A/N : Just a random place to collect the little one-shots and drabbles I've sort of tossed around here and there over the years, but aren't worthy of their own dedicated stories. All kinds of different things, but always about Vejita, just because he always was and always will be my favorite character in any fandom.
Guess I'll give the obligatory alert that I have not seen GT, Super, any of the movies (again, I think maybe the Broly one when I was a kid?), or any newer stuff. So...no new characters, alas. I'm just a silly little old-school fan stuck in her ways. And also also, I don't know which dub most of you grew up watching, but for me it was the LA Spanish version, so those are the voices I'll always have in my head, if something described sounds odd to you. And in English, I only ever really watched the Ocean dub (which is why I still cling to the hope that Bardock actually really was a brilliant scientist! 3), and I love my boy Drummond's evil screams. XD
First up is a Yamcha one, 'cause Yamcha doesn't get enough love. Just some fluff, nothing dramatic or angsty for once.
NOTEBOOK
I LOVE LIARS
It had started out quite simply.
It had been entirely innocent, Yamcha swore it, he had absolutely had no underlying motive that very first time he had asked Vejita out for a drink. Swore to the gods above he hadn't; he had just felt bad for the guy.
Bulma had always been a firecracker, for sure, but having a baby just made her all the more intense. Vejita was the focus of most of her ire, probably rightfully so knowin' that guy, but Yamcha felt for him all the same, man to man, because he knew what it was like to be in Bulma's warpath.
It still hurt like hell that Bulma had had a child at last and that it wasn't with Yamcha, yeah, but he couldn't really ever seem to hold a grudge for too long, and especially in this particular case. After all, it wasn't like Vejita had willingly become a father. It wasn't as if Vejita had gone out of his way to woo Bulma right out from under Yamcha.
From Yamcha's understanding, and through his own observations, it seemed quite clear to him that Bulma had always been the instigator. She had been the one throwing herself at Vejita, manhandling him so frequently and fearlessly, and though Yamcha had tried hard to hate the bastard, he just didn't really have the heart to. Didn't seem to really be Vejita's fault, so Yamcha couldn't blame him, and Yamcha loved Bulma in every possible way, always would, so couldn't blame her, really, either.
No one's fault, he figured, and that kinda sucked, because that meant there wasn't anyone to blame, and everyone, sometimes, liked to blame someone else for their problems.
Yamcha couldn't hate Vejita, and so when Bulma held the first party after Goku's death, Yamcha had made a point to observe Vejita when he made a brief appearance. Goku was dead; Vejita seemed to be taking it rather harder than anyone else outside of Goku's immediate family. Yamcha felt for him. Last of his kind, all alone on some foreign planet, a prince with no subjects left, standing on the brink of absolute extinction.
Sad.
The entire situation was just sad, and Vejita, ever stoic and blank and aloof, all the same looked a little sad, too. Lurking back in the shadows all alone, no one paying attention to him, isolated and out of place in an environment that must have been so foreign to him.
Yamcha felt bad for him, and so, when everyone else was drinking and laughing and dancing, Yamcha crept over towards Vejita's hidden little spot at the side of the house, and ducked his head around the corner.
Swore Vejita jumped, head snapping over to look at Yamcha in surprise.
No one ever went up to Vejita willingly to talk to him it seemed, so it must have startled him, and perhaps it startled him more that it was Yamcha doing so.
"How ya doin'?" Yamcha asked, so randomly, and Vejita's brow shot up as his lips parted.
Looked like a deer in headlights, and Yamcha snorted.
"Not gonna come have a drink?"
Apparently stupefied, Vejita just quickly shook his head, as if so taken aback that he was simply unable to speak.
Poor guy.
It was pity that led Yamcha's hand then, as he wandered away from Vejita, grabbed two beers, and then crept back over. If Vejita wanted to hang out in shadows, that was fine. Yamcha had no qualms about lurking there with him.
Vejita seemed somehow even more startled that Yamcha had come back, willingly, and when Yamcha held out a beer Vejita just gawked at him. Yamcha eventually reached down and placed the beer in Vejita's hand, something he would never have had the nerve to do just a year ago, and something he probably still wouldn't have had the nerve to do now if Vejita hadn't seemed so sad.
It wasn't an obvious sadness, no, because Vejita would never allow himself to show something like that, would never let himself be weak. Just the air about him, though, was so suffocating. Maybe Yamcha knew how Vejita was feeling, was able to pick up on those little micro-expressions, because Yamcha had also spent his entire life pretending to be something he just really wasn't.
In that, he and Vejita seemed to have very much in common.
As Puar chattered away with a tipsy Roshi, Yamcha leaned against the side of the house beside Vejita, sipping at his beer as Vejita continued to stare over at him as if he had fallen from the sky.
Jeez—knew that no one ever talked to Vejita, but hadn't realized it was so truly infrequent that Vejita would silently panic.
"Too loud for ya?" Yamcha pryingly asked, trying to carefully nudge Vejita out of his stupor.
Saiyans had bigger ears than humans did; always wondered if maybe their hearing was just a bit better, though it certainly wasn't on the level of Piccolo's. Their sense of smell was a thousand times better, he knew that. Wasn't so absurd to think that maybe the loud music was hurting Vejita's head.
Vejita finally moved, turned his head and averted his eyes to the ground, clenching his beer and merely grunting, "Mm."
Yamcha took that as a yes.
Or maybe not too loud, as much as too rowdy.
Yamcha turned his head and observed Vejita, in that awkward silence.
Sometimes, it still surprised him, just how small Vejita was, when he was so strong. Gohan was getting taller and taller every day, and so how strong Gohan was had never seemed that strange, because Gohan was a child. But Gohan was taller now than Vejita, and Bulma was taller than Vejita, and even Chichi was taller than Vejita. It was just funny, Yamcha supposed, to think that the second strongest man in the universe (to their knowledge) was this tiny little guy next to him. Vejita's eyes came up to just a few centimeters below Yamcha's chest. Only Krillin stood shorter than Vejita, in fact, and maybe that was why Yamcha hadn't taken Vejita too seriously that very first day he had arrived on Earth. Knew better now, sure, but all the same Yamcha couldn't really help but look at Vejita the same way he did Krillin; someone to look out for, even if they were stronger.
Vejita's hair was lighter than Yamcha's, but his eyes so much darker, nearly black, the darkest eyes Yamcha had ever seen on anyone. Pretty, certainly, though most people had pretty eyes. Vejita's were nice, he had to admit, and always Yamcha had thought that it was kinda funny, Vejita and Bulma, for they had the two pairs of nicest eyes Yamcha knew. Seemed fitting, and Trunks had certainly won the genetic lottery.
Vejita was handsome, quite so, but so was Yamcha. Both of them were vain in their own rights, Yamcha over his looks and Vejita over his heritage, and so maybe in some way to Bulma they hadn't been so different from each other in certain aspects.
Vejita was handsome, Vejita was strong, Vejita was royalty, Vejita was haughty, proper, proud, arrogant, fearless, brave, intelligent, cunning, resourceful. A prince to the very end.
Yeah, sure. All that said...
Vejita was also isolated, lonely, damaged, lost, bewildered, so far from where he should have been, and above all else, Vejita was painfully and hopelessly insecure.
It took one insecure man to recognize another, Yamcha supposed, and boy, was his compass needle ever pointing at Vejita.
So, after a good long silence, Yamcha looked down at Vejita and said, casually, "I know a good bar. Not too far from here. It's usually pretty quiet. Come have a drink with me. We can ditch this party for a while."
Vejita once more snapped his head up and gaped at Yamcha in shock, and because Yamcha was Yamcha, he didn't really give Vejita time to respond. He just chugged his beer, walked over to Puar, and said to her, "Hey—stay here for a bit, huh? I got something I need to do. I'll be back sometime later tonight."
