Concerto Fourteen: Shall I Stay? (Would it be a Sin?)

oooOooo

The first thought to register in her mind as she awoke was how soft the sheets were. Like pure satin, almost as if they were spun by gods themselves, rubbing against her bare legs delicately. It made her smile as she stretched, poking her head out of the cocoon of blankets she enveloped herself in the night before. The sun kissed her skin welcomingly, serenading her out of bed. She obliged, rubbing her eyes and yawning. It took her a moment to realize that the sheets didn't add up to the small, but sturdy, couch in her parent's basement. Her eyes sprang open as realization settled that she was in Vegeta's room, clearly unable to make it home after a night of pizzas and beers and wine.

She turned to the bed space next to her, only to find it empty. A small dip weighed down the pillow, the only indicator that Vegeta had actually slept there. She reached out and touched it, almost as if it was the only reminder she had left of him.

"Vegeta?" She called, stretching her limbs and getting to her feet, making her way towards the living room. Sleep still tugged on the edges of her brain, but at his lack of a response, she blinked away the fuzz. "Vegeta? Where are you?" Silence answered her, so she trudged along to the kitchen, nearly bumping into the dining table as she rounded the corner.

An aluminum covered plate was set precisely in the center, a white note on top. Even the way Vegeta organized was very meticulous, a stark cry from the messy harmony that was Bulma. It showed he was honest in the way he lived his life, settling for no less than well executed results. Perfection was in everything he touched, even perfectly displayed plates that smelled really good.

She lifted the note as she uncovered the lid, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate as she read the words.

You slept past your alarm and past my constant screaming. In a real emergency, I worry for you. I wanted to avoid getting slapped in the face by your graceful sleeping movements, so I decided to let you sleep in. Hopefully the breakfast isn't too cold by the time you wake up, but you're a smart woman, the microwave shouldn't be too complicated. If you're up for it, I'd like to have dinner here tonight. I will talk with you later.

-Vegeta

A gleeful smile stole her face and she ceased her chewing, reading the words once again. While far from romantic by any conventional standards, something told Bulma that Vegeta wasn't the type to just leave letters with date inquiries. Being around Vegeta had such a natural ease that she hadn't felt before, like she was simply moving a leg to walk or using her hands to create. She welcomed the feeling and a little something extra, adding a little pep in her step as she turned on Vegeta's record player and danced through her breakfast.

oooOooo

Bulma pulled into the driveway of Capsule Corps, the wind teasing her tresses through the sun roof. Getting back into the gist of painting meant that she had little time to spend with her father and the smart home, and she promised him that today would be reserved to help him in that endeavor. And thanks to Vegeta's lovely wakeup, she was in good spirits to get some science done.

She opened the door and stepped out, adjusting her black pants to her hip. The delay caused her not to hear the footsteps from behind her as they approached, only drawing her attention as a deep voice whispered her name.

"Bulma."

She turned around alarmed, and instantly became face to face with Yamcha. His shaggy hair was tucked under a baseball cap, a bouquet of flowers in his grasp. His mouth drifted outwards into a awkward grin, and he extended an arm forward. Bulma moved backwards towards her car instinctively, not wanting him in her immediate personal space.

"Hey B," he said softly, his eyes attempting to lighten his broody face, "You're looking nice today, as always."

Bulma folded her arms and placed them under her chest, pursing her lips. "Yamcha," she sighed, "What are you doing here?"

His lips circled as if he had something to say, but it was clear his words tangled in the back of his throat, and instead he looked towards the ground, trying not to choke. "I needed to see you, B. I….I miss you."

Bulma straddled the line of pity and annoyance as she looked at her ex, trying to puzzle together the reason for his arrival. Not that she was complaining or needing of it, but Yamcha hadn't bothered to call her or text her at all since the breakup, and while she was too busy with Vegeta to care, the fact that he thought he could just show up like this out of nowhere unnerved her.

"Yamcha, whatever it is you think you're doing, I really suggest that you stop."

His face fell, eyes begging for sympathy as they rolled up her frame until locking contact with her. "You can't be serious, Bulma," he shook his head, extending the flowers from his chest, "After all these years together, practically a lifetime, you're just going to walk away? I mean, I let you have your little time off and all, but when are you coming home?"

