Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Let It Snow ❯ Mistletoe ( Chapter 2 )

A gust of frosty wind blew him in the face when he stepped outside the Gravity Room, a thick layer of snow creaking under his feet as he walked like a ghost in the dark, struggling to swallow down a familiar flood of murderous emotions that he hadn’t truly battled ever since his Master’s disgraceful downfall.

Vegeta crossed the luxurious gardens of the lavish house which he now called home, bruised hands buried in his pockets, nothing but a slouched, defeated figure, furiously lost in thought, a frenzied string of angry feelings that he couldn’t even begin to understand, much less try to make some rational sense of.

His pace was sluggish, deliberately slow, desperately striving to stretch out his arrival to the mansion’s entrance for as long as he could, all of it while praying with all his might for the scarred-faced idiot, who’d completely ruined those so-called ‘Christmas Eve’ celebrations, to have left the place by now. He didn’t know, he really didn’t know if he’d find the strength not to murder the dumb bastard in cold blood, right there and then, or if he’d even want to restrain himself, not after the grotesque spectacle that he’d witnessed firsthand tonight.

The Saiyan warrior may have been well aware, at all times, of his alien condition, and there surely was an innumerable amount of ridiculous Earth customs that he wasn’t yet familiarized with but, by the Gods, whatever it was that this ‘Christmas’ celebration was supposed to be, it sure as Hell could not have been about seeing the only goddamned creature who’d ever shown him any real kindness ending the evening on the verge of tears.

His feet stopped automatically a mere few steps from the dwelling’s majestic door, and he took his hands out of his pockets, blowing roughly on his stiff fingers while getting one last eyeful of the cascade of picturesque lights shamelessly hanging from the building’s smooth façade, mocking him, mocking them all, announcing a deceiving happiness that never materialized, after all.

The dreadful celebrations had begun for him a few hours before the actual dinner party, with an unnervingly cheerful Panchy Briefs inviting herself into the privacy of his room, with an audacity that no sane human being would have ever dared to display. She’d proudly announced that her ‘beautiful daughter’ was getting dressed already and, after getting a lecherous glimpse of his fully naked body, dripping wet from the shower, and only covered by a modest towel from the waist down, she’d strongly recommended that he thought about getting ready too, encouraging him to choose a formal attire for such a special occasion.

With a wardrobe mostly consisting of sportswear and loose pajama pants, the Prince had finally settled for a pair of dark blue jeans, a tight-fitting grey sweater, and the only pair of dress shoes he owned, pacing nervously from one side to the other of his bedroom for a few hesitant minutes, before making the bold choice to get out and face the music.

The Briefs home had been as bright as it could be, filled to the brim with even more colored lights, exotic plants and flashy decorations, all of it enveloped by the most mouthwatering aroma he’d ever smelled in his entire life, an intriguing combination of warm, savory dishes, and exotically sweet treats.

Vegeta walked the long corridors of the splendid first floor with cautious steps, keenly following the appetizing trail of inviting foods, while his hypersensitive Saiyan senses sharply perceived the recognizable voices of the numerous guests already gathered downstairs. He easily identified most of them as those belonging to the woman’s peculiar gang of warrior friends, together with a handful of foreign murmurs and, most disturbing of all, the absence of the one and only sound which had been captivating his typically limited interest for longer than he was willing to confess.

Bulma’s voice.

When the Prince had roused from sleep in the suffocating solitude of that cold infirmary, the morning after she’d first introduced him to that lovely, comforting beverage, he’d done so utterly alone, the only evidence of the earthling’s dreamlike company being a cold, empty flask laying forgotten on the wooden nightstand, and traces of her unbelievably delicious scent spread all over his soft bedsheets.

He’d buried his nose into the still warm pillow, showing no qualms in making the most of the only thing she’d left behind, and groaning tiredly as he wondered if the strangely intimate moment they’d both shared the previous night would have meant something to her, and whether he’d actually want it to mean anything at all.

Much to Vegeta’s disappointment, things had carried on with more or less normalcy around the Briefs household from that moment on, with Bulma spending most of her time in her hectic laboratory, while he slowly eased his way into the punitive training regime that his new existence had become.