Puar, having a blast with everyone else, just chirped, "Sure!"
With that, Yamcha skittered back over into the shadows, where Vejita was still idly standing, having chugged his own beer, no doubt for a boost of liquid courage.
If Yamcha had given Vejita the option of saying 'yes' or 'no', the answer would have obviously been 'no', and so Yamcha just drifted up into the air and said instead, "Come on! Follow me."
With that he bolted off, and half of Yamcha fully expected to land in town with absolutely no one behind him. It was Yamcha who was the shocked one when he suddenly glanced over and saw Vejita there beside of him.
A burst of pride, for whatever stupid reason.
Proud of himself, perhaps, for proving not only to himself but to Vejita that he was no longer afraid of this man.
And maybe that was why Vejita followed him, as much as Vejita had followed Bulma.
It wasn't an unusual night, in a standard sense; Yamcha landed at the bar in question, held open the door for Vejita if only because Vejita was a prince and also his guest, they sat down in a corner away from people, and Yamcha bought Vejita a few drinks. There was no conversation. Just two guys drinking away their insecurities for a little while.
The only words uttered between them for the next three hours, in fact, were when Yamcha, after a good buzz, finally asked, "So. You two still together?"
Vejita, who needed far more alcohol than a human to get wrecked, was very clear-eyed when he glanced quickly at Yamcha and then back down.
A low, rumbling mutter.
"We were never 'together'."
"Hm!"
And that was all they spoke that night. They just hammered back a few more drinks, Yamcha stumbled out of the bar as Vejita walked very gracefully beside of him, and then they made their way back to Bulma's. It was quieter when they returned, and no one had ever really seemed to know that they had ever been gone at all. For someone to notice that Yamcha and Vejita had been gone, he supposed, someone would have first had to have noticed that they were there to begin with.
Drunk Yamcha clapped Vejita on the shoulder, slurred, "Nice hangin' with ya. Night, man," and then stumbled over to Puar, who was still prattling away with the others. When Yamcha blearily glanced at the shadows a while later, though, he thought that Vejita was still standing there in the dark, staring at him.
Coulda just been his imagination, and he passed out shortly after.
And that, as far as Yamcha was concerned, was that.
He had felt bad for Vejita, had taken him for a few drinks, had paid him attention, had been paid attention in turn, and it had been good for the both of them. End of story. And, also, he had learned that Vejita and Bulma were not a couple.
For all the good that would ever do Yamcha, when Bulma seemed so disinterested in him these days.
Still, though, sometimes knowing exactly how disinterested Bulma was in him actually hurt a little. The best example, perhaps, being three weeks later, when Yamcha's most vital game of the season was coming up.
He was used to Bulma cheering him on from the sidelines in tournaments, but she hadn't ever been too much of a baseball fan, though she still always encouraged him.
Maybe it was because he knew that Vejita and Bulma weren't a thing that Yamcha had a seat saved. He got the ticket, kept it in his room for a few days, mulling it over, and then Yamcha finally found the nerve to go over to Capsule Corporation. He felt stupid, knocking on the door, but did it anyway. Not because he ever thought Bulma would come back to him, not really, but because he loved her like family and hoped maybe she would feel enough of that too to come support him.
All these years they had been family, her and him and Goku and Krillin—maybe she'd still wanna come cheer him on.
She answered the door, Trunks in her grasp, Trunks, who had Vejita's nose, and seemed startled to see him there.
"Oh, hey! What's up?"
He was silent for a moment, feeling dumb. Staring at her, and feeling so stupid for even being here at all when she was holding in her arms something that looked like Vejita.
Stupid.
Yamcha gathered up his frail courage, and said to Bulma at last, "Hey, I got a game tomorrow night. Big one. We move on to the championship final if we win. You wanna come? I got a ticket for ya, if ya want."
He held the said ticket out, nervously, and Bulma looked just as nervous.
All the same, she took the ticket, smiled stiffly, and said, "Oh, thanks! I'll...see what I can do. Good luck, either way, though!"
Yamcha smiled and said goodbye, even though he knew in his heart from that 'good luck' that Bulma absolutely was not going to come watch him play. That hurt, yeah, but he hadn't really been expecting her to. Their ship had long since sailed, it seemed, but Yamcha wished sometimes that Bulma would have at least been friendlier to him.
They had known each other nearly their entire lives—just because they had broken up fifty times since then, did that mean they could no longer consider themselves 'friends'? Didn't think that was asking too much, for even if they weren't in love Yamcha would still have crossed the universe over to help Bulma out. Just wished she would have extended him the same sentiment.
Once, they had been a duo, and now they seemed divided by some great canyon.
Oh, well.
Nothing he could do about it, either way, and he had said his piece. All he could do was wait, and he spent the night in a jittery, restless on and off sleep. The game didn't loom over him as much as the anxiety of wondering if he would look over and see an empty seat. Forgotten, once again, by those who had once most loved him.
Story of his life.
And sure enough, when Yamcha was in the dugout and watching the stands filling, the seat he had reserved for Bulma remained empty. He wasn't surprised. Hurt, maybe, just a little, but not surprised. The only thing to do was just carry on, like always, and pretend he wasn't bothered.
The game began.
Yamcha focused, as he always did in the pitch, found his confidence and his nerve, forgot everything else like everyone else forgot him, and was determined to win. In the field, nothing shook Yamcha.
Well—almost nothing.
Yamcha glanced up in the second inning, by chance, and saw that the formerly empty seat was suddenly occupied. Someone had come after all! Just not Bulma.
Vejita—?
Yamcha's line of sight was broken by the baseball cracking right into his cheek. Son of a fuckin' bitch! He cried out in pain, dropped the bat, his hand flew up to his face, and even in that agony he still glanced over once more.
It was him! Vejita was there, alright. Not a hallucination, and Yamcha could clearly see from even far below that Vejita was smirking at Yamcha's expense.
Great.
Bulma had either given Vejita her ticket and forced him to go, or she had tossed it aside and Vejita had snatched it up, because perhaps Vejita's instilled manners obligated him to go to Yamcha's game because Yamcha had talked to him and bought him drinks.
Either way, it was kinda nice to have someone give enough of a damn to come watch.
Puar was drifting there above Vejita's shoulder, having gone to him apparently when he had arrived, smiling away and cheering Yamcha on as always, despite her wince from him having been cracked in the face.
With Vejita's dark, intense eyes atop him, Yamcha immediately regained focus, splayed his legs and took his stance, braced up and puffed out, because god knew his one and only chance to ever impress someone like Vejita could only be in a sport that didn't involve physical combat.
With the pressure of a prince watching him, Yamcha smashed the next ball all the way home.
He glanced up, at droll Vejita, and felt quite proud, even if Vejita's face was very blank. The man being here at all was remarkable.
On and on the game went, in Yamcha's team's favor, and with every free second, Yamcha would glance over to make sure that Vejita was still there, that Vejita was still watching him, that Vejita was still paying him attention.
And Vejita was, all throughout the match.
Which was all well and good, for thankfully they won.
Yamcha's smile was wide, proud, bright, breathless, and he turned his head immediately to Vejita. Vejita sat there, arms crossed over his chest, staring down at him, and Yamcha hoped for a nod or a smile or a wave or something, but of course he got nothing. Vejita just stood up, pressed his foot into the floor, and bolted right off into the horizon.
...damn.
Shouldn't'a surprised him.
Yamcha trotted up immediately to Puar, who latched onto his neck and cried, "Congratulations!"
Yamcha patted her back, and glanced up at the sky, before eagerly pulling back and asking, "What did he say? Did he say anything? Why did he come?"
Why was he so excited? Vejita didn't even like him.
Puar stared at Yamcha, and then smiled, rather slyly, and offered, "Well! I did ask why he came..."
She trailed off, teasingly, and Yamcha pitifully prodded, "Yeah?"