Bulma scoffed and looked towards the sky, watching as clouds that were appropriating animals came together in a happy unison, a very different mood than she was experiencing now. "I'm not," she said finally, turning her head down to look at him, "I'm not coming home, Yamcha. I mean what I said."

Yamcha pressed his mouth together tightly, sucking on the insides of his cheeks like Bulma knew he did when he was angry, and he took a step closer to her. "What is so bad about what we had that you feel like you needed to end it for good? Because I see all the potential you have?! Because I give a damn about where you're going in life?!"

"You don't see me!" Her voice took flight like a bird learning to fly, unsure and unsteady but holding on to firm belief, "You see a reflection of who you want me to be! And I can't be that person for you, Yamcha. Not anymore."

"You make me out to be this… this villain, Bulma!" Yamcha dropped the flowers and pleaded with his arms, the theatrics of his emotions playing out over his facial features. "All I ever did was love you! How am I the bad guy because all I did was love you!?"

Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep her own reactions to a minimum. Yamcha was stirring up a deadly fire, and if she wasn't careful, she would end up burning herself. "It's not always enough Yamcha. I need more than that."

"Really?" A harsh wind blew past them both, making his eyes narrow with malice, and he darted his eyes across her face with disgust. "Does that other guy give you what you need?"

"Yamcha, don't start this…"

"Why? So, Vegeta can come in and steal my girl, but I'm not allowed to ask about it?"

Bulma's eyes flashed open at the mention of the name, her electric irises alive with shock. She replayed the conversation in her head, wondering at what point had she slipped and let Vegeta's name slither off of her tongue.

Yamcha scoffed, clapping his hands slowly in applause. "And there it is, ladies and gentlemen," he laughed and hollered as if he were celebrating, although Bulma found nothing funny about the situation, "There it fucking is. The look that I knew you would give, oh manI could've taken a bet on it. The look of hard pressed truth. I'm nursing a broken heart here, that you caused by the way," he jammed an accusatory finger in her direction, "And you're out here sleeping with the very man who fired me!"

"You fired yourself, Yamcha!" Bulma clenched her fists at her side, a wretched anger brewing in her belly, "You acted like an ass because you decided to bring your personal life to your job! There's no way that you can blame that on Vegeta!"

His jaw dropped as a volatile flame ignited in the shadow of his eyes, his cheeks puffing red. "So you're defending the son of a bitch now too, huh? What, you guys have pillow chatter about poor ole' Yamcha?" A flicker of sadness danced over his eyes, but he blinked and it was gone. "You're really seeing him, aren't you?"

"That's none of your business," her tongue burned with words she wanted to say, but they had nestled on the inside of her cheek, and she was beginning to question why she was even entertaining this conversation in the first place. "What I have going on in my personal time is no longer any of your concern."

"Well how the hell am I supposed to act like it doesn't bother me when you're parading around here, mushing your faces together on street corners?! I saw you two the other night. I've never been so betrayed in my life, and I would've never thought it would come from you."

Bulma was unable to break her stare away from Yamcha, watching him incredulously, a heavy blanket of anger sleeping between them. She studied the lines of his face and wondered how had there ever been a time when she was able to look past his many flaws and love the man underneath? Yamcha was selfish, far beyond any capacity of saving, and she chided herself for keeping him on a pedestal for as long as she had. The torch had long been extinguished, and Yamcha was still trying to light it with wet matches.

"Like I said," she brushed past him, letting the steam of irritation roll off of her body and pool onto the cement for him to lick up, "It's none of your business. Don't bother me anymore Yamcha. Not until you can grow up."

She cursed his name in a string of insults under her breath, stomping with much more force than intended in each step, hoping that if she turned around he would resemble a ghost.

"Wait, Bulma!" His voice boomed, even though she knew he hadn't moved from his spot. She stopped in her tracks, her back still to him, her face still painted in anger. "Why him?" His voice was helpless, cracking. "Why Vegeta of all people? He's not even a good guy. I've heard all sorts of rumors about him, and if any of them are true, he's just going to spit you out after he's broken your heart. So why throw away everything for his sake?"

