Concerto Fifteen: Lov(H)ers
oooOooo
Vegeta had grown to hate the smell of gingerbread.
He remembered on cold winter evenings, right before the holidays, his mother would fill their large home with the smell of her gingerbread cookies. It was a chokingly sweet, nutmeg sort of smell that he had associated with comfort and warmth and a smile that seemed to shine for him. But when the curtains abruptly closed on the intricate stage play that was his family life, Vegeta could no longer tolerate the deceptive smell.
Which is why he tried to condense his trips to Nappa's Fine Jewelry to every once in a rare while.
As his oxfords hurriedly paced the cobblestone pavement, each hard pressed step of his foot adding to the anxiety brewing in his belly, Vegeta temporarily allowed himself to burn in the fire of his own nerves.
Vegeta was afraid, and the only one he could speak with was Nappa.
The bells inside of the quaint shop announced his arrival as he stormed through the doors, the intense smell wafting through the air like a ghost until it smacked him in the face. It seemed it was a family tradition to paint the walls with delicacy. His eyebrows mushed together as he tried to wade through the tide, making his way directly to the counter and to the bald man in the middle of a transaction.
Vegeta ignored the mild protest from the patron as he slammed his palms on the counter, interrupting an exchange of money. His eyes were black furies of thunderstorms, making Nappa stare at him with a heightened worry.
"What happened, Vegeta?" Nappa's hand was frozen against the top of the register, his fingers stretched with the intent on gaining another profit for his store.
"Exactly what you think could have happened," a look of embarrassment flashed over his features but he swallowed it away, "But this is a conversation for the back room, Nappa."
Natsubi slowly wandered in behind Nappa through the cutout in the back, in the middle of cleaning an expensive looking teapot, and looked back and forth between her husband and Vegeta. "Is everything okay?" She raised her eyebrow as she casted him a knowing expression, a underline of worry sleeping beneath her question.
Vegeta stared at her like she was a nuisance, letting her know through the shadows of his eyes that it was none of her concern. Truth be told, Natsubi was the closest thing Vegeta had left of his mother, and he wanted to save her innocence of the entire ordeal, even if the colors of her irises sparkled with the truth of the puzzle, including the cobwebs that held it all so delicately together. He clicked his tongue and turned his attention back to Nappa, not having the patience to explain it twice.
"Natsubi, I need you take over this transaction for me," Nappa subtly nodded at Vegeta in understanding, stepping backwards and placing a hand on the small of her back, "I should talk with him."
She nodded, although her face indicated that she would not let up on the matter, and politely took the customer's money. Vegeta lifted the wooden counter and went under it, looking at Natsubi out of the corner of his eyes guiltily as he walked passed her.
Nappa sat on a crate and took a deep breath, his chest expanding with enough room for the entire universe. Vegeta leaned on a wall, crossing his arms, pressing his lips together so tightly his skin threatened to detach.
"Vegeta," Nappa grunted gruffly, "How bad is it?"
Vegeta stared at him for a long moment before slowly rolling his eyes to the ground, his forehead creased in the middle. "It's bad," he said in a low tone, "It's really fucking bad."
Nappa sighed, closing his eyes like he could guard himself from the answer he knew Vegeta was going to give. "…It's Frieza, isn't it?"
Vegeta nodded, still refusing to look at him, wrapping his arms tighter around his frame. "Zarbon ran into Bulma at the grocery store. He threatened her. It seems like Frieza is ready to collect."
"Well no shit," Nappa replied sarcastically, his tone dripping with irritation, "Of course he's ready to fucking collect. He went out of his way to send you a goddamned letter, for Christ's sake! I knew it would only be a matter of time before he starts putting in work to get what he's owed. Frieza is a son of a bitch on his own, but when he tries?" Nappa shook his head and curved his fingers down the sides of his moustache.
"I know that," Vegeta bit back, finally looking at him with fiery eyes, "I'm completely aware what Frieza is capable of when he's pissed off. If anyone fucking knows, it's me. But they know about her…" he spat a cursed mumble out, huffing and unfolding his arms. He pounded on the wall behind him with clenched fists, gritting his teeth, trying to restrain his building emotions. "It was one thing when it was only me they were after, but now she's included like some damned two for one deal."