Was she smirking?
"He said... He just wanted to see you lose."
Yamcha's lips parted, and there was a twinge of hurt, but not surprise. Yeah, that figured. Seemed everyone liked making Yamcha the butt of their joke these days.
But then Puar's smirk intensified, and she flicked her tail happily in the air and added, "I could tell he was lying."
Yamcha's hurt faded into shock, and from there into yet another stupid little sense of pride he hadn't actually earned.
Yamcha began walking out of the stadium, Puar hovering above him, and as they went, Yamcha abruptly asked, "Why do you think he was lying?"
It sounded quite legitimate to him that Vejita would only come to the game in the hope that he would see Yamcha flunk, if only because Vejita seemed like the kinda guy to revel in the misery of others in order to alleviate his own.
Puar side-eyed Yamcha, and flippantly said, "Because. I can just tell."
Great explanation, thanks.
At Yamcha's droll look, Puar did offer, "You know, when you're lying, you look off to the left, and you stick your hand in your pocket. Every single time." Er—did he? Never noticed. "And when he's lying, he lifts his chin up a little and turns his head just a bit to the right. And he flicks his ears back. You wouldn't notice."
When the hell had Puar turned into a living lie-detector? Little creep.
"Well," Yamcha drawled, "Isn't that helpful. I'll keep that in mind."
"Hmph!"
So, then. Why had Vejita come?
As Yamcha pensively stared off ahead, Puar suddenly giggled, and whispered, in a voice as sly as her smile, "So! First you two disappear for hours, and now he comes to watch you play. Hm! Anything you wanna tell me, Yamcha?"
Yamcha snapped his head over, felt his face blazing red, and didn't really know why.
What was she getting at?
"I don't know what you mean," Yamcha finally sputtered, inexplicably nervous, and Puar just gave another 'hmph'.
A while later though, when dinner was finished and Yamcha was about to hit the hay, Puar drifted by him, and uttered so carelessly in passing, "I think he likes you."
Yamcha's eyes snapped wide open, and she vanished around the corner before he could find his voice.
Excuse me? What the hell? Did she really just say that?
Befuddled and heart hammering, Yamcha trudged upstairs in a daze, face red and lips pursed.
Absurd! Why would she ever get that impression? Just because Vejita had come to watch the game? ...Vejita, who never did anything social. Vejita, whose pride was so intense that he wouldn't ever have accepted a ticket had Yamcha handed it directly to him. Vejita, who just seemed to hate everyone and everything and yet who had also followed Yamcha obediently to that bar.
Crawling into bed, Yamcha stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head, and mulled Puar's words over.
Hm.
Did Vejita like him, or like him like him? Bizarre. Had never even considered such a thing. Vejita was so detached and distant, behind some wall, so hidden away by such armor, that maybe Yamcha had missed something.
Vejita didn't like anyone.
...then how the hell did Trunks exist?
Okay. Maybe Vejita liked some people more than others, fine, but the only person that Vejita had ever really seemed to have any sort of connection to at all had been Goku, and if Vejita was eyeing Yamcha then, then it was only because Vejita was so goddamned lonely now that Goku was dead. The man had to have been a wreck up in his head, and Yamcha was the only person that had paid Vejita any positive attention in a long while. Vejita was just clinging to that, and not Yamcha himself. If Vejita 'liked' Yamcha, then it was simply because Yamcha was the only one giving off vibes that he liked Vejita first.
Sad, to instantly latch onto someone just because they had been nice to you.
Vejita's life was one of the sadder things Yamcha had ever encountered, if not the saddest.
In that, Vejita and Yamcha had other things in common.
Another sleepless night, as Yamcha twisted and turned and thought about Puar's words and thought about Vejita more.
Vejita did have really pretty eyes.
The next few days passed with Yamcha constantly eyeing his phone, anxiously, wanting desperately to call Bulma's place in the off chance that maybe Vejita would somehow miraculously pick up. Didn't call in the end, because even if he had somehow gotten Vejita on the other line, he didn't know what he would have said.
As Yamcha drifted here and there, Puar finally said offhandedly one morning, as Yamcha picked at his food, "Don't you think you should save him a seat at the championship game? Maybe go tell him thanks, for coming?"
Yamcha dropped his fork, as once again for the hundredth time Puar smirked.
Guess that would be the polite thing, wouldn't it?
Startled, Yamcha bolted upright from the table, knocking his chair backward, and Puar cried out a bit in surprise. More surprised, perhaps, when Yamcha marched to the door, and she called, "What are you doing? What's wrong? Where are you going?"
Yamcha looked back at her, in that daze, and said, dumbly, "To go save him a seat."
Hadn't she told him to do so?
"Right now? I didn't mean—"
Too late. Yamcha walked out and closed the door, and jogged to his car. Went straight away to reserve a spot, had to do a good bit of smarming to get a good front row seat, and then, with his hair still sticking upright from sleep, he went straight to Bulma's.
Felt dizzy, his heart was thudding so quickly.
When he arrived and parked the car, Yamcha looked into the rearview mirror, ran his fingers through his short, messy hair in an effort to look more presentable, straightened his collar and ran down the wrinkles in his shirt, took a deep breath for courage, and went to the door.
Scariest knock of his life, he swore it, with that ticket in his pocket.
Bulma answered, this time alone.
"Hey," Bulma said, awkwardly, and before Yamcha could open his mouth, she very quickly added, "Listen, sorry I didn't come to the game. You know. I got my hands full here, with Trunks and all."
Yamcha knew then that Bulma hadn't given the ticket to Vejita. She must have just tossed it away, and Vejita, ever so nosy, had either heard the conversation or just grabbed the ticket out of curiosity.
Couldn't be bothered to be hurt, not now, because Bulma wasn't who he was there to see for once in his life.
"It's cool. I get it. I do. But, hey. Is Vejita around?"
Bulma's eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and she sputtered for a moment before finally managing to utter, "In the gravity room. As always."
"Thanks."
He turned on his heel and marched off, and Bulma hung out of the door to watch him go. Oh, yeah, she definitely didn't know that Vejita had gone to that game. And to be honest, Yamcha hoped to keep it that way.
He reached the gravity room, walked up to the door, and rapped it. Now he just waited. Oddly enough, it didn't take that long, which was shocking, for Vejita rarely interrupted a routine for anyone or anything. Or maybe he opened the door so quickly in order to give whoever dared knock a good tongue-lashing.
When Vejita saw who was knocking, any words he might have had fell still in his throat, as just like Bulma his mouth fell open and his eyes widened.
A long, intense stare.
Vejita looked every bit as stupefied as he had that night Yamcha had crept up on him at the party out of nowhere, and it was Yamcha who spoke first, to say, "Hey. Thanks for comin' to watch me play. I appreciated it. It was good to have support, you know? You mighta been good luck for me. Probably wouldn't have won if you hadn't been there."
A lie, but a nice one, for Vejita was very unused to anyone having anything good to say about him.
Sure enough, although Vejita was flushed and sweaty from his training, Yamcha thought his face got redder, for even the tips of his ears were suddenly red.
Vejita opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
To cut to the chase and minimize the possibility of Vejita escaping, Yamcha reached into his pocket, pulled out the ticket, placed it forcibly into Vejita's hand, and merely said, "See you at the final, good luck charm."
Lame as hell, sure, but Yamcha figured to Vejita it was just dumb enough to actually mean something to the bastard.
With that, Yamcha turned heel and walked right off, without Vejita having uttered a single word. From the corner of his eye, Yamcha could see Bulma still lurking there in the doorframe, watching him go.
More waiting, more anxiety, and when the day of the final game came, Yamcha turned to Puar in a fit of nerves and asked, "What if he doesn't show?"
Puar lidded her eyes and drolled, "Somehow... I wouldn't worry about that."