Bulma took a deep breath, preparing to speak. She wouldn't waste her words for her benefit, and certainly not for Yamcha's, but Vegeta didn't deserve to have his name shitted on, especially when everything she saw in him negated Yamcha's words. "Because I got tired of tasting stale roses when all I wanted to do was bloom." And with that she left him, a confused look on his face, and a victory point in her pocket.

oooOooo

"Bulma, could you hand me that wrench over there?" Dr. Briefs lay on his back, sprawled on a yellow roll cart, checking the bottom of the 'brain' machine for the smart home protoype.

Bulma delivered it to him, tinkering with some buttons on the side panel of the machine, trying to lose herself in as much of the work as possible. But every so often she would catch herself gritting her teeth and throwing Yamcha's name to the ground, stomping it out with her foot like it was a cigarette.

"That should just about do it," Dr. Briefs rolled out from under the machine, wiping his brow with the back of his work glove and taking a satisfactory breath, "I think this will be ready to unveil in about two months' time, just in time for the convention." He stood and dusted his coveralls, grabbing a bottle of cold water on the desk behind him. He watched his daughter intently as he took a long swallow, inspecting the lines of her face with a scientist's eye.

"You're gonna knock it out of the park, Dad," Bulma didn't meet his eye as she continued jotting her notes, her jaw clenching and unclenching. The nerve of Yamcha to show up and put a damper in her otherwise perfectly good day. "I'm sure you'll take top prize this year. Anyone who lays eyes on this would regret not funding it."

"Hmph, perhaps you're right," Dr. Briefs had finished his water and slipped into his lab coat, but he did not take his eyes from Bulma. A silence that only he paid attention to draped the room, hanging heavier and heavier with each passing second. He traced the outline of his moustache and took a deep breath. "So how long are you going to pretend that you're doing fine, honey?"

Her eyes quickly darted to him, holding a gaze with him for a fleeting moment before turning her attention back to her notepad. "I am fine," she said unconvincingly, "Just really want to make sure that I'm giving this machine my full attention today."

"Huh," Dr. Briefs took a stool and grabbed his cigarette pack, quickly sending the room into a smoky inferno once he lit the stick, "And how many times have you wrote Yamcha's name through a skull on that pad of yours?" He nodded towards her and she finally dropped her defenses, sighing as her arms rested at her sides.

"It's that obvious?"

"Well it's not a matter of being obvious, I mean you are my daughter and all, so of course I know when something's bothering you," he began to mumble and waved her off, "But more importantly, I've always hated this building for how thin the walls are." He looked at her knowingly, his face letting her know how clued in he was.

"So you got to hear all of that," she kicked at something invisible on the ground, shying away from her father, "Then I guess you know how done I really am with him this time. He's such a jerk."

"Is that the only reason why you've called it quits and come on home?" He let out blue and gray puffs of smoke and they pirouetted around his head in a halo, "Has nothing to do with a certain property buyer we know?"Bulma felt her face flush hot, and she was sure that her cheeks had turned into tomatoes. She still hadn't really gushed to her parents about her and Vegeta's contractual dating regimen, but it seemed as if she didn't have to. Her father was a genius in many aspects.

"A little," she spoke softly, flashing her father a tiny smile as she walked towards him, pulling out a stool and sitting next to him. "He's a really nice guy, daddy."

He chuckled, causing his shoulders to vibrate, and took another drag of his cigarette. "You can see that through that mean face of his? You wear the Briefs' name proudly, my dear." He elbowed her gently, making her snicker, and she turned to wrinkle her nose at him. "Is he making you happy, Bulma? I don't know much about Vegeta outside of his musical endeavors and properties and colleague mumbo jumbo, but outside of that, does he make you happy?"

Bulma chewed over her words for a moment, trying to decide the most fitting answer to the question. Did Vegeta make her happy? Was happy a strong enough adjective? Did she tell her father that she had just been able to see the color of her veins, when before her wrists were littered with cobwebs? Or how she found herself humming the songs of his flesh in the shower, or how during the day she would smell him with the passing wind, how her fingers still pulsated from the electricity that coursed through his body?

"He makes me," she turned to look at her father and smiled warmly, letting her face fall naturally as she thought of him, "Me. Unapologetically and unashamedly me."