"So that's her then? Bulma?" Nappa blew out a faint laughter, contradicting the situation, "The infamous blue haired beauty. She's dragged into this mess too, huh? After I told her to stay away," he scoffed, "Who knew I was a fucking psychic?" He stared at Vegeta sternly, watching the way his jaw clenched tightly. "You can't let them get to her, Vegeta."
Vegeta relaxed his muscles, his skin growing hot at the mention of what was his being jeopardized. "They won't," he declared officially, signing his name on the verbal contract with the ink of his tongue, "But I need to keep her as safe as possible." And I don't know how to do that.
Nappa nodded in understanding, knowing how Vegeta must feel, if the apprehensiveness that glazed over his eyes had anything to say. "There's only one way to do that, Vegeta. You're going to have to pay him the money. And soon."
Vegeta scoffed in defeat, knowing that the answer Nappa gave was the truth, but also realizing it was an impossible one for him to do quickly. The value that it would take to make Frieza sleep in the shadows again was high, but was it that expensive when it came to making sure that Bulma was protected? It felt like he was being consumed by déjà vu, each crevice of his brain littered with ghosts, each one of them taunting him with silicone smiles and whispered words of affection. He wanted to grab his head and tell them to stop; demand that they creep back into the corners of his mind where he could look at them through a looking glass if he desired. Instead, he was forced to cradle them, too far gone in his guilt to push them away to ease his suffering.
"Vegeta," Nappa said, his voice low and deep, "Let me help you. I have ways to make that kind of cash-"
"Absolutely not," he replied instantly, burning a stare through Nappa, "I know what you're discussing of doing and I won't allow it."
"Yasai would encourage it, Vegeta," Nappa treaded lightly, watching as the edges of Vegeta's eyes hardened, "She would make the same decision in this case. This shop was important to her, but if it came down to you or this store? You already know the decision she would make."
Vegeta grunted harshly, not allowing his ears to soak up what Nappa was trying to say. He would not allow the shop that his mother adored to be taken away, even if Nappa was half owner now. "The answer is no, Nappa. And that's the end of that."
"So what did you come here for, huh?" Nappa's voice rose with restraint, his eyes narrowed, "You obviously came here for my help, didn't you? Well I'm giving it to you and you're swatting it away! You and that fucking pride of yours, I swear…" he said something, but the words got caught in the spaces of his teeth, "What happens when they do get to her? Bulma? You and I both know that they will to get to you, so then what are you going to do? Add her to your collection of memories?"
Vegeta had a reply on his sharp tongue, but the weight of Nappa's honesty rained down on him, making his mouth go numb. He was struggling between the two, unsure of finding the balance.
Silence blanketed over them, stuffy words floating in the air above, looking down on the men with a grudge. Nappa scratched his chin and finally spoke. "…If you don't want my help, then you could always let this girl go, Vegeta. Distance from you would more than ensure her safety."
"No!" Vegeta was unsure of where the anger came from at the mere mention of Bulma not being around, and he lifted himself from the wall as he tried to settle his rage, " Bulma is where she belongs. I will think of another way before it comes to that."
Nappa's face relaxed as he let Vegeta's statement caress his ears. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, a playful grin stealing his lips. Vegeta hadn't thought of the words he served, but Nappa ate it all up. "Wait a second, am I wrong here or…you… Do you love this woman, Vegeta?"
Vegeta felt his face go flat, his jaw go slack with fluster. Love? He was ready to tell Nappa to mind his own business or classically deny it, but his brain instantly brought Bulma's face into view, her eyes heavy and sad with his answer. His heart tightened, and he decided that he did not enjoy seeing her that way, nor did he appreciate the acidity of guilt on his tongue. Vegeta had never really thought of his feelings for her, and he tried to shut away the memory of them dancing in his living room, and how he had drowned in the pools of her eyes desperately, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into her until he could breathe her flesh. Instead he said nothing and looked to the floor.
"Well gods be damned," Nappa chuckled, "I never thought I'd see the day. Can't say I blame you though, she's a looker."
She's more than that, he wanted to say, but instead he huffed and turned away from Nappa all together, his cheeks growing hot.
"Well, then I say you get moving on this grand plan of yours, Vegeta," Nappa rose from the crates and moved towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder when he arrived, "If you have something to protect here, then you'd better act fast. And despite what your stubborn ass says, I'll help in any way I can. You deserve some sort of happiness, Vegeta, even if you've manipulated yourself into thinking that you don't." He squeezed his shoulder once, waiting for Vegeta to meet his eye contact, before heading back to the sales floor, leaving Vegeta no time to protest.
oooOooo
His fingers itched with the promise of key strokes.