Hardly reassuring, but as it often was, Puar was right. No need to fret, for in the third inning Yamcha looked over and saw that that seat at last held his guest. Vejita once again took up the offer, this time one actually extended to him, and came to watch Yamcha play.
Had Yamcha's ego grown anymore, it probably would have caused him to implode like a neutron star. He certainly had extra swag in his step for the rest of the game, and when he glanced frequently at Vejita, he would always tip his cap in acknowledgment as Puar hung over Vejita's shoulder, probably interrogating him.
Vejita would look quickly away as if abashed, but only for a moment.
Couldn't believe he had actually come, but then Yamcha supposed it made sense, for he hadn't asked Vejita if he wanted to. Just kinda told him he'd be there. Yamcha realized then that asking Vejita to give an answer would always result in a negative response, but just sort of ordering him and giving him no choice seemed to almost always result in a positive response.
Maybe Vejita wasn't so hard to figure out after all.
Once more, Yamcha showed off hard to Vejita, and once more, when the second the game ended (in victory), Vejita bolted off into the sky without a word.
Yamcha smiled as he watched Vejita go, and Puar was smiling, too.
That odd, unexpected little squirm of affection in his chest. The warmth of excitement. Happiness. It had been a long damn time since someone had seen Yamcha there, and he knew that Vejita felt that way, too.
He spent that night smiling dumbly up at the ceiling, and that time he didn't sleep because he was just too excited.
Several days later, Yamcha was at the park he frequented, practicing. Spent a lot of time there, and never once had had any company aside from Puar. Fully expected it to always be that way, but as Yamcha was making a few practice swings, there was an odd development.
Puar suddenly cleared her throat, and Yamcha glanced up.
His eyes locked immediately onto a pair of very dark ones.
Yamcha nearly dropped the bat, his mouth fell open, and right away he felt his face burning. Absolutely dumbfounded, for Vejita was standing there in the shade beneath a tree, arms crossed and watching Yamcha putter around.
Puar was sneering, Yamcha was so sure of it, and Yamcha nervously fumbled his hand up in the air and called, shakily, "Hey! Uh— Nice to see ya!"
Lame.
Puar rolled her eyes, and Vejita did, too.
Yikes.
Yamcha straightened up, tried to play it off, tried to look confident and unbothered, and certainly not nervous, goodness no, so he cleared his throat and walked over to Vejita. Bat over his shoulder, he slunk up, until they were within arm's reach, and Yamcha observed Vejita as much as Vejita seemed to be observing him.
Under a scrutinizing gaze, Yamcha squared his shoulders and puffed his chest and lifted his chin, trying to look as big and strong as possible, which was kinda dumb when he was already about three times Vejita's size and still Vejita was the one who could kill him with one finger.
"Thanks again for coming," Yamcha finally managed to say. "Told you that you were good luck."
Vejita averted his eyes, and Yamcha saw Puar drifting over in his peripheral.
When he glanced quickly over, she motioned her paws towards Vejita, as if to say, 'Do something!'
What the hell was he supposed to do? Trying to talk to Vejita was like trying to have a civilized conversation with a cranky polar bear that wanted nothing more than to get some food off you, even if that meant eating you alive.
Much less trying to flirt with the man—
Er! Not that he was tryin' to start flirting or anything. Just 'cause Puar had a hunch didn't make it a fact, and Yamcha liked being alive, thanks a lot.
...Vejita was kinda cute, though, when he was nervous like that.
Vejita finally lifted up his dark eyes again, and they settled on Yamcha's bat.
Saw an opening, and took it.
"Wanna learn how to play?" Yamcha asked, hopefully. No one else had ever been interested in the sport he loved, and so he always held out that hope that someone would care. Gohan had liked to play around a little when he had been smaller, but had lost all interest.
Predictably, Vejita immediately uttered, "No."
Figured.
A glance at Puar for encouragement, another gathering of his bravery, and Yamcha pressed, "Oh, come on. I'll bet you'd actually be good at it. You'd end up taking someone's head off. Arm like that."
With Vejita, flattery got you everywhere, and so Vejita looked Yamcha testily up and down and then grumbled, "Well—alright. What can it hurt?"
Yes!
Yamcha led Vejita back over to the open field, and asked, "You wanna bat or pitch?"
"Do I want to what or what?"
Yamcha snorted, and just tossed the bat towards Vejita to make it easy for them both. Vejita caught it, as Yamcha looked about the park to make sure there actually weren't any hapless civilians that Vejita might accidentally decapitate, and was satisfied to see them quite alone.
Puar was leering away, squiggling her eyebrows at Yamcha every time Vejita wasn't looking.
Jeez. She was layin' it on heavy. Maybe she was finally fed up with him like everyone else and was just tryin' to get him killed.
Yamcha caught Vejita's eye, and said, "Like this."
He fell into stance, holding an imaginary bat, to give Vejita a starting point.
Never in a million years or in his wildest dreams did Yamcha ever think this was possible, to have this former goddamn murderous space pirate now settled in on his home planet and holding an item belonging to his favorite sport.
The universe was a strange damn place.
Vejita studied the bat, as he seemed to study everything, and then imitated Yamcha's stance, raising the bat up. But naturally he held the bat incorrectly, because not even Vejita could do something perfectly the very first time.
And Yamcha sure as hell didn't know what possessed him to walk right up behind Vejita, press his chest into Vejita's back, and wrap his arms around him to grab Vejita by either wrist and adjust his hand position.
Puar's words, maybe, subconsciously leading Yamcha as they often had.
Vejita went entirely stiff against him, frozen up like a statue, had stopped breathing, and Yamcha adjusted the bat here and there until it was in proper form. "There!" he said, without once letting go of Vejita's wrists. "Like this. And then you swing."
He led Vejita's hands into a short swinging motion, and did so with such ease only because Vejita was still entirely immobilized.
As if the man had never had anyone touch him his entire damn life.
...well. Coulda been, considering Vejita's life. He had been extremely susceptible to Bulma, after all, and from the way Vejita's pulse was racing away in his neck then, it also could have been quite likely that any physical contact Vejita had had with anyone had been considerably less than pleasant and probably not very consensual.
With that in mind, Yamcha released Vejita, took a step back, and tried to put him at ease by uttering, "Try a swing."
Vejita stood there for a long while, inert, and then at last he inhaled and gave the bat a swing. And then, just as abruptly as Vejita had come back to life, he tossed the bat down on the ground, and started walking away, muttering as he went, "This is stupid."
Yamcha wasn't really hurt too much by that, because if Vejita had really thought the sport was that stupid he would never have taken that bat up into his hands to begin with. Something else had run him off, and Yamcha had a terrible suspicion.
At some level, Yamcha knew he had scared Vejita by pressing up against him like that. Woulda pleased him before, maybe, thinking that he actually could scare a man like Vejita, but he no longer held any animosity, and, to be quite frank, scaring someone like that was the very last thing Yamcha ever wanted. Yamcha was a street kid; he knew the kinda things that happened to kids on their own. Vejita had been a slave his entire life. Yamcha wouldn't touch that iceberg for anything in the universe.
Hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable, and so he gave Vejita space that day and didn't follow him.
Didn't need to, in the end, for Vejita eventually came back to him.
The very next day, in fact.
That time, Yamcha was watching and waiting, and didn't need Puar to alert him when Vejita slunk up out of darkness like the hellion he was.
Yamcha was much smoother this time, and didn't sputter when he stood up straight and called, "Hey, there. Ready to try again?"
Vejita shook his head, and hung back.
As before, Yamcha didn't press him, because he was always leery of going too far and scaring Vejita off for good. If Vejita just wanted to come and watch a little, then that was fine.
Or, better yet...
Yamcha tossed the bat aside, removed his cap, and sent Puar a glance. Puar smirked away, and then abruptly vanished, darting off and leaving them alone. Vejita shifted his weight from one foot to the other when Yamcha was suddenly marching on him, looked nervous, but remarkably he didn't flee when Yamcha was right in front of him.