Every now and then, Bulma would make one of those routine check ups on his precious training room. And though, on the surface, her behavior towards him didn’t seem to have changed much at all, and the mysterious little female hadn’t brought up the subject ever again, the Prince had most definitely caught clear hints of that old, heartbreaking sadness in her, the very same sadness that had once pushed her to ask to share the bed of a former homicidal maniac, in the middle of the night.

The woman undoubtedly possessed a special gift for keeping herself together at all times, and yet, some of her natural spunk had gotten lost along the way, that irresistible grit always making her treat him like an equal, challenging and bumping heads with him in ways no other creature, not even those infinitely stronger than she was, would have ever risked to.

Vegeta could count with the fingers of one hand the number of times they’d lately engaged in those harmless, heated quarrels that he’d grown to enjoy so damn much, thoroughly amused by the woman’s bright spirit and brilliant sarcasm, that promising spark of blue light constantly reminding him that there was life beyond everything he’d always known, a happier way of life which he may perhaps get to savor one day, once he’d achieved his promised Ascension, recovering his long-lost honor, once and for all.

But tonight, as he’d walked down the flight of stairs of his temporary home, joining the rest of the woman’s visitors at the ground floor, he’d seriously started to consider the disappointing possibility that, all this time, he’d been stupidly deluding himself into believing that he held some sort of special significance in the earthling’s life when, in reality, he was just as unimportant to her as every other chump assembled around the luxurious house.

The warrior’s irate memory could barely recall what happened in those early moments, right after he joined the idiotic celebrations, only his agitated turmoil, furious with everyone, especially with himself, for being stupid enough to care about what the silly woman, or any of her insignificant friends, really thought of him to begin with.

After all, she was just an instrument, a genius brain whose incredible inventions would allow him to reach his goals, defeat the third-class idiot that she called her ‘best friend’, and get out of the worthless mudball keeping him prisoner, in search of his righteous place as Universal Ruler, perhaps even burning this blasted planet to ashes on his way out, once it served no further purpose to him anymore.

Vegeta leaned cross-armed on the door frame of the main living-room, with the detached indifference of the outsider he truly knew himself to be, having the time of his life as he enjoyed his inner pity party, chewing irritably on whatever yummy appetizer was served in front of him while wondering just where the Devil was the diabolical creature who’d put him in such a humiliating position, when he could have just as well been employing his valuable time into far more useful activities tonight, such as pounding his already abused body even closer to the brink of death.

He should have been careful, he should have known by now that a man should treat his wishes with great care for, just as he was about to throw in the towel, ready to make a surreptitious exit from the deplorable charade that the night was quickly turning into, Mrs. Briefs’ perky voice brought him straight back to reality, making his most forbidden wishes come true with only a few, well-chosen words of admiration.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed vivaciously, holding a half-full tray of canapés in one hand as she stared at the small figure already standing at the top of the stairs, ready to make her triumphant entrance into the night’s festivities. “Doesn’t she look lovely tonight?” Panchy asked to everyone and no one in particular, the unmistakable naughtiness in her tone making the Saiyan’s hair stand on end, terrified of the irresistible temptation that he knew he’d encounter when he turned his sights on the alluring woman.

She’d been wrong.

Dead wrong.

‘Lovely’ didn’t even begin to describe just how ridiculously beautiful Bulma had looked tonight, with that demure smile glowing regally on her lips as she proceeded to cautiously walk down the stairs, her mesmerizing skill not to slip with those impossibly high heels adorning her feet hypnotizing even the coldest of men.

With each step, her spellbinding beauty got just a little closer, offering him the honor to luxuriate in every bit and every detail, in every single one of the unforgettable curves of that flawless body, hips swinging seductively, undulating like fluid water under the shimmery fabric of her electric blue dress.

Her hair, that glossy waterfall of turquoise curls that she usually enjoyed wearing down, had been tied up this time, coiffed into a stylish French twist that emphasized the elegance of her long neck, and of those long, sparkly earrings, hanging graciously from her small ears.

And, when she finally joined him on the main floor, her light hand brushing one of his tense biceps with the litheness of a breeze of fresh air, the Prince almost chocked on his shrimp cocktail when he discovered the erotically low cut of the back of that misleadingly modest gown.