The familiar sense of home washed over Vegeta as he opened the door to the theater, basking himself in the darkness that swallowed his prize: his grand piano.
He threw his coat down on a stack of chairs, barely missing the light switch with his swift steps. He spent the entire drive over sinking in silence, except for the symphony that was going on in his head. His brain madly scrambled notes and octaves together until his foot crushed down on his pedal, racing anxiously to make it to the theater and unleash his torment. Bulma had told him she would be working with her father again today, so he had no immediate outlet to fuel his wrath, so he chose to let his chaotic mind run rampant by way of ivory keys.
The wooden bench creaked as it welcomed his weight, hugging the underpart of his thighs with familiarity. Vegeta lifted the cover, humming the notes that plagued him for the past half hour, and his fingers began to roam over the keys in experimentation.
Vegeta closed his eyes as he let his hands get adjusted to the notes, trying to see the movie behind the musical. A shade of red hurdled towards him until it bled away the darkness, the chords accompanying the color deep and aching. His keystrokes were rushed, gnawing frantically at each other as if in battle, fighting their way to be heard the loudest. They jammed into a series of train tracks, laying a platform for Vegeta to run down, not daring to look behind him and see his troubles. He could feel a shadow slowly catching up to him as he manically strung together chords, its fingers barely ghosting the hem of his pants. Vegeta felt the coldness as it snuck up his skin, but it wasn't unwelcomed. It was familiar, in a sense, like he took his first breaths of life in an ice pit, the sharp frost biting at his veins. He wanted to stop running and let it consume him, chew away at his flesh until he was nothing but bone, forced to wither away into chalky dust.
But then, he felt the sun.
His fingers slowed their relentless pacing as he swayed them over the keys until the octave resembled an angel's cries. The notes here were more calculated, more purposeful, played with more meaning. The heat of the sun melted away the ice that doubled as his skin, and Vegeta sighed as he felt the relaxation of its rays. It wasn't a new feeling, more like something he forgot he used to know, but he let it lick at the harsh edges of his exterior until he was glowing. He stared into the blinding light, full of yellows and creams, until it was absorbed with the prettiest shade of blue.
His fingers glided over the keys, the notes pouring out together like running water, a sweet simple tune that sang of Shakespearean sonnets. A hand emerged from the center of the now blue sun, the delicate fingers reaching for Vegeta's face. He let them touch his skin as his own fingers let the piano cry in pleasure. He could taste the words that sank into his flesh, taste the confessions that made him question reality, but soon he relaxed in the honesty behind each syllable. He got lost in the blue planets for her eyes, looking at him in such a raw way that it left him exposed. But he didn't feel the shadow on his back anymore as her light gobbled it up.
Vegeta had completely lost himself in his own creativity as he ran over the keys, memorizing his patterns for later, the notes coming out perfectly as his mind glossed over possibilities with Bulma. Green pastures that they lay on, her hair wrapped in the petals of a rose, her cherry lips giggling his name. Midnight skies that they could fly to, their hands hugging the stars as they pointed out constellations that no one else could see. The deepest depths of the ocean, colored so magnificently against the hue of her hair, the water gently lapping at her skin as he pulled her to his chest. If he required oxygen, he would just drink from her. His score resembled the comfort of these impossible adventures, filling the theater with all of the words that Vegeta hadn't thought of yet.
"Wow, that's beautiful Vegeta."
He stopped his playing abruptly, whipping his head around to see Goku standing awkwardly in the center of the room, carrying his bass. Vegeta growled and turned away from him, immediately shutting the cover on the piano again. "What the hell are you doing here? It's a Saturday."
"Yeah, well Chi Chi took Gohan to her dad's for the day, so I figured I'd get some practice here. Our neighbors are really old, and the walls to our houses aren't thick, so they always complain when I get too loud." Goku scratched the back of his head and set his bass down, a smile slowly creeping along the edges of his mouth. "But wow Vegeta, that was amazing what you were playing! Did you write that for the orchestra?"
Vegeta sucked in a tight breath of air and closed his eyes shut tightly. "No, this could never be played by the likes of you." An aquatic color replaced the blacks of his eyes so he opened them, the lines of his forehead smoothing out. "It's just something I came up with."