"So. Why'd you come if you don't wanna play?"
Swore that Vejita's cheeks had tinted ever so slightly pink.
Cute, alright.
At Vejita's silence, Yamcha blurted, abruptly, "Ah, I get it!"
With a very sharp inhale, Vejita's head snapped up, his eyes widened, his pulse pounded, his cheeks grew redder, and in that moment the man looked absolutely petrified.
It was then that Yamcha knew Puar was actually right.
Incredible.
With renewed confidence, with new boldness, Yamcha bent a little at the waist to bring his head closer to Vejita, and he lowered his voice to surmise, "You just wanted to see me, right?"
Vejita blazed ever redder, and opened his mouth to snap back.
Yamcha denied him the chance, and saved himself by adding, "Good! I'm glad, 'cause I wanted to see you, too."
Instantly, Vejita's mouth clamped shut again, and Vejita's stare then was actually quite blank. Dazed. Yamcha figured he had blown a fuse, had malfunctioned, and was momentarily short-circuiting. Yamcha snorted and gave Vejita a second to recover, before he said, "Come on. Let's go."
He went to collect his things, as blushing Vejita stared after him in a stupor, and Vejita didn't even bother asking where the hell Yamcha was taking him. Just followed Yamcha to his car, and Yamcha opened the passenger door when Vejita continued to malfunction. The man was nearly catatonic, it seemed, Yamcha had thrown him for such a loop, and was so dumbfounded that he just got right in Yamcha's car with no question.
Which was all for the best, because Yamcha was entirely winging this and had no idea where he was actually about to take this strange man.
The sun was low in the sky, and Yamcha was a little low on funds at the moment, so taking Vejita out for a night on the town would have to wait until the next payday. When Yamcha started the car, Vejita turned his head to continue staring absently at Yamcha, and Yamcha tried to look very confident even as he wracked his brain.
Eh. Vejita wasn't a woman. Didn't need to pull out bells and whistles, no need to wine and dine. No need to overthink. So Yamcha just turned onto the highway, and began the drive out of the city and into the wilderness. He had a lot of favorite places he stashed away for dates and the whatnot, and he was suddenly trying very hard to make this seem like a random little date.
Vejita just kept on staring at him, staring and staring, and Yamcha was pretty sure he was a breath away from bursting into flames.
When he stopped the car almost an hour later, Vejita was still staring at him.
To spur him on, to wake him up, Yamcha said, "Shall we?"
A jump, an inhale, a start, and Vejita's brain fired back to life, as he broke his gaze from Yamcha and leapt quickly out of the car.
The sun was hanging just above the horizon, turning the sky pink and gold. Nighttime behind them. Stars here and there. The sound of the ocean, just beneath the cliffs.
Vejita looked around, and asked, "Where are we?"
"One of my secret little date spots," Yamcha answered honestly, because he felt it would go in his favor.
Indeed, Vejita once more blazed red, and turned his eyes to the car with a scoff. He nudged out gently with his boot, bumping it into the car's tire, and tried to change the subject by grunting, "Why do you use this contraption? It's not like you need it."
Yamcha shrugged a shoulder, running a hand through his messy hair, and offered, "I dunno. I like it. I like driving. It's fun. Makes me feel like a normal guy, sometimes. When I..."
He trailed off, abruptly, and turned his eyes to the ocean.
Could feel Vejita staring at him.
Surely enough, Vejita pressed, in a deep murmur, "When you what?"
Yamcha put his hands in his pockets in a moment of insecurity, and whispered above the breeze, "When I...feel like I don't belong in the gang anymore. I got left behind, I think. Driving is nice, because it reminds me that I'm just a regular guy, really, and I'm tryin' real hard to remember that that's...not always a bad thing."
A long silence.
Yamcha had only said those words aloud because he knew that Vejita was the only person who could really ever understand that feeling. Being part of a group, of a brotherhood, but being that odd one out, the one who didn't really seem to fit that well. Jamming a square into a circle, as it was.
Yamcha had gotten left behind, and Vejita had just never fit in from day one.
Vejita once more changed the subject, and grumbled, "So, then. Show me around. Didn't bring me all the way out here for nothing, now, did you?"
A rush of adrenaline, a twist of his stomach, and Yamcha threw back on his mask of confidence and removed his hands from his pockets. He swept his arm dramatically forward, gave a little bow at the waist, and crooned, "Right away, majesty. If you'll follow me!"
Vejita rolled his eyes again, but couldn't seem to force a grimace, and that was good enough. So Vejita prissily lifted his chin like the little prince he was, and started walking, Yamcha falling in beside of him. He took the lead and walked Vejita up the grassy hill above the rocks, to one of the sparse trees. Flowering now, in the warm spring, and Yamcha plopped down on the grass beneath the tree, patting the ground beside of him. Vejita haughtily put his hands on his hips, and berated, "No blanket or anything, huh? Amateur."
Was that...a joke?
Good god!
Vejita actually had a personality buried under there, huh? Yamcha hated saying that it actually just made Vejita all the more appealing, thinking of trying to excavate all of the man out from beneath his iron wall.
Yamcha smiled up at Vejita, and retorted, "You came to me for the date, remember? The burden of expectation is all on you. So, really, you're the amateur."
Vejita smirked, for the briefest of moments, because Vejita seemed to like arguing with anyone and anything, and with a dramatic sigh Vejita finally sat down next to Yamcha.
Yamcha wasted no time in scooting over a bit, not enough to touch but closing the gap as much as he could, and he asked, eagerly, "So what do you think of my spot, huh?"
Vejita, very aware of Yamcha's move, pretended to scrutinize the landscape.
It was pretty, no doubt. A nice grassy hill above cliffs that overlooked the crashing waves, the flowering tree swaying above, the sunset over the water and the pale moon hanging on high. Wildflowers all around. The smell of the ocean on the breeze, and the scent of the flowers just beneath.
It was a damn good spot, and even Vejita couldn't deny that, for he finally uttered, "I suppose it's not so bad. Better than I would have ever expected from a scrub like you."
Yamcha snorted.
They fell into a silence then, as Vejita folded his arms over his knees and rested his chin there atop them, watching the last rays of sunlight on the water. Yamcha just watched Vejita, who seemed suddenly more breathtaking than the scenery. As Vejita had stared at him on the ride here, Yamcha stared then at Vejita, and was unable to look away.
The sun set at last, night fell, the moon brightened, and the stars came out.
Vejita seemed more relaxed in the darkness, less tense, and Yamcha figured it was because it was harder to see and for that Vejita felt more shielded.
The silence was finally broken when Yamcha abruptly asked, in a scarcely audible rumble, "So, then. Why did you come today?"
Vejita refused to look over, eyes locked on the moon, and he hesitated for a moment before replying, "I don't know."
Didn't know? Or didn't know how to express it?
In turn, Vejita asked, "Why did you bring me here?"
"I don't know."
An impasse.
Yamcha asked, "Did she ask you to go to the game instead?"
He knew the answer to that already, but maybe he wanted Vejita to say it out loud.
"...no. She didn't know. Did she... Did she ask you to ask me, the second time?"
"No. I didn't tell her. I didn't tell her you came that first time, either. Why did you come, by the way?"
Vejita stared potently away at the moon, as if entranced, and finally muttered, "I don't know. I suppose, I felt it was my duty. You took me to that bar. I thought I should return the favor. It seemed as if you just...wanted someone to come."
Yeah, he had.
And in that, Yamcha figured out as well that Vejita had wanted someone to come up to him at the party. Had wanted someone to seek him out, had wanted someone to notice him, to talk to him, to be the one to instigate because Vejita was too proud. For Vejita to feel that a favor had been done, that meant that Yamcha had done Vejita a service in the first place.