He tried, he desperately tried not to gawk like a fool at the way she moved, leaving his side as she worked the crowded room like a Queen, playing the part of the welcoming hostess to perfection, and greeting every one of her varied friends and distant relatives with that warmth that belonged to her alone, awakening inside of him the most bizarre sense of jealousy whenever she smiled at anyone other than him.

At the beginning, Vegeta had feared for his early worries to be true, and for Bulma to end up spending the rest of the night snubbing him, or treating him purely with the same courtesy as all the others. But relief washed over him when, just as soon as she was done with her first round of introductions, she instinctively sought his presence through the crowd, shooting him the most dazzling grin as she approached him determinedly.

“You made it!” She beamed at him, a bold hand finding his wrist and squeezing it with gentle reassurance, a subtle, unexpected gesture of intimacy that made his heart rabbit furiously in his chest.

Vegeta wasn’t entirely sure about what it was that she initially talked about, all he knew was how honestly happy, dare he say grateful, Bulma seemed to be, infinitely happier than she’d been in the gloomy darkness of their last night together in that infernal infirmary.

She chose to spend most of her time with him, constantly making the effort to get the servers’ attention, in the hopes that her guest of honor would get to sample as many different kinds of traditional foods as possible, enlightening him about an eclectic selection of curious tales and human folklore that his poor alien mind had found wholly impossible to understand.

Even now, as the lonely Prince stood all by himself in the midst of a sad garden fully covered in snow, Vegeta had to admit that, although he’d been so overwhelmed that he could remember not even one of such exotic stories, there was an infinity of details that, try as he might, would never leave his giddy memory.

He could still vividly evoke her refreshing giggles, and those dainty hands touching him in ways no one ever had. Whether she’d be casually picking off a lint on his sweater, saucily complimenting him for his choice of clothing, or resting a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over, trying to reach for one of the many drinks circulating across the room, offering him another glass of that sparkling ‘champagne’, fizzy bubbles tickling his nose as she talked, and talked, and talked about all sorts of old family anecdotes, involving her mischievous, carefree childhood and, more often than not, some unknown cousin that she hadn’t seen in ages.

It’d been overwhelming, utterly intoxicating, drowning his senses in heaps of nectarous foods and heady alcohol, in golden lights and surreal festive songs and, above all, in her, and in how awfully comfortable she appeared to be by his side, unashamed of spending most of the occasion with him, and clearly oblivious to the sporadic glances of mistrust and disbelief that the rest of the warriors would occasionally throw their way.

Still, the most surprising emotion of them all had been the rare pride engulfing him at the obvious realization that, within a house full of people, she’d much favored his company to any other, a foreign, yet pleasant sentiment, tricking him into believing that, perhaps, this exotic celebration would end up being far more tolerable than he’d first anticipated.

And then, just as he’d gradually started to feel himself relax, quietly surrendering to the calm assurance that Bulma’s company inspired in him, he had to come along, completely destroying the woman’s happiness along the way.

Vegeta could still see her turning her eyes curiously to the side, that charmingly familiar gesture that she did whenever the luxurious doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of yet another one of her increasingly larger group of noisy guests, only, this time, her reaction to her mysterious visitor hadn’t been a polite smile and some cheeky gossip whispered in his ear, but a horrified expression of sheer dismay.

Her candid smile froze on her lips, the corners of her lively mouth falling with the rest of her gorgeous face, staring in disbelief at the only man who held the destructive power to dim the light of her striking blue eyes.

The sudden shift in her attitude had been such, that it’d forced the Saiyan to instinctively leave behind his well-practiced aura of disinterest, promptly following her glance and discovering, straight away, where the little female’s incredulity stemmed from.

Right there, by the large mahogany door, stood the cowardly human who used to be her ‘boyfriend’ and, though his shocking visit should have been enough to spoil anyone’s party, it soon became self-evident that it wasn’t the idiot’s presence what had ruined Bulma’s coquettish mood, but the unpredicted attendance of his even stupider companion, none other than some random, blue-haired bimbo, already taking off her cheap coat with the useless fighter’s help.

