all they wanted to; she was his date for the evening.
They were led up a stairway that was draped away from the rest of the diners, suffocating them immediately with the smell of overpriced cigars. Bulma's eyes drank in the entire establishment as they sat down, the waiters bombarding them with various menus and specials, even though neither one was really paying attention.
"I've never eaten here, Vegeta. And you're so popular," she smirked as she ran her eyes over the menu, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, "What do you recommend?"
"I only order the Veal Marsala," he folded his menu and handed back to the eager waiter, "and a bottle of Chianti. You order whatever you like."
"Oh my," she mimicked his actions and folded her menu too, giving it to the waiter, "For someone who's never really dated before, you're doing a hell of a job." She turned her attention to the waiter, giving Vegeta time to study her sharp but delicate jawline and her swan like neck. "I'll have the same, please."
The scrawny waiter nodded and shuffled away, leaving them alone over a dimly lit candle. Bulma placed her chin on the back of her hand, flashing Vegeta a smile that would make any lightbulb jealous. He fidgeted with his pant leg and looked down, feeling uncomfortable with how comfortable she made him.
"You are really something," she teased, "The only man I've ever met that likes to show off but doesn't take a compliment."
"It's not showing off," he glared at her, "I've eaten here many times in the past. The food is good and it's the only time I'll waste money on a meal that isn't homemade. Just because you'll eat food slopped in grease and batter doesn't make me a show off."
"Touché," she giggled and turned her focus back on the restaurant, taking in the atmosphere, "But in all seriousness, this is lovely. I never really got to do things like this in my past relationship."
"Well it's like I said: pick better boyfriends."
"Maybe I did this time." He watched the smile die from her lips as her expression turned serious, and the glimmer of her eyes spoke more than her words ever could. Even in his discomfort, Vegeta found it hard to look away from her. He'd be okay, he decided, if he had more nights like this that involved her.
The scrawny waiter approached their table again, carrying a tray of a single glass of a white wine. He sat it in front of Bulma and smiled. "Excuse me madam, but this drink is courtesy of the gentlemen in the table at the far corner. They send it to you with compliments of your beauty."
Bulma hesitantly looked back and forth between the waiter and Vegeta, before ultimately pushing the drink across the velvet table cloth, an apologetic smile stealing her lips. "Tell them thank you but no thank you. Insist to them that I'm with my date."
Inside, Vegeta was enthused at how quickly she turned the offer down. On the outside, he sternly watched the waiter saunter back to the table, trying to catch the faces of the men that were painted in the shadows.
"And you say I'm popular, " he scoffed, taking a sip of his water, "We haven't even been here for twenty minutes and you're already being wined and dined."
She waved him off and eyed the bottle of wine they ordered as it was placed in front of them. The second waiter began to pour their glasses when the scrawny one made his way back to them again, his face completely drained of color. He leaned in close and whispered something to his fellow worker, and Vegeta watched as the second one's face fell flat as he stepped back.
"U-umm, pardon me again madam, but the table in back insists that you take this wine," he sat it down in front of her again, ignoring her slanted brows and pursed lips, "So please take it on the house."
"I believe the lady said that she doesn't want it," Vegeta scowled at the waiter as a fire stormed in his chest, threatening to seep through his pores, "So take it back to the table now."
"Mr. N'Ouija," the waiter's eyes pleaded towards Vegeta, trying to whisper a secret that his quivering lips couldn't say, "I would do that if I were able, sir, but they insist."
"I don't care what they insist, she won't accept it. Now send it back before you have an issue with me."
"Vegeta…" Bulma warned, keeping her voice low.
"Sir," the waiter licked his lips and leaned in closely, and Vegeta could tell that he was trying to keep his composure, "Please accept it. I understand that she doesn't want it, but I'm begging you, don't get me in trouble with them. They won't like it if I come back with the wine."
Vegeta narrowed his eyes, studying the waiter meticulously. Finally he stood, reaching across the table and grabbing the glass. "I'll handle this." He brushed past the man, making his way towards the table and trying to see through the darkness.
How dare this asshole interrupt his date with his persistence? Vegeta ran through a list of insults that he planned on using against the man, knowing that he would scare them so well they would be buying him a drink. He curved around a waitress carrying a large tray, mere steps away from the table.
And he froze.