"Well, it's amazing! Sometimes Chi Chi likes to watch really old movies and cry to them. That song you were playing sounded like the soundtrack for one of them."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"She would think so. And so do I. I was actually going to suggest that you give us something else to play; that sounded too personal."
Vegeta grit his teeth as Goku laid out his assessment, the clinking sounds of the two cents Vegeta didn't ask for ringing loudly in his ears. Goku unzipped his bass and shuffled through his practice music, setting up without another word spilling from his lips. Vegeta opened his eyes and turned curiously, watching him adjust his stand. He cleared his throat.
Goku looked up innocently, staring at Vegeta with his mouth slightly opened. Vegeta rolled his eyes and shook his head, unable to grasp how sometimes Goku just didn't get it.
"I'm already in the middle of this song, Kakarot," he bit out, "So take your antics and find another place to practice."
"There is no other place," Goku said matter of factly, picking through his sheets, "And everyone else is busy. Krillin finally asked 18 on a date, so they're spending the day together, and Yamcha is still in a sour mood." His eyes narrowed slightly in Vegeta's direction quickly before regaining their round shape. "So I didn't want to bother him about playing."
"Hmph," Vegeta turned fully in his seat so that his back was against the piano, and he sat back with his arms stretched, resembling royalty. "So you're here to blame me for that, is that how it is? I caught that look you gave me."
"I'm not blaming you at all, I agree that Yamcha threw a tantrum. It's just that…you and I both know why he threw the tantrum in the first place."
Vegeta bit down on his bottom row of teeth with such force he almost cracked his jaw, and his hands clenched and unclenched. "What the hell are you on about, Kakarot?" He asked, his voice deep and demanding.
"Yamcha told me and Krillin about it at the gym the other night. That you're dating Bulma?" Vegeta studied Goku's face carefully as he tried to see when the man would cast him a look of judgement, but it never came. Instead Goku waited patiently for an answer, one that Vegeta blinked away.
"My personal life is not up for discussion, especially not to be deciphered by you."
Goku shrugged, all of the words Vegeta expected him to say falling to the floor and littering his feet. "I'll be honest with you, Yamcha's my friend and all, but Krillin and me would listen to him talk about their arguments, and it seemed like they didn't make much sense anymore. Chi Chi drives me crazy sometimes," his brows knitted together as some sort of memory collage played in his mind, "But I don't talk about her nearly the way Yamcha did about Bulma. I think maybe they're better off this way." Goku appeared to taste his words carefully, biting the inside of his cheeks. "Is she the reason behind the music you were playing?"
Vegeta felt his face go hot, and he had a slew of words he wanted to use to answer Goku, including a message to Yamcha he was sure would get delivered , but a vibration of his phone interrupted him, making the words stain his tongue instead. An unknown number flashed across the screen, and he eyed it curiously before answering.
"Yes?"
"My, my, is that a way to answer the phone? What if I was someone important?"
Vegeta felt his blood thin, running cold and thumping against the skin where his heart rested. The shrill voice in the receiver cackled loudly, causing Goku to look over towards him in question. Vegeta looked back at him, although he was frozen in place.
"Are you still there, Vegeta? I'd hate to add this phone conversation to the list of rude things you've been doing to me lately."
Vegeta swallowed thickly, tasting tumbleweeds, his voice lost in the confines of his throat. He coughed to clear it, his raspy voice responding, "I'm here."
"Good," the voice purred, laughing quieter this time, "If I couldn't reach you by letter or by phone, I was afraid I'd have to pay you a visit. And I really don't like paying visits, especially on a Saturday. So I'll make this short, if you can answer my questions thoroughly. You can do that right, Vegeta?"
Vegeta nodded, taking notice that he couldn't actually be seen, and grunted in place of a reply instead. The voice chuckled whole heartedly, a contradiction to the ache that began to form in Vegeta's bones. "Very well. I suppose you are a man of few words, unlike your loud mouthed father. And speaking of the devil, it seems as if he owed me something! Did you read my letter, Vegeta?"
He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to restrain his building anger. "I received it."
"And no response? What would your mother say? I remember what she said to me about you, called you 'her little prince'. I thought it was precious, just like her. I'm sure she wouldn't want her darling son to have such repulsive manners."