Vegeta’s own mouth twisted in disgust, repulsed by the scene unfolding before his very eyes, both by that drooling grin spreading across the man’s dumb face, and by the way he ogled the indecently young-looking woman, as if she were nothing but a worthless piece of flesh.

Romantic relationships of any kind were out, way out of the Prince’s area of expertise, but it surely didn’t take a genius to intuitively guess that it was in incredibly poor taste to bring his side-piece of the month to the home of a woman who’d shared more than ten years of her life with him, an exceptional creature who, by all accounts, had given the moronic loser far more than he deserved.

When Vegeta’s gaze rushed back to Bulma, all color had left her rosy face, and she was but a glum shadow of the bubbly woman she’d been just seconds ago, with those disenchanted eyes staring absentmindedly at the polished floors, losing themselves into the miserable wave of depressing thoughts sweeping her away, allowing herself a selfish instant of self-pity before choosing to bravely compose herself, one last time.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” She shyly asked, a cold, clammy hand enfolding his wrist in silent apology while the most heartbreaking smile drew itself on her tense lips, one of those smiles that wouldn’t reach her eyes, and that would remain sadly trapped in her features through the rest of the night.

He saw her walking discreetly towards the door, welcoming her undesirable guests with a graciousness that the insensitive bastard clearly hadn’t earnt, and making the admirable effort to engage in some minor chitchat with the absurd couple, before excusing herself and disappearing into the kitchens, offering to assist her mother with the final details before dinner was served.

That was all.

The Prince barely had the chance to see much of her ever since, only once during the copious Christmas dinner, when she’d sat at the table, right beside him, hardly tasting her food, and making the most delectable meal he’d ever tasted feel like dusty gravel sanding down his throat with the way those jittery hands kept fidgeting miserably with her fork, choosing to focus on the red wine instead, and almost embarrassingly dropping her drink on the table more than once.

His last vision of her had taken place sometime after the extravagant banquet, when all the guests had left the table, at last, spreading out throughout the comfortable salons while the Briefs matriarch made her rounds yet again, giving away even more sweets and candied treats to the already bursting guests.

He saw Bulma standing in front of one of the large windows, swirling her last glass of champagne distractedly while her eyes wandered longingly all over the dark gardens, a poignant air of nostalgia saddening her exquisite face when the first signs of white started to fall from the frozen skies. Her head fell back languidly when the last sip of alcohol touched her sullen lips, eyes closing as tired fingers idly rubbed her neck, only to open them back again, contemplating the jam-packed room with dreamy eyes, as if a great part of her had already drifted away from it all.

It was then that it happened, it was then that they found each other, their eyes meeting across the distance, two strangers sharing a secret that no one else in that cussed room would ever light upon.

Vegeta held her stare with a confidence that still staggered him to this moment, a frightening intensity that contradicted the apparent nonchalance of the coldhearted warrior leaning cross-armed with his back against the wall, letting her know, with not even one word, that he understood, that he could feel her unbearable pain in his own mortal flesh, and that, if only he were a noble man, instead of the emotionally stunted wimp that he knew himself to be, he’d wrap his arms around her and he’d get her out of there, taking her to a hidden corner of the world where no harm would ever touch her.

And in her eyes he saw that she knew, he didn’t even know how or why but, in those bottomless pools of blue, blinking dreamily at him, like a hypnotized nymph awakening from an illusive dream, the Prince found a woman who’d just discovered, not only that her most intimate secret had been laid bare, but that the man in possession of such a skill was the least expected, an enigmatic equal who’d never betray her shattered trust.

Bulma watched him for an absorbed instant, gifting him with the most devastating smile, a watery smile of disillusionment and heartfelt gratitude, before the spell was broken, and she turned around, walking defeatedly towards her mother, whispering a few furtive words in her ear and vanishing from the crowded room, taking all that was bright with her.

And now here he was, standing alone in the dark, spying through the still illuminated windows like some lowlife thief looking for some magical signal, anything that would help him decide on whether he should take a chance and get back into that cursed house, or follow his first instinct and subject himself to a good old-fashioned session of self-abuse.