Vejita was the loneliest person Yamcha had ever met.
Before Yamcha could think of anything charming to say, Vejita very suddenly turned his head, catching Yamcha in his gaze.
Vejita's very piercing eyes held Yamcha in place, and Yamcha was caught off guard when Vejita plainly and boldly asked, "Are you trying to use me to replace her?"
Wha—
The cold rush of adrenaline, and Yamcha swallowed. Nervous and antsy. Anxious. Scared. Didn't know what the hell to even say to that, because he had just never expected it.
Bulma and Vejita, to him, were two entirely separate beings, however similar in some aspects of their personality they may have been.
Did Vejita think Yamcha still held some grudge?
"It's not... I'm not trying to replace anything, because I didn't really lose anything, I guess. Not really. Why would you— I'm not mad about it, ya know? I don't think about her like that. Anymore."
But only so very recently, once Vejita had noticed him.
Vejita turned his head, and his eyes flew to the moon again, as Yamcha floundered.
Not mad. Oh? Wasn't he? Wasn't mad at Vejita, wasn't mad at Bulma, certainly wasn't mad at Trunks, but he was a little mad at the situation entire. Was mad about how things had worked out for him, even if he wasn't mad at any one person in particular.
Lying to himself.
Vejita immediately called Yamcha out by saying, in a whisper, "You're lying."
A purse of Yamcha's lips and a rush of his heart. Guess he hadn't really expected to so blatantly be taken up like that.
A long silence then, as Vejita kept on watching the moon, and Yamcha shifted position and splayed one leg out in front of him, putting his weight atop his palms.
After a while, Yamcha turned his head to observe pensive Vejita, and finally asked, in his own whisper, "Would you rather I told you the truth?"
Sometimes, as everyone always said, white lies were better.
And Vejita obviously felt that way, too.
"No," Vejita murmured, voice scarcely audible over the sound of the wind. "What do I care? I'm a liar, too. I've lied my entire life. What makes you any different? It's how we survive, isn't it? Pretending? Lie to me all you want, I don't care. Hell, I think at this point I'd rather be lied to. It's the only way anyone has anything...nice to say, about me. I love liars."
A sink of Yamcha's heart.
Sad.
It was true, everything Vejita had said, and that was what made it sad, he supposed, because only when lying through their teeth could anyone have ever really said anything positive about Vejita, or about Yamcha for that matter.
Yamcha's favorite lie had been Bulma's, when she had said she loved him.
Well then; Yamcha sighed, and asked his own invasive question.
"Are you using me to replace him? You loved him a little, didn't you? Goku?"
As Yamcha watched, Vejita's face blazed unholy red. Absolutely crimson from the tips of his ears all the way down to his collar. Yamcha had honest to god never seen anyone blush as hard as Vejita was then, and it was fascinating. Knew right away that he was right, that Vejita really had felt something deeper for Goku, and that was why his death hit Vejita so hard. Less to do with the death of the other last Saiyan and more to do with something intimate and personal.
Saiyans were hard to understand, were still so foreign and unknown, but Yamcha knew someone in love when he saw them, especially someone in love with a person who didn't care they existed. Knew it, because he was that person, too, and so it was familiar.
As Yamcha had lied, so too did Vejita, when he uttered, "There's nothing to replace."
Right.
They were both liars, but sometimes that was the only way to go forward.
Vejita stared off at the moon, and Yamcha didn't know what to say, couldn't come up with a good lie then that would have made Vejita feel better, and so he just instinctively sat up and reached out and threw an arm over Vejita's shoulders, because that was what he had done when Bulma was vulnerable. Vejita tensed up like an absolute board like the last time Yamcha had touched him, stiff and not breathing, and Yamcha realized he might have earned a beating. But no; after a long moment, Vejita steadily relaxed, inhaled, and didn't move away.
Whew.
Yamcha relaxed as much as Vejita, and in tandem they watched the moon, as Yamcha's grip steadily tightened and he successfully gradually managed to yank Vejita in until Vejita's cheek was bumping into Yamcha's chest.
It had been a long time since either of them had really felt that someone had wanted them there, and neither seemed to be in a rush to break it.
A good hour or so they sat like that, as sleep crept up upon Yamcha, and it was only when Yamcha actually dozed off a little there and his head fell down onto Vejita's that Vejita finally stirred. He broke gently out of Yamcha's grasp, regrettably, and stood up. He made to leave, and Yamcha woke up quite quickly to snatch out and grab Vejita's wrist.
"Whoa—hey. Where are ya goin'?"
Vejita looked back, hair lit up in the moonlight, and stared breathlessly at Yamcha.
As if he hadn't expected Yamcha to actually stop him. As if no one had ever wanted to keep Vejita from leaving before, as if no one had ever actually wanted him to stay.
And damn if that didn't break Yamcha's heart a little.
It was that look, that expression, that awful sight, that made Yamcha fall just a little bit for Vejita. Made him really real to Yamcha, made him touchable, in reach, approachable, made Vejita feel to Yamcha as if something he could actually allow himself to become invested in, because it was so easy then to see that Vejita was able to be invested in Yamcha.
Two ghosts that just happened to be able to see each other. Hauntin' the same place for years and yet no one else noticing they were there.
"You're not gonna let me drive you back?" Yamcha asked, in a voice so low he was surprised Vejita heard it at all.
Vejita looked so helpless, so put on the spot, so unsure, so vulnerable, unable to comprehend someone being nice to him, and couldn't seem to speak.
Best to let him go, maybe. For tonight.
At Vejita's silence, Yamcha thought about it a little, and smiled when he offered, "Can I take you somewhere tomorrow?"
A swallow, a blink, and Vejita asked, "Where?"
"This other place I like. You'll see. You'll like it, too. I'll come get you tomorrow afternoon and show you the way. We can lie to each other some more."
For just the briefest of moments, Yamcha thought that Vejita might have killed a smile.
"Alright," Vejita merely whispered, and Yamcha let him go.
He watched the sky long after Vejita was gone, and felt happy.
He must have still been smiling stupidly when he got home, for Puar just laughed a little and cooed, "Congratulations! Knew you could do it."
Yamcha sniffed, and teased, "I don't know what you're talking about!"
Puar just smiled, and Yamcha played the night's events over and over again in his head as he grinned dumbly at his ceiling.
Vejita smelled nice. Didn't wear cologne, but had some other scent. Reminded Yamcha a little of Goku, but different. That faint musty, sort of woodsy scent that was hard to describe. The scent of a fur coat, maybe, something Yamcha just couldn't put his finger on. The Saiyans just seemed to have that distinct smell. Hadn't thought much of it from Goku, nah, but as he was becoming more and more interested in Vejita, suddenly the scent was far more appealing.
Yamcha, for his part, did wear cologne the following day, and he dressed in a button-down, combed his hair, shaved, trimmed his sideburns, and actually bothered to shine his shoes a little. When courting a prince, he supposed one should...
Yamcha trailed off his thought, as he pulled on his shoes, and shook his head to himself, when it struck him how absurd the entire situation was.
Courting a prince.
Yamcha had lived the first half of his life homeless on the streets, and here he was now, trying his hand at royalty. Maybe he wasn't such a lost cause after all.
Puar hovered over Yamcha and nitpicked him, using her tail to brush down his shoulders, glossing him up as best she could, and Yamcha snorted when Puar licked her paws and then used them to smooth down Yamcha's eyebrows.
"Little much, don't'cha think?"
She retorted, "You wanna get a prince, you gotta be a prince! Now get going!"
"Yes, ma'am," Yamcha dutifully replied, and set off.
Getting a prince was suddenly very high on Yamcha's to-do list as much as it had ever been on Bulma's, which was kinda weird because so very, very rarely was Yamcha ever interested in men. Swung both ways, sure, but more often than not he liked women better. Couldn't say why Vejita was so easily able to snag Yamcha's eye, other than the obvious notion of Vejita noticing him.