"Frieza," Vegeta stood and stamped his foot against the floor, walking briskly to his office as he tried his best to whisper, "I don't have that kind of cash right now. I'm working on getting it—"
An irate wail pierced through the phone, making Vegeta remove it from his ear as if it were burning him. "You know, Vegeta, the last time I heard this promise it came from your father. He was a silly man, you know, biting off more than he could chew, and in the end he was the one that was spit out. I'd like to resolve his dispute before you're the next entre on my menu. Or perhaps that lovely woman of yours has the money. Bulma Briefs? I'm sure Capsule Corporation would pay for her unguaranteed safety. Zarbon tells me that she is lovely."
Vegeta pressed his back against the cool wood of his door and dropped his head, trying to keep face for seemingly no one. He slammed the weight of his fist on the wood, and he heard it moaning in splinters and cracks. This was a deadly game that he was a part of, and he needed to find a way to untangle both himself and Bulma from Frieza's dangerous web. "You'll get your money, Frieza, I swear it, just….leave her out of it."
"Oh ho ho, but Vegeta, she's the most interesting piece! No one likes a dull performance, my boy, and she seems to be the star of this circus your family has orchestrated! But you're absolutely right, I will get the money one way or another." There was a pause on Frieza's end, and Vegeta found himself holding his breath as he waited to hear his upcoming words. "You know," Frieza's voice came out whimsical, as if he was narrating a children's book, "Despite what they say, I'm not awful Vegeta. I'm a business man, first and foremost, but I also have a heart. Surely you can understand that? Word around town is that you're having a concert! I hear it's supposed to be grand with very important attendees. Is that so?"
"What is your proposal, Frieza?" Vegeta covered his eyes with the palm of his hand, as if he could just block out this current episode of madness that Frieza was driving him through.
"Well, you don't beat around the bush, do you? I like that. When is this concert? A few weeks? A month?"
"In a month and a half," Vegeta sighed and felt his abdomen tighten in stress.
"Perfect. Then I expect you to have the money by then. And because I'm so generous, I'll only charge you a ten percent inconvenience fee! Never say I don't negotiate, Vegeta. Do we have a deal?"
Vegeta wanted to laugh over the words, completely aware that he simply did not have a choice, knowing that Frieza was only dangling one option on the hook while the other line was cast over a cliff, into the dark pits of hell that Frieza seemed to own. He cleared his throat, his mind meticulously calculating how he could manage to make that much money in the time allotted. "We have a deal," he replied, feeling like he was signing his life away to the devil himself.
"Glad to make business with you. Oh, and Vegeta? Do understand that this is the last deadline I'm willing to work with you. If you can't make this one, then I'll have to go about another way of collecting, and I'd really rather not do that. It always leaves me feeling so unclean." There was a click in his ear, and Vegeta brought the phone down to see the call disconnecting, the number flashing away at him like a timer to a bomb, and a part of him wished that he would detonate with it.
oooOooo
The sun was singing the tunes of its departure, making way for the moon to take center stage, the magenta and orange glows of its rays coating Bulma's delicate skin. She was chatting away about the improvements of her progress on the smart home, as well as discussing some ideas she had for an upcoming painting, but Vegeta wasn't paying attention. All he could see when he looked at her was a target, and he was trying to decide how to shield her from the bullets of his past.
"Vegeta, are you okay?"
The question pulled him from his thoughts, and he saw her clearly this time, catching the colors that latched on to her bare legs as she cuddled in the patio chair on his balcony. His white button up fit loosely on her body, swallowing her arms so that her hands were barely visible, making Vegeta's chest tight at her comfortable vulnerability. She caught him staring so he looked away, pretending to care more about the setting sun instead of the electricity in her eyes.
"I'm fine," he grunted, "I'm just thinking about the concert."
She hummed contently, stretching her arms and grabbing her glass of tea from the table. "I can't wait until the concert. It's been so long since you've had one."
He snorted, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards, and cast a stare on her again. "You say that as if you're the one playing."
She smiled at him, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a swallow, the gentle curve of her neck bobbing. She sat the glass back on the coaster and shrugged, her messy curls from her shower falling on her shoulder. "I'm only saying that I'm excited. I love to see you up on the podium. You look so powerful, so majestic. Like nothing can touch you. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes on."
He grabbed his own glass and swallowed down his nerves and embarrassment, feeling his stomach go light with stars. She sounded so pleasant as she spoke of him, like she had been crafting the words for years in order to feed his ego, but the underbelly of the declaration was genuine, and it made his chest puff out more than he'd like to admit. "Hmph," he scoffed unconvincingly, "Well I can't say I blame you. I am a prodigy, after all."