Dr. Briefs couldn't help but to return the genuine smile that stole his daughter's face, feeling his mouth rising so high it threatened to split his face in two. He stood up and bent down over her, kissing the top of her head. "Then I'd say you're one of the lucky ones," his words grazed her bangs, fluttering down to find solace in her ears, "And I hope you both know that."

He let her go with a wink, and walked away from her whistling a tune. Bulma optically followed the back of his dirtied lab coat as he went back to work, her sour mood dissipated. For a splitting second, she wondered what Vegeta would look like when he was her father's age, and would he too whistle while he worked, waiting to get home and laugh at secret jokes between he and the wife that he adored.

oooOooo

The supermarket was surprisingly busy to be so late in the afternoon, way past the hours that anyone with a child would want to go, and yet Bulma felt as if she was bumping into kids at every turn of an aisle.

She finally found some isolation in the frozen vegetable section, which of course she did, and she breathed a happy sigh of relief as she was able to skim through a colorful selection without having to politely move out of the way.

She wondered what kind of vegetables Vegeta would appreciate the most. It had been a long time, but she felt like making him a hearty dinner - - a pot roast to satisfy his carnivorous needs, and she wanted everything about the meal to be perfect- It was only fitting for someone like him, and since it would be his first time eating her cooking, she wanted to make her mother proud.

She felt something cold graze her butt, and she turned around with a frown to chastise the offender. An attractive man gave her an apologetic smile, flashing his moon envying pearlescent teeth, his hand rubbing the back of his hair. He had the most perfect skin, she noticed, with a cool undertone that reminded her of sea foam. Bulma took a quick stock of his rather expensive clothes, and wondered what someone like him was doing shopping in sleepy store like this?

"I'm so sorry, Miss," his voice was velvet, as if he had been mimicking Frank Sinatra his entire life, hypnotizing women around the globe with a simple hello. "It's really tight through here," he pointed at the limited space between the freezer aisles.

Bulma's face softened - the man seemed harmless enough - and gently shook her head. "It's okay. These aisles are pretty narrow."

"What else can you expect in a hole in the wall store like this?" He chuckled, although no light shone through his honey eyes, his teeth stealing the majority of his mouth. Even as his laughter died to a hushed giggle, he never broke their eye contact, and Bulma felt like she was going to be burned alive by his sun and fire irises.

"You know," he bit down on his bottom lip, surveilling her face carefully, "You are really pretty. Like, neck turning gorgeous. I'm sure you get that all the time, right?"

Bulma chuckled nervously, unable to not feel the pressure that his intense stare gave. "That's very kind of you to say, thank you."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I promise." He tucked a loose strand from his ponytail behind his ear, a diamond dangling from a hoop earring moving slightly at his touch, and she felt like he was going to out her under hypnosis. "I just can't stop looking at you. Your hair, the exquisite sparkle of your eyes, your beautiful smile. I'm insanely jealous of whoever gets to call you their own." A murky flash flickered across his eyes, making Bulma feel trapped. "Is there someone calling you their own?"

Her mouth tasted of stale crackers, and she could only find herself nodding, a frozen bag of vegetables making her palm go numb. She cleared her throat and tossed them into the cart, attempting to squeeze past him. The tiny aisle made it impossible, however, and he was not moving his iron grip on the shopping cart. Bulma gave him a polite smile and nodded her head in the direction to move.

"Oh silly me," he said unapologetically, moving his cart to let her through, "I didn't mean to hold you up like this, Miss Briefs."

Bulma shot him a slightly surprised look. "So you recognized me, I see," she began to move her cart through, her tone dripping with mild annoyance, "Well, as flattering as this conversation has been, I really should be going."

"Oh of course," the man's eyes narrowed into slits, the corners of his mouth lifting into a coy grin, "I'm sure Vegeta doesn't want a pretty little thing like you out for too long." At her gaping expression, he snickered and moved closer to her, beginning to push his cart in the opposite direction. His breath was cool on her cheek as he said with his serpent's tongue: "You never know what kind of predator might scoop you up. You look so meek and innocent, the perfect prey."