A group of men in powerful business suits sat in a huddled circle, smoking on cigars, the smoke curling out of their mouths like vines, drinking what looked to be the most expensive wine in the establishment. In the center of the smoky haze sat the shortest of them all, his dark lips curving into a smile. Vegeta swallowed; the man laughed.
"Why, hello Vegeta," he sang, resting his chin on the back of his hand just as Bulma had previously done. He eyed the wine that was cradled between Vegeta's fingers and pouted, dramatically rolling his eyes back to his face. "Are you bringing my gift back to me? I'm offended! I thought she would enjoy the delicate fruity flavor." The man took a drink of his own wine, which Vegeta assumed was the same as the one that he carried. "She is lovely, Vegeta. I'm impressed. She has the same beauty as your mother. You know what they say, we're all chasing after our parents in one way or another." His lips smirked dangerously, the men around him laughing in a low, threatening tone.
Vegeta ran his eyes over them one by one, his chest rapidly rising and falling, his heart beating like a metronome. He locked eyes with the man in the middle again before turning away all together, moving back to Bulma as fast as his feet would let him. He didn't miss the man cackling behind him, however, nor did he miss his words:
"A pity. I'll be seeing you around, Vegeta. I do hope your date enjoys the wine."
Vegeta slammed the glass on the table as soon as he arrived, spilling small droplets around the plates of veal that had arrived in his absence. Bulma looked at him in bewilderment, her words caught on her tongue. Gently, but with enough force to move her, he grabbed her by the elbow and stood her up. "I'll make this up to you Bulma, but we've got to go right now."
"Wh-what?" Bulma dropped her fork against her plate, prompting other patrons to look their way in judgement as it rattled loudly, "What's going on? The food just got here!"
"I saw a rat," he said through clenched teeth, helping her down the stairs, "A giant rat that made me lose my appetite."
"Eww!" she shrieked, covering her mouth, "That's disgusting!"
He hummed in reply, maneuvering them past the curtain and through the entrance. He stopped at the host's booth and burned a glare into Broly's face, feeling like a rabid dog without a leash.
"Did you know?!" He pointed an accusatory finger back at the establishment, trying to contain his anger.
Broly's eyes widened and he stepped back. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. N'Ouija," he stammered, "I-I'm not allowed to disclose patrons of the V.I.P section. I'm sure you understand why."
Vegeta pressed his stare into Broly for seconds longer before briskly walking away, his hand still placed on Bulma's elbow. He led them to the car, but Bulma stopped them just short of the doors.
"Hey, Vegeta!" She released her elbow and moved closer to him, resting her hand against his cheek, "What's going on? All this excitement over a rat?"
Vegeta swallowed roughly, trying to capture the right words to say in the spaces of his teeth, studying the depths of Bulma's eyes to see how much she trusted him. "Bulma," he said in a hushed tone, "Would you trust me if I said I can't tell you right now, and just let the matter drop?"
She studied his face, her mouth hanging open with questions that he knew she wanted to ask. Of course she would, and he wouldn't blame her. "Please," he begged, which was something Vegeta N'Ouija did not do, "Just trust me on this."
She sighed, stroking his cheek with her palm and nodded. "Okay. I don't know what's going on, but okay. I'll take a chance and trust you. But you at least owe me a pizza or something." She smiled, and he could tell it was done in a manner to alleviate his troubles, but his anxiety was running high, threatening to erupt like a volcano. The only sense of calm was her skin on his, providing warmth on the chilly night.
He nodded in acceptance, taking in the way her skin sparkled marvelously against the restaurant sign. Before he lost his nerve, he placed a finger under her chin and kissed her, letting truths spill from his tongue into hers. She sighed into his mouth, and he knew she felt the difference in this kiss, softer than the ones the previously shared, but she melted into his chest like chocolate too close to fire.
Uncaring about the audience of the line against the restaurant, he kissed her again, under the brilliance of the moonlight, unaware of a set of eyes that watched them across the street.
oooOooo
A/N
It took 13 chapters, but now we're moving into the 'heart' of what I have planned for this story. (I think this is the longest chapter yet!)
Thank you guys so, so, SO much for the reviews last chapter ( and in general!) It makes my day everytime I get an email :)
If you enjoyed this chapter, please Rate and Review! I really encourage reviews!
Until next time my friends!