"It's so refreshing to know that you're confident and all," she rolled her eyes, "But I still meant what I said. This time, I might even bring a sketchbook in the audience. So you can see what you look like freshly in my mind instead of an afterthought." She sighed contently and brought her knees to her chin, resting on them. "Sometimes, I wish that I could swim the tides of your brain. I'm willing to bet I can get the answers to the universe up there."
Vegeta didn't know what to say to that. Her eyes shone like sapphires as she watched him in admiration, leaving him naked. He wished he could give it to her, hand it over like a movie purchase, let her see the interfolds of what made him him. But he was also afraid that if he let her look too closely, he would see the remnants of secrets he wasn't ready to expose yet, and she would realize that he was nothing more than a man sleeping in his own troubles.
"Are you sure you'd even like what you'd find?" He challenged her, his eyes following a bird that was flying home for slumber, "I could be a mad man, you know."
"You are a mad man," she chuckled, lowering her legs to rise, curving the table to stand behind his chair. She bent down and wrapped her arms around neck, pressing her cheek against his ear. Vegeta felt his skin burn up at the touch, tickling his memory of the vivid movie he watched while playing his piano earlier. "But you're mad in the best way." Her breath was hot against his ear, her tone soft until it rivaled the wind, and when she laughed he felt a shiver destroy his ability to breathe. "If you're worried about how it'll turn out, then I want you to know that I believe it will be perfect. I'm no expert, but I can't think of any other person who can inflate my lungs with the sound of music."
He turned to look at her, searching her face as if he didn't believe her. She was serene, a waterfall to lull you to sleep, an oasis with the promise of forever youth. Even with her skin touching his, Vegeta had a hard time believing that he wasn't just hallucinating, and she would return to a place that he could only visit when he slept. She smiled at him before pressing her lips to his, making him forget that he had a weight on his back that seemed to never let up, no matter how many pennies he threw into a wishing fountain. She removed her mouth and leaned back, letting the cold air cruelly blanket his lips, and pressed her forehead to his. "I believe in you, Vegeta."
Vegeta felt his body go frigid, unable to react like he wanted to. He remembered something then, a conversation that he tucked away in the smallest depths of his brain, convincing himself that he would never have much need for it.
Yes, he remembered the floral paper of the wall, the flickering of flames that produced such a crisp sound, the blood red lipstick that stained her lips with a painful forewarning.
oooOooo
Vegeta walked down the spiraled staircase, carrying his violin case with him. There was a storm raging about, threatening anyone who dare step outside during its rage. Vegeta stared out of the large window arrogantly, feeling more powerful than the god who created the rain. After all, he had his ultimate weapon in his fingertips, ready to silence any titan that crossed his path.
He looked over the black railing into the common area below, the flames from the fireplace swaying rhythmically as it dimly lit the area, casting an eerie glow on the sector of the home. He descended the stairs and made his way towards the room, his black hair turning burgundy under the orange and yellow blaze.
Yasai was stretched in front of the fireplace on her plush carpet, a record player at her side and a glass of wine on her lips. She was humming to the song, some instrumental from the 1930's, her head moving fluidly to the music. His deep footsteps broke her trance, and she looked up at him, an inebriated smile stealing her lips.
"Are you leaving, Vegeta? It's awful out." She guzzled another drink, appearing to be consumed in her own private party.
Vegeta nodded, grabbing his coat from the rack. "I have to practice, Mother. I really want to audition for the symphony next month."
"You can't practice in your room?"
He shrugged his shoulders and looked to his feet. "The ceiling isn't high enough to drown me out."
She giggled and set her wine glass down, rising to her feet and walking towards him. "My little prince, ever the perfectionist." He grumbled as she fixed the collar of his coat, tossing an umbrella against his chest with a silent demand that he use it. He scoffed, but grabbed it anyways, bringing it down to his side. "You remind me of your father now that you've gotten older," she stepped back to look at him, one of the two best creations she'd ever made if asked, a gentle smile tugging on her mouth, "So passionate and full of wonder. It makes me proud."
Vegeta felt the sting of an insult he knew she didn't purposely give, and he stared at a family portrait on the wall to distract his offended thoughts. The shadows the ceilings drowned their faces out, and Vegeta thought it was perfect. A rebuttal sat dormant on his tongue, tasting of the ashes of cigarette smoke, and he kept his mouth shut so he didn't litter the floor.