Maybe because Vejita was so small, and hell, Vejita sure as hell was as moody and snappy and catty as any woman he had ever met.
Whatever it was that Vejita had, it sure was working its magic, and Yamcha was again smiling like a loser by the time he pulled up to Capsule Corporation. He meant it when he said that he liked driving, and hoped that maybe Vejita liked riding, because that was how they were going, one way or another.
Bulma poked her head out of the door when she saw the car, gaped at Yamcha in shock, and Yamcha almost wished he had brought a bouquet of flowers, just to give her a little coronary for the fun of it. But then Vejita would have murdered him, and there would be no wooing. And Yamcha knew better than to even approach Bulma then, knew better than to ask her where Vejita was, because Vejita would have keeled over dead before getting in that car if he knew Bulma was watching.
So Yamcha drove out a ways, down the drive and towards the road where Bulma couldn't see, followed Vejita's energy, swooped in above him and waved his hand in the air, and Vejita bolted up after him.
Felt like a teenager again, sneaking out behind the adult's back.
Bulma was trying to be nosy, but her prying eyes would only cause proud Vejita to snub Yamcha entirely if he felt he was being watched.
Sure enough, when they got to the car, Vejita grabbed the handle and muttered, as he got in, "I see you do have some sense. That's good for your wellbeing."
Damn right it was. Knew better than to poke that polar bear, after all.
Once again, as they drove along Vejita stared away at Yamcha, and Yamcha was glad he had bothered to gloss himself up a little. As he glanced at Vejita in turn, he noticed that maybe he wasn't the only one. Vejita's shirt was nice today, a button-down like Yamcha's, tucked into his waistband. Black boots that Yamcha had never seen. Vejita had shaved recently, too, for Yamcha could smell the shaving cream, and he thought that maybe Vejita's messy hair was slightly less messy.
Well, well, well.
He was actually going on a real date, with a guy who had slaughtered billions of living beings.
...eh, sayin' it like that didn't do anyone any favors.
But it was important to remember, not because he was scared of Vejita anymore, but because surely Vejita was always far too well aware of his past now that he was officially indoctrinated into the 'good guys'. Another point of insecurity for Vejita, and it would be wise for Yamcha to know how to work around that.
Vejita was a menace to most of them yet; that guy that they had to work with because there was no choice, someone they had to put up with but certainly would never try to engage with, someone that was almost more of a problem than a solution. Someone that had never really been welcome.
Yamcha glanced over, met Vejita's gaze, smiled charmingly, and schmoozed a little, by saying, "So! Don't you look nice today. Someone on your mind? Must be a lucky guy, having someone like you bother to get all done up."
Vejita didn't cringe as Yamcha had expected him to, which was good, and blushed again, which was also good. Who knew that the key to defeating Vejita was just to compliment him? Threw him off a hell of a lot more than any punch ever could.
To put Vejita more at ease, Yamcha teased, "But not as lucky as the guy I got all done up for."
It worked; Vejita scoffed, shook his head, and relaxed a bit.
When Yamcha reached his second favorite place, a pretty little field of wildflowers alongside a flowing river, Vejita once more leapt quickly out of the car and pretended to scrutinize. Before Vejita could open his mouth to critique, Yamcha popped the trunk and pulled out a blanket, stopping Vejita's chide dead in his throat.
Vejita drolly looked Yamcha up and down, and then crossed his arms, muttering, "You really can be taught. I always knew you were a dog."
Vejita was one to talk, domesticated now as he was, no longer a fox any more than Yamcha was a wolf, and so Yamcha just took the dig and walked Vejita out to the riverbank. He threw down the blanket with a flourish atop the grass, and swept down into a dramatic bow.
"After you."
Vejita rolled his eyes but sat down all the same, and just like before Yamcha closed the gap between them.
But this time, Yamcha took more initiative, and asked, when Vejita was staring at the swaying trees, "What was your planet like?"
A look of surprise, which faded briefly into hurt, and Yamcha regretted that. Hadn't meant to really open any wounds, but he was curious, and Vejita was so proud of his heritage.
The hurt faded, as suddenly as it had come, and Yamcha was quite shocked to see Vejita's face actually soften just a little. First time he had ever seen.
Vejita rested back on his palms, lifted his eyes up to the sky, and started speaking.
Vejita's voice was softer, too, warmer and more sincere, the wall around it having come down as much as the wall around his face. Speaking about his planet and his people seemed to put Vejita at ease, and Yamcha was quite happy to hang on every word. Vejita told him everything he could remember. The red sky, the blue grass, the royal city, the palace, his father sitting on the throne, the smell of the trees and water, the customs and protocols, the daily routines of normal lives.
A glimpse into a world now gone.
Yamcha wrapped his arms around his knees, and stared over at Vejita. Knew he was smiling, could feel it, and couldn't really take his eyes off of Vejita then, as Vejita watched clouds and murmured ever away about his home planet.
With that fondness on his face, that cloak of remembrance, Yamcha found Vejita quite beautiful.
After a while, Vejita glanced over, and asked, "What?"
Yamcha shook his head, ever smiling.
Could never try to explain why he was looking at Vejita like that. Would never have been able to utter such sentimental words to anyone, to Vejita least of all.
So, instead of saying to Vejita, 'I think you're becoming very important to me,' Yamcha instead looked Vejita up and down fondly and asked, "Will you come to my house for a drink?"
Vejita's brows shot up, and Yamcha snorted, because it was funny to him that even after all of their interactions now, Vejita still looked so shocked every time Yamcha implied that he liked Vejita being there with him.
Poor bastard; he really had had a hard life.
A long study, as if Vejita were judging him, and then Vejita just nodded.
When Yamcha meant to stand, however, Vejita asked, very quietly, "Can we stay here for a bit more?"
Yamcha sat right back down, and said, "As long as you want."
Anything Vejita wanted, anything at all, because Vejita was placing trust into Yamcha's hands and Yamcha woulda done anything to keep it that way. No one else trusted him with anything it seemed, because Yamcha always fell short. But Vejita had already seen that Yamcha couldn't keep up with anyone, so he was walking into this fully aware of what he was getting, and that meant more than Yamcha could have ever hoped to explain.
They sat there, pressed into each other, and watched the trees across the river swaying in the wind, and Vejita seemed calmer then than Yamcha had ever known him to be.
It was nightfall before Vejita finally pulled himself to his feet, and Yamcha took the hint.
The drive back to Yamcha's place was utterly silent, but not awkwardly so.
Halfway there, Yamcha took a very deep breath, gathered every shred of courage he had, and reached out in the dark to grab Vejita's hand. Vejita jumped, stopped breathing as he often did, tensed up, but relaxed far more quickly that time, almost immediately settled down, and, after a few minutes, Vejita actually gripped his hand back.
Comfort, for the first time in a long while, for either of them.
When they reached Yamcha's place and he cut the ignition, Yamcha sat there for a while, just because he didn't want to let go of Vejita's hand. Vejita stared out of the window, refusing to make eye contact, but from the way he was continuing to hang tight to Yamcha in turn made it pretty clear he felt the same way.
Better things awaited, however, so Yamcha got out, and led Vejita for the very first time into his home. Nothing fancy, nothing at all like what he had gotten used to with Bulma. Just a tiny little flat, one bedroom upstairs, a small kitchen, and an equally small living room. Far from a palace.
Vejita didn't seem too aware of the surroundings at all, and Yamcha was grateful that Puar had seen two heads in the car and headed for the hills. She wasn't there when they walked in, and Yamcha loved her for that.
Yamcha stood there for a moment, debating his plan of action, but before he could think of anything, Vejita suddenly asked, "So, which one was it?"
Yamcha, verily confused, grunted, "Which one was what?"
Vejita wasn't looking at him, choosing instead to stare off at the wall.