He didn't leave Bulma any time to recollect herself as he sauntered down the aisle, turning slightly to grin at her over his shoulder. A chill creeped down her spine as he watched her intently before flicking his ponytail over his shoulder and disappearing behind another row of freezers.

oooOooo

It smelled good in the kitchen, if Bulma had to admit, and she licked her top lip happily as she cut up the final potatoes to add to the pot.

Vegeta stood behind her, hovering over her shoulder as he watched her careful measurements of seasonings and spices. He grunted in surprise as she skillfully handled a pan cooking away asparagus simultaneously with stirring gravy. "Smells good," he said softly, and Bulma turned around to smile at him.

"Want to taste it?" She dipped her wooden spoon into the pot with gravy, blowing lightly on it to cool it down. She offered it to him, her hand cupped underneath to catch the drippings, and he accepted, covering the spoon with his mouth. She carefully watched his face for his reaction, her breath stuck in her throat.

Finally he nodded, reaching behind him to drink his wine. "Where did you get the recipe?"

"It's my mother's," she said with a smile, "I've never had a chance to make it on my own, but she makes me help her every holiday."

"Well it's a good thing she did." She felt his eyes burn her back as she put the lid back on, watching the steam immediately paint the glass, and she wished she could control the giddiness that his compliment was making her feel. "Thank you, for making dinner."

Something in his tone made her sad, as if he wasn't used to anyone making him a proper meal, so she placed her spoon on the counter and turned around to wrap her hands around his waist. "I'll cook you dinner whenever you ask. If you ask politely."

"Don't be getting too arrogant, Bulma," he grinned and placed his arms around her as well, "I haven't tried the roast yet. For all I know, you're trying to mask how horrible it is with the gravy."

She lightly punched him in the chest and scoffed. "Asshole. I'll have you know I spent a very long time at the grocery store picking out every ingredient with purpose. It will be delicious."

"So you say," his tone was so gruff and deep and it oozed with power, and Bulma admitted it was one of her favorite things about him. "But seeing as I wasn't there, I have no way of knowing how many people you asked to help you."

"You are really laying it on today," she laughed, "But maybe it would have been better if you did come with me. So many weird and insane things happened."

"Oh really," he rubbed the small of her back, making her sigh pleasurably against his chest, "Like what?"

"Well, for starters I ran into Yamcha, or I should say, he ran into me." His features darkened at the name, and she felt him breathe heavily with agitation. "He knows about us, you know. He said he saw us kissing on the street the other night."

Vegeta instantly shrugged his shoulders. "So?"

"So he's not happy about it, obviously."

Vegeta clenched his jaw and looked to the side, staring at the wooden oak of his cupboard. "Are you…do you…does that bother you? That he knows?"

Little by little, Vegeta was cracking his hardened shell around her, letting her in oh so subtly, but just enough that she could see what he was really trying to say. She turned his chin back to her, looking him squarely in the eyes. "Hey, I promise it's not like that. I don't care if he knows or not, I just don't like how childish he's being about it."

"Hmph. Do you want me to deal with him? I'm sure he'll have a change of heart afterwards."

"Not only do I not like the way that sounds, I'm going to have to ask that you refrain from Vegeta-ing of any kind. Although maybe you could have handled the guy at the supermarket for me…"

"Guy at the supermarket?" His arms hugged her a little more possessively, his tone laced with disapproval, "What kind of guy at the supermarket?"

"Some creep, I think he works for some tabloid. He knew my name and he knew yours too. I guess neither one of us can escape the life we have for ourselves."

"Why did he say my name?"

"He knew we were dating," she shrugged her shoulders, "He must have really done his research. I was surprised to think he could work for a tabloid. He was creepy and basically called me prey. But he had such fancy clothes and jewelry, and his green hair was so perfectly taken care of-"

"Green hair?"

"Guess I'm not the only one," she chuckled, "It looked pretty natural in my opinion, but he's obviously rich, so he could just be paying for it."

"When you say jewelry," his voice turned serious, "What kind of jewelry are you talking of?"

"Earrings, mainly. They were cute; small hoops with dangling diamonds. They looked rare."

Vegeta clenched his jaw and let her go, walking to the living room, his shoulder muscles twitching. Bulma turned down the eye of the stove and followed him, her eyebrow raised in question. "Vegeta?" She leaned against the doorway, "Is everything all right?"