Vegeta’s most stubborn self was growing increasingly inclined towards the latter, but the night’s surreal events had zapped every bit of energy left in him and, after an exhaustive scan of the Briefs home, and its spacious surroundings, concluded that the entirety of the irritating guests had already left the party, the Prince made up his tired mind, choosing to go to bed and call it a day.

That is, of course, until a whiff of the most delicious aroma suddenly pervaded his senses, a sweetly creamy scent only savored once before, during that oneiric night spent with the little earthling, a treasured night whose memory, try as he might, he’d found himself incapable of forgetting.

“Hey…” Bulma greeted him in a pleased whisper, not at all surprised by the snoopy stranger floating smoothly before her, the intrigued warrior who’d just discovered her not-so-secret hiding spot, sitting on one of the few stairs located right at the top of her home’s colossal rooftop. “Do you want some?” She generously offered, holding the cup of that flask he knew so well by now, and pouring him some of that mouthwatering hot chocolate, long before he even had the opportunity to accept her invitation.

His feet touched the slippery ground with great care, secretly marveled at how foolishly brave the woman was, wholly unafraid of such great heights, especially for someone who couldn’t fly if her life depended on it.       

Her audacity should have offended him, that strange overconfidence that always made her assume, and rightly so, that he’d follow her instructions like a docile Saiyan puppy. But Vegeta soon realized that, tonight, after everything the softhearted woman had been put through, he’d much rather sit obediently by her side, taking up her offer for one last enjoyable treat before going back to his room.

“This one smells… Different…” He noted, sharp nostrils flaring like those of a hound as he held the drink in his cold hands, eyeing it with suspicion before venturing to take his first sip.

“Ah, yeah…” She giggled timidly, the first honest laughter he’d heard from her in a while. “I may have spiked it just a little bit…” She admitted, with the cheekiness of a silly teenage girl who’d just gotten caught in her first mischief.

The Prince said nothing, merely grunting softly as he tasted the soothing drink, easily picking up on the subtle touch of liquor, blended to perfection with the natural sweetness of the rich chocolate flavor.

‘Not bad…’

“Sorry about tonight, by the way…” Bulma murmured warily, hiding her small hands in the tight space between her small body and the knees protectively pressed to her chest.

Vegeta remained silent for a second, absolutely dumbfounded as to why it was the woman, of all people, the one apologizing for the monumental fiasco of the night’s celebrations.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” his sincere reply came at last, loathing himself for getting emotionally involved in a situation that shouldn’t have been his business to begin with, but powerless to just sit down and watch her take responsibility for something that had been everyone’s fault but hers.

“Yeah, I know…” She agreed in a slightly more confident tone, honestly surprised by the Prince’s open support. “It’s just that… I don’t know…” She shrugged weakly, the Moon’s majestic glow reflected in those sad eyes of hers as they lost themselves into the clear sky. “I guess I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight, since this was your first time celebrating Christmas and all…”

Her words of disappointment almost made him choke on his second mouthful of hot chocolate, openly gaping both at her defeated stance, and at the captivating blush spreading across her cheeks as she kept timidly avoiding his stare.

For him.

She’d gone out of her way just so she could please him.     

“I knew it was a bad idea to invite him,” Bulma carried on, forcing herself to keep talking when she intuitively sensed the Prince’s quiet discomfort with such an intimate conversation. “But my Mom insisted, you know? She said that… That it’d be good for us to be friends after… After all those years together…” A long, melancholic sigh fled her lips, shivering vulnerably when a rush of cold air suddenly hit them both. “I guess she didn’t think that he’d bring some girl along. Mom was pretty disappointed in him too. It was just… I don’t know…”

“Disrespectful,” Vegeta pointed out, the coolness in his voice poorly concealing the vicious rage boiling beneath the surface as his fingers tightened angrily around his drink.

This time, it was Bulma’s chance to turn her sights on him, her touching aura of amazement and gratitude reawakening some of those yearning emotions inside of him, the ones making it impossible for him to catch a wink of sleep when she’d spent the night lying beside him in that lousy infirmary.