"Vegeta," Yasai crossed her arms, resting one hand under her chin, "You're going to leave one hell of a mark on the world one day, and my biggest dream is that I'll be around to see it."
"Of course you will be," he raked his eyes back to her, "Who else would cheer me on if it wasn't for you?"
Yasai flashed him a polite smile, aware of the message that slept under his words, and she turned around to walk back to her spot, her silken robe moving behind her like waves, making her appear like she was destined to submerge everything she touched in her glory. "Who knows," she sighed dramatically, "Maybe you'll meet some lady who will replace your dear old mother in your heart. Then she'll be the one cheering you on."
He grunted, not liking the direction of this conversation. It seemed since he turned sixteen, his mother would subtly (and not so subtly) suggest that he find a girlfriend to show him the world that shecreated for him. "Impossible. I have no interest in the women I've encountered. Besides, I have my music to cuddle with at night. Anyone else would merely be my mistress."
Yasai turned around to face him, shock playing on her features. Eventually, her expression softened, and she let out a light chuckle. "You sound like I did when I was your age. Before I met your father. Before I fell in love. Love changes you, my son."
"It won't change me," he crossed his arms as a cocky smile covered his face, "Because I have no need for silly emotions like that. Love changes you all right, it makes you blind and stupid." There was a bitter edge to his words, making Yasai flash him a guilty grin as she pressed her lips together. She sat back down on the carpet and poured another glass of wine, watching her son carefully.
"I'll be looking forward to that day. The day you come to me and tell me of the woman who sees a reflection of herself when she looks at you, the one who breathes a new life into you just by saying your name. I know she's out there for you, Vegeta, but I think she won't be easy to find. After all, to compete with a mind like yours, she'd have to be a little lost herself. But that'll be okay, because she'll believe in you, and if she comes to love you even half as much as I do, then you're in for a treat." She gave him a sad smile, one that he could have written a new symphony for, and a shred of truth lit in her irises. "I hope when that day comes, the day I prove you wrong and you do fall in love, you'll introduce me to her."
Vegeta felt the room growing too thick, and he suddenly wondered where his father was, and why he wasn't cozied up to the wife that waited for him every night. She loved his father so loudly that even when she was silent, he could read her words of adoration that were tattooed on her skin. He watched her turn the record player up louder, drowning out her loneliness under the drunkenly sad saxophone and the wine that was making her drunkenly sad. He tore his eyes away from her, gripping his violin case tighter as he made his way to the door, pretending not to hear the muffled sobs that came behind him.
oooOooo
"Vegeta?"
Bulma was staring at him in worry, her lips circled into a perfect 'O', her brows pressed together. "Are you alright in there? You just zoned out completely."
Vegeta nodded, the rush of colors of the present slamming back into his memory with the impact of a train. "I was…thinking," he shifted around her hold, his mother's phantom words playing in his mind like a faded soundtrack, yet as he ran his eyes over the curves of her lips and the narrow bridge of her nose, he could hear the message clearly.
Bulma released her hold on him and stood straight, stretching her tired limbs. She still looked down on him with a curious stare, but Vegeta rose and canceled any words that were about to fall from her lips. He grabbed her hand and turned them back towards the balcony doors. "I need you to come with me," he said, not turning back to see her face.
Bulma giggled, covering his hand with her other one, moving closer to his back. "Well, aren't you energetic this evening? So soon after we just finished?"
Vegeta sighed and shook his head, his cheeks tinting at her vulgarity. "No, not right now." He stopped at the doors, his hands on the door knob as he studied their reflection through the glass. She was light where he was darkness, innocent where he was tainted, a perfect contradiction. "There's someone I want you to meet."
oooOooo
A/N:
So first of all, I want to once again say THANK YOU TO THE REVIEWS! Most of you have been here since the beginning of the story, and I always get super excited when I read what you guys have to say! I especially loved that everyone enjoyed the dance scene from last chapter (no lie, that song has been stuck in my head since then) and I hope you guys like this one the same too!
So I'm preparing to go to a convention, and I have to get my cosplays together, so it may be a second before another chapter is released (I could be lying, and be sitting here typing a new chapter this time next week) but I'm not sure. I literally start and finish a chapter in one sitting (idk why I do this to myself!) so I may have to put this on hold until after the con.
Anywhooo,
R&R, as always my friends! Thank you all for always being so lovely to me, it means the world!
Until next time!