He nodded his head briskly, although she wasn't convinced, but didn't turn around to face her. "You were looking like that again, Vegeta. Like the other night at the restaurant. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing, Bulma, just," he sighed, massaging his temples and he finally turned around to face her, "If you see that guy again, call me immediately. Don't talk to him, and walk away if he approaches you."

Bulma felt her stomach drip with anxiety, and she walked closer towards him. "O…ka…y? Do you know this man Vegeta?"

"Something like that, I just-" he turned to glare at the wall, rubbing his chin, "There's some people that my father knew, that just aren't very good people. If the guy you're describing is who I think he is, he's at the top of the list of not very good people."

"You're kind of scaring me, Vegeta," she hugged herself tightly for protection, trying to provide herself some warmth. Inside, she was nervous. Was that the vibe that she was sensing from the man earlier? Vegeta looked pretty worse for wear at the mentioning of the stranger, and she had a conversation with him. Had she made a mistake?

He took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, staring at her intently. "Don't be afraid. I wouldn't let them do anything to you. I give you my word."

She nodded, seeing the truth in his eyes so defiantly clear, although she was still shivering behind her mask. The smell of pot roast escaped the kitchen from the oven, reminding her that they were supposed to be having a nice evening. She didn't want this to be an immediate mood killer, especially with Vegeta not appearing to want to talk about it.

She walked towards his album collection, letting her dainty fingers skim through different covers as she roamed through the selection. One in particular caught her eye, making her smile with a fond nostalgia. She removed the vinyl from the sleeve and placed it on the record player, relaxing as soon as the needle sung a crisp scratch.

"Vegeta," she turned back to him, her loose casual green dress swaying with her, and extended her arm, "Dance with me."

He gave her a long stare before shaking his head, his hardened face not moving. She rolled her eyes and moved towards him, her hips moving delicately at the soothing instruments. "Come on, dance with me. This is one of my favorite songs, and I've never danced to it before."

"I don't dance, Bulma."

"Correction, you didn't dance," she moseyed her way up to him and grabbed his hands, moving them back towards the open space by the record player, "Until you met me."

He grumbled but didn't remove his hands. "Vegeta, it won't kill you. I'm a lady who's requesting a dance," she laced her voice with a heavy southern drawl, curtseying the bottom half of her dress, "And you're a man who should ask me."

Vegeta let out an irritated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you serious about this right now?"

"As a heart attack."

He shook his head but sauntered to her, his dark eyes swallowing her whole. "Fine, if it'll get you to shut up. Do you want to dance?"

"That's not how you ask a lady," she frowned and placed both hands on either side of her hip, standing a bit on her tippy toes, "You don't sound very convincing."

"You're grating my nerves Bulma," Vegeta turned around and started the vinyl over, the introductory notes washing over the room again, "Miss Briefs, do I have the pleasure of this dance?" He grumbled it in a rushed manner, looking embarrassed. He held his thick hand out towards her.

"Much better, and yes you may," She grinned and placed her hand in his palm, taking note of the difference between them, olive skin on milky flesh, her delicate fingers drowning in his vast palm. They fit perfectly in his mold as he clasped his fingers over hers, pulling her close to his body and leaving a very small gap between them. His hands rested in the dip of her curve as her arms snaked around his neck, their hands interlocked and held up as they began their dance.

"To Elvis Presely, of all people," he grunted.

"I love this song, Vegeta," she hummed the melody with a sweetness that was stained on her tongue since as long as she could remember.

Wise men say…

She smirked at him as she hummed, and Vegeta's irritated expression slowly softened. He was unable to hold back a giggle as he realized just exactly what they were doing. Bulma felt inclined to laugh with him.

Only fools rush in…

The music swept under their feet, lifting them up as they circled the area in an old fashioned sort of waltz. Vegeta steadily brought her closer to him until their chests were touching, and Bulma grabbed the back of his neck with a tighter grip, her silly, wide smile slowly waning under his gaze.

But I can't help

Vegeta was watching her in a way that she had never seen before. She was getting used to the carnal flame that burned in the browns of his eyes when he wanted her, and she would match his desire with her own strong will. But in this moment his eyes were soft, his tense forehead and jawline smoothed out into a serene expression.