The warrior’s calloused hands gingerly offered her the half-full mug, just in the same way he had on such a fateful night, a night that was the catalyst for the greatest change of their lives, even if neither one of them suspected it yet.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that…” The earthling murmured bashfully, a flock of butterflies fluttering nervously in his stomach with the way she smiled at him in understanding, eagerly accepting his invitation as she took the cup from his jittery hands.

It was hopeless, it was ludicrously hopeless to try to stop himself anymore from mooning over her, so he just sat there like a besotted fool, pursing his mouth in frustration when those full lips, still lightly swollen from crying, kept blowing at the steaming cup, tasting her first sip from exactly the same spot his own mouth had just touched seconds earlier.

“It’s funny because… I don’t… I don’t even love him anymore…” She admitted with surprising calmness, her sureness in her lack of feelings towards her ex-lover confusing the Prince even more. “I guess what hurt me the most is that… It’s not just that he brought her to my house but… I don’t know…” She mumbled huskily, almost as if talking to herself, trying to make some coherent sense out of her own restless feelings. “I guess it’s the fact that he found someone else so soon. It makes me feel like… Like I’m just forgettable, you know?”

Forgettable.

She could not be serious.

The woman may have been the most vulgar, exasperating creature he’d ever chanced upon, with her sassy banter and brazen meddling, always screeching, scolding and overprotecting him, to the point of treating him, at times, like nothing but a reckless little brat. Vegeta might not have the faintest clue as to what dangerous adventures would await him once he attained his obsessive goals, reaching his prized Super Saiyan form and annihilating that useless pair of artificial tin cans but, the Gods help him, whatever it was that Destiny threw his way, when the time finally came for them to part ways, putting an end to the surreal experience that their coexistence had become, he was damn sure that he’d never, ever, forget the unshakable Force of Nature that was Bulma Briefs.    

“Perhaps, it’s the other way around,” he reflected out loud, chiming into her emotional troubles before he could even stop himself, absolutely loathing to see her belittling herself like this.

“Uh?” She gasped feebly, still in mild disbelief at his clear attempt to comfort her in his own reserved way. “What do you mean?”

His fists clenched on their own, eyebrows knitting as he scowled in chagrin, not even knowing what was even more perplexing anymore, the woman, who was supposedly some kind of genius, not seeing the obvious, or that new, irrepressible need overriding his spirit, urging him to take away the pain eating her alive.

“I meant that, maybe,” Vegeta clarified. “The weakling found that idiotic woman because he can’t forget on his own…”

He kept his mousy eyes cowardly hooked on the ground, letting his smart words sink in as he took the empty cup from her small hands with a gentleness he didn’t even know he possessed, pouring himself a second glassful of the heartening beverage and guzzling most of it in one single gulp, gathering some liquid courage before he ventured to give her a second glance, discovering the most extraordinary metamorphosis blossoming all over that beautiful face.

Smiling, the woman was smiling at him, not one of her usual dazzling smiles, but a smile nonetheless, shy but resplendent, wide blue eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a woman who’d just found a loyal ally where she least expected it.

“You really think so?” Bulma asked daintily, her spirits rising, but still hoping for that final little push to give her the morale she so desperately needed.

“I do,” Vegeta quietly reassured her, lips curling into the ghost of a lopsided smirk at the sound of her tiny, triumphant chuckle.

“I guess you’re right,” she agreed, her newfound confidence instilling the rarest sense of pride in him, pride at being the one to rekindle some of that zesty fire back.

“So…” She ventured once more, invading his most sacred space, as only she knew how, when she stuck one of her bold little fingers into the leftovers of his creamy chocolate, sliding it across the empty cup and carelessly sticking it right into her mouth. “I figure I’m not the only one who thought that the girl was… You know…” Bulma prodded him, her innate feistiness pushing aside some of the sorrow haunting her still. “Not the brightest bulb in the tree, uh?”

By now, most of Vegeta’s blood had abandoned his body, fascinated by that wicked tongue licking off the chocolate from his mug with such naivete, by all means oblivious to the flood of impure thoughts coursing his veins, and to the fact that she could so easily arouse him like this with such a harmless gesture, both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Hn…” He groaned in frustration, choosing to play her game and go along with her, after all, there was nothing like a common enemy to make the woman feel better. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d have to lie in order to agree with her, anyway. “She was the stupidest creature I’ve ever encountered,” he snarled, visibly repelled by the mere memory of the female’s moronic topics of conversation that, together with that grating nasal voice, were enough to test his endurance in ways not even Frieza himself ever had, making him spend the rest of the evening struggling not to break her exasperating neck just to make it stop.