"Which one was today's lie?"
Oh.
Yamcha knew what Vejita might have been thinking; that there was some ulterior motive behind all of this, because Vejita was the outcast of the group. Maybe Vejita wondered if this entire thing was just one big lie, even, for Yamcha had an undeserved reputation of being a bit of a player, which wasn't fair at all but somehow a very prominent opinion.
Yamcha thought over the day entire, tried to find his lies, and did find one.
Just one.
Vejita wouldn't look at him, so Yamcha stared at Vejita's small hand and said, very softly and very tentatively, "When I said...that the guy I was getting ready for was the luckier one. That was a lie. He's not that lucky. Actually, I think— I'm pretty sure he's gettin' the short straw."
At last, Vejita looked over at him through his thick lashes, and his face was once more very serious. Hard. Strict. The face Yamcha was used to seeing.
Still, Vejita's voice was oddly low and calm when he replied, "If you really think that, then you truly don't know me at all. The only unlucky one here is you. I've—" Vejita abruptly once more looked away, before uttering, "I've brought nothing but misery to every planet I've set foot on."
But Yamcha knew that, had always known that. So how could Vejita think that Yamcha didn't know him at all?
Yamcha had been the first to fall.
In that moment, Yamcha knew that it was one of those 'now or never' times. If he didn't say the exact right thing at the exact right time in the exact right tone, then everything leading up to this would have been in vain, for the entire foundation would have crumbled.
Do or die, then, and Yamcha found his feet and rose to the occasion.
For once.
Yamcha walked over until he was right in front of Vejita, giving him no choice but to look at him, and he stood before Vejita then, pulled himself up straight, to his full height, held his chin very high, braced his shoulders, planted his feet, held his hands steady. He made himself as strong and commanding and stern as he absolutely could then, because he needed Vejita to know that he was serious.
Yamcha met Vejita's near-black eyes, and said, with absolutely no flicker of doubt, "I'm not lying to you now when I say this : I'm glad you're here."
Vejita's momentary expression of utter shock.
Bewilderment.
Vejita had very likely never heard those words throughout his entire life, had never imagined that anyone would ever want him anywhere, because, like Yamcha, Vejita seemed to belong nowhere.
If Vejita would let him, for a while, Yamcha would have happily joined him there in 'nowhere', and if they were together in 'nowhere' then maybe that canceled it out and made it 'somewhere'.
Vejita stared at him, stared into him and through him, judged Yamcha very intensely then, pried him apart and determined his sincerity. Vejita must have been satisfied, for his shoulders dropped and the tension in his face fled. For the first time Yamcha had ever seen, Vejita's face actually fully softened and relaxed.
Because Yamcha really hadn't been lying, and Vejita knew it.
And beyond that, Vejita knew that Yamcha meant, 'I'm glad you're here on Earth'.
'I'm glad things worked out this way.'
'I'm glad you stayed.'
'I'm glad you saw me.'
But then Vejita asked, pointedly, "Why?"
A valid question, at the end of all things, for this man had first come to destroy them.
How could Yamcha ever possibly hope to explain? Too much to say, and also not enough.
And so Yamcha just thought about it for a second, inhaled, lifted his eyes back up, and marched forward. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all; he just reached out, snatched a handful of Vejita's hair, twisted his head up, leaned down, and kissed him.
Vejita's very wide eyes, stillness and shock.
The best answer Yamcha could come up with, and eventually Vejita seemed to accept it, when his eyes finally fluttered closed and he gripped handfuls of Yamcha's shirt and pressed up into the kiss.
No one wanted to be alone all the time.
Yamcha pushed Vejita back until he was against the wall, arms were looped around his neck, and at some point Yamcha lifted light Vejita up and legs tangled around his waist.
Ha—
If you couldn't beat 'em, as they said, join 'em, and Yamcha was very much about to join Vejita, right up in bed. Couldn't beat the bastard in a fight, nah, but was about to toss him around like a rag doll all the same.
Somehow, someway, Yamcha staggered and fumbled his way up the stairs and to the bedroom without once ever setting Vejita down or removing his tongue from halfway down Vejita's throat. The doorknob was a little harder, and Vejita was the one to grope out blindly behind him and twist it. They nearly toppled down in a heap when the door flew open, but Yamcha caught the dresser and saved his ego.
Miraculously, they made it to the bed, and all of Yamcha's schmoozing finally paid off.
"I cannot wait to finally wreck you," Yamcha uttered in a tease, as he tossed Vejita unceremoniously onto the bed.
Vejita scoffed, lifted his weight up onto his elbows, and snipped, as Yamcha hectically unbuttoned his shirt, "Don't get too full of yourself. We'll see who gets wrecked. Only one of us won't be sleeping in come dawn."
"Challenge accepted. I promise, highness, you ain't gonna be walkin' tomorrow at all, so don't worry about sleepin' too late."
Vejita lidded his eyes and smirked as Yamcha collapsed down atop him, and the last words Vejita uttered that night were, "Wish you were this brave in battle."
Hmph!
Yamcha was a hell of a lot braver than a good many of their friends, apparently, for no one else would have had the nerve, Bulma aside, to take charge of Vejita and boss him around for anything at all, let alone all the way to bed. Yamcha took a great amount of confidence from that.
If Vejita had any more smartass comments to make, then he would have to voice them in the morning, for Yamcha made sure soon after that his smart mouth was otherwise occupied.
They'd see who slept in.
Either way, couldn't wait for dawn.
Waking up, for the first time in so long, with someone beside of him, someone who noticed him, and, more importantly than that, someone who understood him.
Yamcha and Vejita were far from opposites, and it was rather cathartic to spend a long night tangled up with someone who was as mercilessly self-conscious as he was. Easier to be himself, easier to relax, easier to lower his guard, when he knew that the person beneath him was just as insecure.
That was one of the best nights he had ever had, if only because he had aimed so far out of his league and still won.
But the real prize, when it was all said and done, wasn't so much having Vejita in bed when the sun rose, as much as getting to watch him sleep. Having a man who would never allow himself to be vulnerable in front of anyone dropping his walls entirely. Yamcha rested on one elbow and propped his chin in his palm at dawn's first light, and watched Vejita sleeping.
Looked so different. Calm. Soft. Relaxed. Entirely at ease.
Had anyone else ever watched Vejita sleep?
Only a few minutes Yamcha was privy to the unguarded Vejita, for he stirred shortly after and soon bleary eyes were boring into his own.
Vejita immediately groaned, and griped, "God...dammit."
Yamcha smirked, and huskily grunted, "Who slept in, you miserable son of a bitch?"
Vejita grabbed his pillow and slapped Yamcha over the head with it, and Yamcha couldn't have stopped smiling for anything in the world then even if he had wanted to, when he plopped down over Vejita and practically smothered him.
The nice feel of hands on his back.
Yamcha sighed, contentedly, and swore that he hadn't planned this when he had first invited Vejita out for a drink. Really!
Thank god Vejita loved liars, because for just once Yamcha's false bravado had gotten him all the way to the finish line.
And thank god for Puar.
Yamcha lied there above Vejita with his full weight, and eventually the sleeping polar bear finally stirred when hangry Vejita suddenly slapped Yamcha's very clawed up back, earning a wince, and complained, "Get off! I'm hungry. You didn't feed me all day yesterday, you insufferable cretin! I hope you have a goddamn buffet down there!"
Oh, shit.
Yamcha heaved a beleaguered sigh, and realized that if he wanted to keep Vejita around he would probably have to take up a second job just to feed the bottomless pit.
Goddammit.
...meh. Worth it.
So Yamcha ignored bitching Vejita, closed his eyes, and refused to budge. Eventually, Vejita would learn to sleep in a little. Or Yamcha would get murdered. Either way, Yamcha would consider it a success.
Vejita didn't scare him anymore.