She wanted to paint it.

Falling in love, With you.

He was studying her face with careful analyzation, like he was searching past her exterior for something more. Bulma felt naked, even with being fully clothed, and she hoped that whatever he was searching for would give the answer to the question that etched across his face. His lips parted, almost as if he wanted to say something, but he continued his exploration of her features, like he was going to map the stars the littered her cheekbones.

Shall I stay?...

If she looked hard enough, she could almost see a little boy at a piano in the depths of his eyes, playing beautifully for the audience around him. She mustered every ounce of her will to reflect herself in her own regard, and show him a little girl with blue hair joining him at the bench, accompanying his fluid notes.

Would it be a Sin?...

His fingers circled over her hands tighter, lightly massaging them. He closed his mouth and his chest vibrated against her breasts, making her realize that he was humming. She joined him, her light voice floating over his baritone, ribboning together in a perfect harmony. Bulma's hand on the back of his neck found its way to his face, her fingers exploring the sharp lines of his jaw until they stroked the softness of his cheek. Vegeta must have been in a trance, because he leaned into her fingers, his soft expression powerful with adoration.

If I can't help falling in love, with you.

They were moving slower, but Bulma didn't even realize as she drowned in his grip on her. He moved their joined hands to his chest, resting her palm right over where his heart would be, his own hand protectively covering it. Bulma smiled at him, her fingers still caressing his face, and she was surprised to see Vegeta give her a smile in return. It was a small, lopsided grin, but it spoke all the words that she knew he was saying in his head.

Take my hand…

They stopped dancing, although the world around her was still spinning, matching her pulsating heartbeat. They stood in the middle of his living room, their eyes pressed into the other's as if the answers to life itself could be found in the curves of their lips and the lashes of their eyelids. Vegeta was drawing crescent moons on the back of her hands, and the gentle finger movements made her skin burst alive in color, as if she could sink her teeth into the sweetest yellows and the most savory of whites. She remembered reading once in a horoscope that a part of her was once a supernova exploding, and she was beginning to think if a simple touch from Vegeta was the reason.

Take my whole life too…

He let their hands fall as his fingers skimmed the sides of her face. First one hand. Then two. He stroked her cheeks so gently that Bulma thought she would break. The intensity of his stare did not falter; in fact it seemed that with every passing croon from Elvis, his eyes would flicker with an unspoken adoration that Bulma could hear loud and clear.

For I can't help…

The weight of the moment came crashing down on Bulma heavily, as her brain made clarity with her feelings. Never did she think that she would be here, dancing away with Vegeta, being melted by the poetry of his eyes. She wanted to question it, wanted to know if this was right, wanted to see if she was absolutely crazy for allowing herself to dive into the deepest ends of the water. He looked to be there with her, holding her hand as they leaped into the raging waves, plunging into something new, something necessary. His name sat dormant on her tongue, trailed by a few short words that she felt so absolutely compelled to say. But her mouth wouldn't open, her tongue cemented. Vegeta's eyes darted towards her mouth like he understood, and over the last line of the song, he slowly brought his head to hers, her name escaping his lips as if he was breathing life back into the syllables. A wet choke came from the back of her throat as she understood the words inscribed on the back of her name.

Falling in love,

His lips found hers, kissing her in a way that wasn't sexual, and he drank down her confession as he explored the inside of her mouth with new purpose, his hands cradling both sides of her face. Bulma felt the emotion wedge up in her throat as she leaned into him, gasping into his mouth. If all the stars in every sector of the universe aligned again to create a new destiny, she was sure that she would still end up right here, right now, right with Vegeta.

With you.

And she didn't want it any other way.

oooOooo

A/N:

I just reeeeeeeaaaaalllly wanted some fluff :3 That song always gets to me.

Thank you guys so much for your feedback on the last chapter! I'm glad you all enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it. I hope this chapter was pleasurable as well for you guys!

As always, if you enjoyed this PLEASE leave a review! I can't express enough how much I love getting reviews (like every writer EVER) and how much they can turn my day around. Like I always say, feed the writer, and they'll feed you back ;)

Till next time, my friends!