And he must have said the right thing, if only for once, for Bulma chuckled even louder than before, the sound pure and luminous, getting a whole lot closer to her real vivacious self.

“Yeah, I know…” She admitted, making him wish he’d never followed her goddamned scent to the rooftop the moment she stuck her blasted finger into his chocolate, yet again, running her tongue all over it, like the most natural act in the world. “I guess no one cares about some topless model using her brain anyway…”     

“A what?” Vegeta promptly asked back, genuinely intrigued by a concept he’d never heard of before.

“A topless model.”

“…”

The blank look on his face, together with that hilarious tic that always made his cheek twitch uncontrollably whenever he felt uncomfortable, or faced by a situation he knew nothing about, made Bulma unconsciously press her lips together, bottling up a string of laughter at how ridiculously adorable he looked right now.

Out of all the countless, tongue-in-cheek arguments that they’d enjoyed throughout those past few months, she’d never once brought up anything related to nudity or human sexuality of any kind, after having noticed, right from the moment she’d teasingly called him ‘cute’, back when she’d first invited him into her home, that the warrior seemed to be surprisingly prudish about such matters.

Whether it was because he was one of those men who considered sex something strictly private between a man and a woman, or if he was perhaps simply not interested in it, she wouldn’t know. For all she knew, he might even be a virgin and, though she’d mostly kept such a tricky subject off grounds all this time, something about the unreal intimacy of this moment was awakening her most impish side, wondering what would happen if she dared to discuss naughty body parts with the Prince of All Saiyans himself.       

“Yeah, topless”, she described, casually waving one of her hands while inwardly roaring with laughter. “She’s a model who poses with her boobs out…”

“Boobs?” He frowned, blinking uncertainly as he tried to figure out where exactly he’d heard of that particular term before.

“Yeah, boobs. You know? Breasts…” Bulma explained in her best serious face. “She poses with her breasts out…”

Vegeta’s mouth gaped wide open in sheer shock, his upper lip twisting in the most comical manner, looking at her like a twelve-year-old boy who’d just been given ‘the talk’ for the first time in his life.

“She poses with her breasts out…” He murmured numbly to himself, quickly realizing that he was missing just one last piece of crucial information. “She poses where with her breasts out?”    

“In magazines, silly!” She replied, smacking him playfully in the arm. “You know my Mom’s magazines, right? Well… It’s the same, but for men. And the girls have no clothes on…”

“A-Are you…?” He stuttered in disbelief, his ingenuous, wide-eyed expression making her want to hug him silly. “Are you telling me that…? That the woman appears naked in magazines?”

“Yup!”

“What…? What for?!”

A devilishly amused smirk finally cracked up on her lips, lowering her chin and flashing him the cheekiest look in her repertoire. “What do you think?”

“Tch!” He huffed, face flushing crimson as his eyes returned to the ground, shaking his head to himself in mortified incredulity. “You humans are vile…” He mumbled irritably.

“Tell me about it…” Bulma openly giggled, wrapping her arms around one of his and leaning shamelessly against him while resting her chin on his shoulder, ready for some extra teasing of her own. “You’re really funny, did you know that?”

“Hn…” He hmphed, side-eyeing the woman, and those brazen hands of hers, with wary skepticism.

Funny.

Him.

She thought he was funny.     

There was a really strong possibility that she was mocking him, as usual, and while this should have been the perfect moment to give her the slip, removing himself from a situation that was getting more out of hand by the second, he simply couldn’t, finding it harder and harder to stay mad at her when she kept leaning and holding onto him, quite literally, for a support that he wasn’t quite convinced yet if he could provide.

“Look…” Bulma whispered in wonderment, turning her delicate face to the sky as her head still rested on his strong shoulder. “It’s snowing…”

The Prince impulsively followed her movements, raising his gaze to the dark skies, and to the light dusting of snow slowly beginning to fall over them both, a tight lump knotting in his throat at the sound of her childish laughter.

“When I was a little girl, I used to get out of the house whenever it snowed,” she gladly recalled, with the contented nostalgia of those privileged enough to have enjoyed, and carefully stored, quite a few happy memories of their own. “I used to run through the gardens, sticking my tongue out. It used to drive my poor Mom insane, because she could never catch me…” She confessed proudly, chuckling at her own silly stories, willing to give him a glimpse of her idyllic childhood. “Like this…”

Bulma closed her eyes and tilted her head back, sticking her pink tongue out, ready to catch a handful of those white, fluffy flakes while Vegeta watched her with infatuated attention.

Her splendid blue dress was nowhere to be seen anymore, the only evidence of her earlier dolled-up appearance being the elegant upsweep still restraining the wilderness of her hair, and failing miserably, judging by the few loose curls already trying to escape, framing her lovely face in the most charming way as she smiled softly into the night. There were no more expensive jewels or glittery high heels, only a thick sweater and some old pants, topped by her favorite worn-out jacket, and a pair of cozy pink boots.            

And yet, although she’d completely taken his breath away when he’d seen her making her grand entrance before, dressed to the nines as she walked down the stairs, Vegeta had to admit that he much preferred her this way.

He liked this Bulma, the one with her messy hair and shabby winter clothes, reenacting her favorite memoirs of youth just for him, with a couple of puny little arms firmly wrapped around him, and a gorgeous face covered in snow.

“I’d say…” She spoke in a hoarse whisper, the shadow of an enigmatic smile curling her mouth as she looked at him intriguingly. “This is a real mistletoe moment…”

One of her hands let go of him, wiping a minuscule white pebble off the tip of his nose with her index finger, allowing herself the luxury to brush his cheek with those soft fingertips, before grabbing onto his trembling arm once again, bringing herself even closer to him.

“Do you…?” She murmured inaudibly, languorously, nipping at her bottom lip as her hazed eyes skimmed through his anxious mouth. “Do you know what that is?”  

Vegeta slowly shook his head no, barely able to assimilate, or to even listen to her cryptic words anymore, mesmerized by the luring effects of her dangerous proximity, and by her earnest heartbeat, pounding in his ears as if it were his own. He couldn’t deny to having indulged in a woman or two, back in his heyday, but it’d always been cold, quick and impersonal, never like this, never like her, never this terrifying emotion making him fall apart, the frightening certainty that, if he ever let his guard down and let this woman in, he’d never be the same again.

Time stood still for an eternal moment when her lips found his, her mouth soft, light as a feather, the world disappearing around them as she stole a first kiss from the man whose mysterious presence had seduced and fascinated her from the day she’d welcomed him into her vibrant life.

He was inexperienced, clumsy, just as she’d always expected him to be, too unused to love, or even kindness, to truly know what he was doing. But, Kami, something in that innocent kiss told her that there was more to this obscure man than met the eye, and that whoever would one day succeed in deciphering that inscrutable heart, might strike gold.     

“Mhmm…” Bulma moaned, with the faintness of a woman living in a dream, idly dropping her dizzy head on the curve of his shoulder, without even trying to open her eyes. “You’re so warm…” She slurred sleepily, rubbing her small, reddened nose, back and forth, into the surprisingly smooth skin of his neck, while gently grasping his captive arm, lifting it carefully and inviting him to shield her shivering shoulders with it.

The couple sat silently in the dark, with the heavy-eyed earthling drifting off with no trouble at all, and a very bewildered Saiyan, staring at her sleeping figure while wondering just what all of this had even meant, yet powerless to neglect her wishes, feeling himself steadily relaxing in her presence as he softened his tense arm, pulling her even closer to him.

He knew that he’d soon have to carry the fragile woman back to her bed, or she’d end up freezing to death but, for a moment, just for one selfish little moment, he greedily luxuriated in all that was Bulma, in that balmy, calm breath embracing his needy skin, in those tousled blue curls carelessly tickling his jaw and, most of all, in the miraculous way in which she was inexplicably dissipating the gloomy emotions crushing his spirit under that heavy veil of white snow.